{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_51032/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_51032","id":"gutenberg_51032","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51032","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Journals","Category: Politics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Category: Teaching & Education","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                              VOL. XVIII.\n                    OCTOBER, 1873, TO MARCH, 1874.\n\n\n                               NEW YORK:\n                    THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION HOUSE.\n                           9 Warren Street.\n\n                                 1874.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n  Archbishop Spalding, 512.\n\n  Are Our Public Schools Free? 1.\n\n\n  Block of Gold, A, 855.\n\n  Brittany, More about, 111.\n\n\n  Catharine, S., of Ricci, 420.\n\n  Cathedral of Chartres, The, 235.\n\n  Catholic Literature in England Since the Reformation, 261, 363.\n\n  Catholic Young Men's Associations, 269.\n\n  Christmas Story, A, 479.\n\n  Como, A Week at the Lake of, 137.\n\n  Confiscation Laws, Italian, 30.\n\n  Court of France in 1830, The, 403.\n\n  Crime--Its Origin and Cure, 55.\n\n\n  Daniel O'Connell, 208.\n\n  Dubois' Madame Agnes, 68, 195.\n\n\n  English Christmas Story, An, 479.\n\n  English Maiden's Love, An, 694.\n\n  English Sketches: An Hour in Jail, 279.\n\n  English Sketches: Ruins of an Old Abbey, 398.\n\n  Epiphany, The, 590.\n\n  Evangelical Alliance, The, 353.\n\n\n  Farm of Muiceron, The, 171, 338, 442, 627, 734.\n\n  Father Sebastian Rale, S.J., 541.\n\n  France, The Court of in 1830, 403.\n\n  French Poet, A, 94.\n\n  Fur Trader, The, 412, 502.\n\n\n  Grace Seymour's Mission, 668, 806.\n\n  Grande Chartreuse, A Visit to the, 118.\n\n  Grapes and Thorns, 10, 220, 303, 591, 772.\n\n\n  Hester Hallam, 473.\n\n  Hour in a Jail, An, 279.\n\n  How George Howard was Cured, 40.\n\n\n  Italian Confiscation Laws, 30.\n\n\n  Jansenist Schism in Holland, The, 686, 838.\n\n  John Stuart Mill, 721.\n\n\n  Laus Perennis, 388.\n\n  Literature, Catholic, in England, 261, 363.\n\n  Looker-Back, A, 711, 848.\n\n  Love of God, The, 93.\n\n\n  Madame Agnes, 68, 195.\n\n  Madame de Sta\u00ebl, 532.\n\n  Metaphysics, A Talk on, 289.\n\n  More about Brittany: Its Customs, Its People, and Its Poems, 111.\n\n  My Friend and His Story, 87.\n\n\n  Nano Nagle, 658.\n\n  Napoleonic Idea and Its Consequences, The, 79.\n\n\n  Odd Stories, 142.\n\n  O'Connell, Daniel, 208.\n\n  One Chapter from Hester Hallam's Life, 473.\n\n  Our Masters, 702.\n\n\n  Paris Hospitals, 124.\n\n  Philosophical Terminology, 184, 753.\n\n  Principles of Real Being, The, 433, 577, 824.\n\n  Public Schools, Are they Free? 1.\n\n\n  Rale, Father Sebastian, S.J., 541.\n\n  Real Being, The Principles of, 433, 577, 824.\n\n  Religious Policy of the Second Empire, 793.\n\n  Ruins of an Old Abbey, 398.\n\n\n  See of S. Francis of Sales, The, 249.\n\n  Son of God, The, Archetypal Beauty, 165.\n\n  Song of Roland, The, 378, 488.\n\n  Spalding, Archbishop, 512.\n\n  Spiritualism, 145, 318, 606.\n\n  Sta\u00ebl, Madame de, 532.\n\n\n  Tale of the Northwest, A, 412, 502.\n\n  Talk on Metaphysics, A, 289.\n\n  Terminology, Philosophical, 184.\n\n  Travels with a Valetudinarian, 522.\n\n\n  Visit to the Grande Chartreuse, A, 118.\n\n\n  Week at the Lake of Como, A, 137.\n\n\n  Year of Our Lord 1873, The, 558.\n\n  Young Men's Associations, Catholic, 269.\n\n\n  POETRY.\n\n\n  Child Restored, The, 531.\n\n  Church Postures, 9.\n\n  Cui Bono? 684.\n\n\n  Dante's Purgatorio, 166, 299, 587.\n\n\n  Epigrams, 298, 657.\n\n\n  From Egypt to Chanaan, 557.\n\n\n  Greatest Grief, The, 425.\n\n\n  In Thy Light shall we see Light, 248.\n\n\n  Late Home, 771.\n\n  Little Chapel, The, 756.\n\n  Lute with the Broken String, The, 285.\n\n\n  Mary, 110.\n\n\n  Nature, To, 123.\n\n\n  Ordinandus, 472.\n\n\n  Priest, The, 219.\n\n\n  Recent Poetry, 54.\n\n\n  Self-Love, 194.\n\n  Serious \"Vive la Bagatelle,\" The, 441.\n\n  Sleep, 317.\n\n\n  Trouvere, The, 67.\n\n\n  Venite, Adoremus, 501.\n\n  Vigil, 857.\n\n\n  NEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n  Acts of the Early Martyrs, The, 576.\n\n  Arena and the Throne, The, 575.\n\n  Ark of the People, The, 573.\n\n  Augustine, S., Works of, 860.\n\n\n  Baron of Hertz, 574.\n\n  Bible History, 430.\n\n  Byrne's Irish Emigration, 288.\n\n\n  Catholicity and Pantheism, 426.\n\n  Christian Doctrine, The Enchiridion, etc., 860.\n\n  Christian Trumpet, The, 427.\n\n\n  De Concilio's Catholicity and Pantheism, 426.\n\n  De Smet's Voyages aux Montagnes Rocheuses, etc., 287.\n\n  Divine Sequence, The, 286.\n\n  Dove of the Tabernacle, The, 859.\n\n\n  Essays on Various Subjects, 429.\n\n  Ewing, Thomas, Memorial of, 859.\n\n\n  Fastr\u00e9's Acts of the Early Martyrs, 576.\n\n  Fullerton's Life of Luisa de Carvajal, 286.\n\n  Fullerton's Seven Stories, 574.\n\n\n  Goldie's Life of B. John Berchmans, 720.\n\n  Good Things for Catholic Readers, 288.\n\n  Gordon Lodge, 574.\n\n\n  Historical Sketches, 144.\n\n  Holy Mass, The, 858.\n\n  House of Gold, and the Saint of Nazareth, 287.\n\n\n  Idea of a University, 144.\n\n  Illustrated Catholic Family Almanac, 431.\n\n  Irish Emigration to the United States, 288.\n\n\n  Jesuits in Conflict, 719.\n\n\n  Kinane's The Dove of the Tabernacle, 859.\n\n  Kirkpatrick's Spain and Charles VII., 429.\n\n\n  Labadye's Baron of Hertz, 574.\n\n  Lascine, 574.\n\n  Lectures on S. John, 860.\n\n  Lectures upon the Devotion to the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus Christ, 720.\n\n  Lefebvre's Louise Lateau, 857.\n\n  Lenten Sermons, 859.\n\n  Life of Luisa de Carvajal, 286.\n\n  Life of S. Alphonsus Liguori, 718.\n\n  Life of S. Alphonsus Liguori, by Bishop Mullock, 718.\n\n  Life of the B. John Berchmans, 720.\n\n  Life of the Most Rev. M. J. Spalding, 432.\n\n  Life of the Ven. Anna Maria Taigi, 858.\n\n  Lives of the Irish Saints, 718.\n\n\n  Marie and Paul, 574.\n\n  Meditations for the Use of the Clergy, 431.\n\n  Memorial of Thomas Ewing, 859.\n\n  Moscheles' Recent Music and Musicians, 432.\n\n  M\u00fcller's The Holy Mass, 858.\n\n  Mullock's Life of S. Alphonsus Liguori, 718.\n\n\n  Newman's Historical Sketches, 144.\n\n  Newman's Idea of a University, 144.\n\n\n  O'Hanlon's Lives of the Irish Saints, 718.\n\n  O'Leary's Bible History, 430.\n\n  O'Reilly's Songs from the Southern Seas, 431.\n\n\n  Pleadings of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, 859.\n\n  Poetical Life of S. Joseph, 287.\n\n  Potter's Sacred Eloquence, 144.\n\n  Pratt's Rhoda Thornton's Girlhood, 575.\n\n  Preston's Lectures upon the Devotion to the Most Sacred Heart of\n    Jesus Christ, 720.\n\n  Pronouncing Handbook of 3,000 Words, 287.\n\n\n  Real Presence, The, 574.\n\n  Recent Music and Musicians, 432.\n\n  Rhoda Thornton's Girlhood, 575.\n\n  Rituale Romanum Pauli V. Pontificis Maximi Jussu Editum et a\n    Benedicto XIV. Auctum et Castigatum, etc., 575.\n\n\n  Sacred Eloquence, 144.\n\n  Sacred Heart of Jesus, Pleadings of the, 859.\n\n  Saxe Holm's Stories, 574.\n\n  Scotti's Meditations for the Use of the Clergy, 431.\n\n  Segneri's Lenten Sermons, 859.\n\n  Seven Stories, 574.\n\n  Songs from the Southern Seas, 431.\n\n  Soule and Campbell's Pronouncing Vocabulary, 287.\n\n  Spain and Charles VII., 429.\n\n  Spalding's Life of Archbishop Spalding, 432.\n\n  Story of Wandering Willie, The, 432.\n\n\n  Thompson's The Life of the Ven. Anna Maria Taigi, 858.\n\n  Tissot's Real Presence, 574.\n\n  Townsend's Arena and the Throne, 575.\n\n\n  Voyages aux Montagnes Rocheuses et Sejour ches les Tribus Indiennes\n    de l'Oregon, 287.\n\n\n  White's Gordon Lodge, 574.\n\n  Wiseman's Essays on Various Subjects, 429.\n\n\n\n\nTHE\n\nCATHOLIC WORLD.\n\nVOL. XVIII., No. 103.--OCTOBER, 1873.[1]\n\n\n\n\nARE OUR PUBLIC SCHOOLS FREE?\n\n  \"Give Catholics their full rights; ask nothing of them you would\n  not willingly concede if you were in their place.\"--_New York\n  Journal of Commerce._\n\n\nThe subject of education, the method and extent of it, is undoubtedly\none of the foremost topics of discussion to-day, and will be more\nconspicuous than ever in the immediate future. And, while all men are\nagreed that a sound and sufficient education of the entire people\nis our only ground of hope for the perpetuity of our rights and\nliberties--that, in truth, it is vital--it is not to be wondered at\nthat men differing in the depth as well as extent of their individual\nculture, should also widely differ as to the constituent elements of a\nsound and sufficient education. There are, for instance, some, as yet\nhappily few in number, who, in the maze of confusion and Babel-like\ndiscussions of sectarians and false teachers turn their faces away\nin hopeless, helpless uncertainty, and suggest that _religion_ of\nevery name and kind must be excluded and the Deity himself ignored in\nour public schools, so that public education shall be _secular_; and\nhowever much of \"religion\" of any and every sort may be taught, it must\nbe _in private_. This is natural enough in those unfortunate persons\nwho so far lack a _positive faith_ that they see no safety except in\nuncertainty, and hence adopt a kind of _eclecticism_ which, embracing\nsome abstract truth, may confessedly also contain something of error.\n\nThe early settlers of this country--this \"land of liberty\"--however,\nhad no idea of excluding religion from the schools; and if any among\nthem or their immediate successors entertained even any peculiar\nnotions as to what constituted religion, they were very summarily\n\"squelched out.\"\n\nEven \"the great expounder of the constitution\" was in the habit of\nadjuring his fellow-citizens \"not to forget the _religious_ character\nof our origin,\" and to remember that the right to \"life, liberty, and\nthe pursuit of happiness\" is guaranteed to us in that epitome of human\nwisdom which the great New Englander was born to defend. That right\nit is the privilege and the duty of each one of us also to maintain,\nespecially when it is threatened under the specious pretext of reform.\n\nThese and other reflections are suggested by the perusal of a pamphlet,\na sort of campaign document, issued by the \"New York City Council\nof Political Reform,\" first published in 1872, and thought to be of\nconsequence enough to be reissued in the present year of grace 1873.\nThis document contains among others a report entitled \"Sectarian\nAppropriations of Public Money.\" The very title of this report at once\nalarms and arouses us. We are alarmed at the dangers that menace, and\nwe are aroused to defend, our rights as Americans. In this defence we\ninvoke the genius of liberty and the spirit of \"equal rights,\" and\nshall fight under the \"Stars and Stripes,\" the flag of freedom, till\nwe succeed in repelling the open as well as insidious assaults of the\nenemies of that truth which only can make us FREE.\n\nThe ostensible and praiseworthy purpose of the pamphlet in question is\nto expose the frauds upon the city treasury perpetrated by the late\n\"Tammany Ring,\" which, in the person of the \"boss thief of the world,\"\nis now on trial, in a sort, before the courts, charged with _robbery_,\n_theft_, and _perjury_, but the real purpose, the iniquitous and\ndamnable purpose, is intimated in the following words of the report\nupon \"Sectarian Appropriations, etc.\": \"Over $2,273,231 taken from the\ntreasury in 1869, 1870, 1871. One sect gets in cash $1,915,456 92;\nbesides public land, $3,500,000. Total to a single sect, $5,415,456\n92.\" And further (on page 10 of the same report): \"Nearly $2,000,000 of\nthe money raised by taxes abstracted from the public treasury of the\ncity and county of New York in the last three years alone for sectarian\nuses. A single sect gets $1,396,388 51, besides a large slice of the\ncity's real estate.\"\n\nThis \"sect\" means the Catholic Americans of the city of New York, in\nnumbers somewhere about 500,000, or nearly half the population of the\ncity; of whom we are told elsewhere in this same report (page 4) that,\n\"as a sect,\" it has during the last three years, _by an alliance with\nthe Tammany Ring drawn_ (taken, abstracted) _from the public treasury,\nin cash, for the support of its convents, churches, cathedrals, church\nschools, and asylums, the enormous sum of_ $1,396,388 51.\n\nIt is hardly worth while for our present purpose to verify or to\ncontradict this total or the particulars of it, for the errors into\nwhich the report or its author has perhaps ignorantly fallen, though\nnot inconsiderable in magnitude, hardly affect our main purpose; and\nafter all, these \"inaccuracies\" may not, it is hoped, be the result of\n_carelessness_ solely, but are due in some measure to the fact that\nmany of the \"sects,\" while they parody our practices, appropriate also\nour names, and so may conveniently be confounded with our Catholic\ninstitutions.\n\nWe will, however, point out some which may readily be investigated.\nFor instance, on page 10 of the report just mentioned, we find that\nthe \"House of Mercy,\" Bloomingdale, with a $5,000 \"abstraction\" in\n1869, is classed as Roman Catholic, and it happens to be a Protestant\ninstitution; the \"Sisters of Mercy\" also, with an \"abstraction\" of\n$457, is Protestant; \"German-American School, S. Peter's Church,\" with\nits \"abstraction\" of $1,500, is Protestant; and the \"German-American\nFree School,\" with its \"abstraction\" of $14,000 in 1869, $2,496 in\n1870, and $1,960 in 1871, is Protestant; and the \"German-American\nSchool, Nineteenth Ward,\" with its \"abstraction\" of $3,150 in 1869\nand $2,700 in 1870, is Protestant; and the \"Church of Holy Name or S.\nMatthew,\" with its \"abstraction\" of $463 12, is also Protestant; and\nthe \"Free German School,\" with its \"abstraction\" of $5,000 in 1869,\n$3,600 in 1870, and $4,480 in 1871, is also Protestant; and the \"German\nMission Association,\" with its \"abstraction\" of $5,000 in 1869, and\n$10,000 in 1870 and 1871, is also Protestant; besides others, perhaps,\nimproperly classed as Roman Catholic. In some other instances, the sums\n\"abstracted\" were simply amounts of assessments improperly laid and\nsubsequently refunded.\n\nAnd in connection with this suggestion of errors may be noted, also,\namong the _omissions_ (suppressions, may we not say?) the instance\nof \"The Society for the Reformation of Juvenile Delinquents\" which\nis mentioned (on p. 16 of the report in question) as receiving an\n\"abstraction\" of $8,000 in 1870 and nothing in 1871. This is a\nProtestant institution, and so classed in the Report--to show, we\nsuppose, how small an \"abstraction\" comparatively it \"took.\" But will\nthe author of the report tell us how large an \"abstraction\" that\nsociety \"took\" of \"public money\"? As he has not, and perhaps does not\nknow, we refer him to its annual report, where he will find as follows,\nviz.:\n\n  1870. From State Comptroller,       $40,000 00\n        From City Comptroller,          8,000 00\n        Board of Education, License,\n          and Theatres,                22,218 53\n                                      ----------\n                                      $70,218 53\n\n  1871. State Comptroller,            $40,000 00\n        Board of Education,             5,766 91\n\nmaking a pretty total of $70,218 53 for 1870 and $45,766 91 for 1871.\n\nThere is also the \"New York Juvenile Asylum,\" a Protestant institution,\nwhich does not seem to be mentioned in the report in question, but it\nwill be found that in 1871 it \"abstracted\"\n\n  From the City Treasury,           $48,049 41\n  From the Board of Education,        4,015 83\n                                    ----------\n                                    $52,065 24\n\nThere are other \"omissions\"--that of the \"abstraction\" by the\n\"Children's Aid Society,\" for instance--but these are enough for the\npurpose, although it may be added that in 1872 this institution \"took\"\nfrom the city $106,238 90.\n\nOur objection is not so much to the amount \"in cash\" stated to have\nbeen \"taken,\" because the report admits that it has not been expended\nfor individual or selfish purposes, but in the maintenance and working\nof schools and other beneficent institutions. We wish, however, that\nthe \"New York City Council of Political Reform\" had used the means at\nits command to give an accurate and _complete_ statement, and we think\nit would have been wiser to do so, inasmuch as, while professedly\ncarrying on the purpose proclaimed in its motto on page 1 of the\nreport in question, to \"CHERISH, PROTECT, AND PRESERVE THE FREE COMMON\nSCHOOLS,\" it has seen fit so unmistakably to attack the \"single sect.\"\nCertainly, we object to the manner in which the \"sect\" is charged\nto have acquired its money, although having used it so wisely. This\n\"single sect,\" comprising as it does more than two hundred millions\n(or two-thirds) of the Christian population of the world, rather\nobjects to the term \"sect\" as applied. And if the author will take the\ntrouble to consult the other Webster--not Daniel, whom we have already\nquoted--but him of the more venerable baptismal name, he will learn,\nvery likely, however, not for the first time, that the term \"sect\"\nmeans \"a denomination which dissents from an established church.\"\nAnd Catholics are certainly not aware that they are \"dissenters\" in\nthe hitherto recognized sense of the word among polemical writers.\nWhether his application of the term is malicious or simply the result\nof ignorance, makes little difference; it suited _him_, and is of no\nparticular importance just now to us.\n\nBut surely the author of the report cannot think the amount, even\nas overstated by him, to be disproportionate to the end to be\nattained--\"to cherish, protect, and preserve the free common schools,\"\nwhen it is added that _our_ purpose is also \"to extend\" and to make our\ncommon schools \"free\" indeed to all, whether Jew or Gentile. All that\nwe ask is to have our equal rights in this land of equal rights, and\nto extend in the broadest manner the freedom of the public schools, so\nthat the rights and consciences of none may be restricted or violated.\nWe ask simply that the \"money raised by taxes,\" so large a portion of\nwhich we are charged to have \"abstracted,\" shall be divided _pro rata_,\nand so, by dividing the difficulty, conquer it! In the report, it is\nadmitted (p. 4) that the \"enormous sum\" alleged or intimated to have\nbeen surreptitiously \"taken\" or \"abstracted,\" was not \"taken\" for the\npurpose of individual gain, but for \"the support of convents, churches,\ncathedrals, and church schools.\" What sum, _thus expended_, can be too\ngreat? In what is it enormous? Is it enormous because disproportioned\nto the amount expended by other \"sects\"? Or is it so because expended\nfor the support of schools kept in \"damp basements of churches, so\ndark that gas has to be used on the brightest days,\" rather than in the\n\"educational palaces\" where Catholics cannot go without a violation of\nconscience, and from which they are practically excluded?\n\nAnd here it is notable that in the report now under consideration (p.\n2) is printed the following, purporting to be an extract from a report\nof the \"Secretary of Commissioners of Charities\" to the Legislature in\n1871, wherein it is said the secretary \"_refers very truthfully to the\nalready marked injury to the public schools of the city of New York\ncaused by building up and supporting from the public treasury so large\na number of rival sectarian schools_\" (see _Rep._ pp. 99, 100). The\nitalics are not ours.\n\nNow, in the report of the Hon. Abram B. Weaver, Superintendent of\nPublic Education, made in the same year (1871), he says: \"The aggregate\nand the average attendance was greater absolutely, and in proportion\nto population, than in any former year\"--\"... 11,700 schools were\nmaintained, 17,500 teachers were employed, and about $10,000,000 were\nexpended\" (_Rep. Com. of Education_, 1871, p. 291). \"The average number\nof pupils for the whole state in attendance each day of the entire\nterm in 1870 was 16,284, more than in 1869, etc.\" (p. 292). And in\nNew York City, we are told in the same report (p. 301 of _Report of\nCommissioners of Education_, 1871), \"It is interesting to note, as\nevidence of the substantial progress of free schools in New York City,\nthat, while the whole population of the city has increased but about 14\nper cent. in the last ten years, the average attendance of pupils has\nincreased nearly 54 per cent. in the same time.\" Now, wherein consists\nthe _injury_ complained of? While the average attendance on the \"free\npublic schools\" was actually increasing, whence came the children\nattending in these \"damp basements of churches,\" and what necessity\ndrove them from the \"educational palaces\"? Is the condition, in certain\nrespects, of our public schools such as is pictured by the writer of\nthe following, taken from the New York _Herald_ of Feb. 9, 1873:\n\n\"PUBLIC-SCHOOL ABUSES.\n\n  \"TO THE EDITOR OF THE HERALD:\n\n  \"Your articles on school ventilation have my hearty approval. I\n  have sent my two youngest boys for two successive winters to the\n  boys' school on Thirteenth street, near Sixth avenue (primary\n  department), but each time they remained from one to two weeks, and\n  then had to remain home, owing to a severe cold or inflammation\n  of the lungs, which kept them away for weeks. Having tried the\n  school thus I was compelled to remove them this winter to a\n  private school, where they have attended regularly and have been\n  in good health. No judgment is used in that department in regard\n  to ventilation. Sometimes the room is excessively warm; at other\n  times the windows on both sides of the house are opened, and the\n  current of cold air descending on the heads of the children causes\n  catarrhal affections and pneumonia.\n\n  \"Such complaints as the following have been made about the girls'\n  school, Twelfth street, near University place. A continual system\n  of stealing is going on after they leave in the afternoon. The\n  desks locked up are opened and articles removed, even books as\n  well as other things, and if anything is accidentally left by the\n  scholars it is always gone before morning. Nothing is safe in\n  that school, and the question is, who steals it? Complaints, I\n  understand, have been made, but no steps taken to correct it again.\n\n  \"The Board of Education is frequently applied to for necessary\n  books and material for conducting the school, and they are not\n  supplied. No notice is taken. The teachers have to purchase\n  themselves the necessary articles, or go without. At present, to my\n  knowledge, an important part of a teacher's duty is prevented being\n  fulfilled by reason of not having the necessary material. Teachers\n  are afraid of complaining for fear of losing their situations.\n\nAMICUS.\"\n\n\nOr this, taken from the New York _Telegram_ of February 13, 1873:\n\n  \"An association has been formed by the women of Washington, called\n  'The Society for Moral Education,' which has for its object the\n  proper education and mental development of the children of the\n  country. The society holds regular meetings, and proposes to become\n  a national organization. Mrs. L. B. Chandler, of Boston, is the\n  inspiring genius of the movement. The members of the society, in\n  an appeal for support, say: 'As women, teachers, and mothers, we\n  feel it incumbent upon us, in view of the alarming prevalence of\n  intemperance and various frightful social vices, the increase\n  of pernicious knowledge among children and youth, the general\n  ill-health of women, the large number of diseased, deformed,\n  idiotic children born, and the appalling mortality of infants,\n  to seek the means whereby future generations may be blessed with\n  better knowledge of the laws of life, wiser and stronger parents,\n  and a purer social state.\"\n\nOr this, from Prof. Agassiz, embodied in an editorial article of the\nBoston _Herald_ of October 20, 1871:\n\n  \"Year after year the chief of police publishes his statistics of\n  prostitution in this city, but how few of the citizens bestow\n  more than a passing thought upon the misery that they represent!\n  Although these figures are large enough to make every lover of\n  humanity hang his head with feelings of sorrow and shame at the\n  picture, we are assured that they represent but a little, as it\n  were, of the actual licentiousness that prevails among all classes\n  of society. Within a few months, a gentleman (Prof. Agassiz) whose\n  scientific attainments have made his name a household word in all\n  lands, has personally investigated the subject, and the result has\n  filled him with dismay, when he sees the depths of degradation to\n  which men and women have fallen; he has almost lost faith in the\n  boasted civilization of the XIXth century. In the course of his\n  inquiries, he has visited both the well-known 'houses of pleasure'\n  and the 'private establishments' scattered all over the city. He\n  states that he has a list of both, with the street and number,\n  the number of inmates, and many other facts that would perfectly\n  astonish the people if made public. He freely conversed with the\n  inmates, and the life histories that were revealed were sad indeed.\n  To his utter surprise, a large proportion of the 'soiled doves'\n  _traced their fall to influences that met them in the public\n  schools_, and although Boston is justly proud of its schools, it\n  would seem from his story that they need a thorough purification.\"\n\nOr are we driven to the conclusion that the \"injury\" complained of is\nlike that which was chronicled so long ago, as suffered by Haman at the\nhands of Mordecai?\n\n\"A single sect gets $1,396,388.51, besides a large slice of the\ncity's real estate.\" This, of course, refers to the cathedral lots.\nThat this \"large slice\" was fairly obtained, in the customary way of\nbusiness, more than half a century ago, and at a time when no \"Tammany\nRing\" existed, and when this \"same sect\" had no regularly consecrated\nplace of worship in this city, so insignificant were its numbers, is\nnotoriously a matter of record--known, indeed, of all men who choose to\nknow; and the statement made in the \"report\" has been so often refuted,\nthat the repetition of it now is disgraceful, and is simply a lie \"well\nstuck to.\" As to the other leases mentioned \"at a nominal rental,\" what\nmatters it to anybody but Haman so long as the property, however now\nincreased in value for building sites or other material advantage to\nthe \"money-changers,\" is devoted, as the report in question expressly\nadmits, to the cause of education--of the education of \"the children\nwhose poverty prevented them from attending the public schools for\nwant of clothing, and in many cases even of food\"--as we are told\nin the following extract from the last published _Report_ of the\nBoard of Public Instruction (city of New York) for 1871 (page 14):\n\"It will be seen from the preceding statement\" (showing the average\nattendance at the schools under the jurisdiction of the Board to be,\nfor 1871, 103,481, and in 1870, 103,824) \"that the attendance at the\npublic schools has not increased, which is readily explained by the\nfact that many benevolent and charitable institutions have entered the\neducational field. In these institutions the children whose poverty\nprevented them from attending the public schools for want of clothing,\nand in many cases even of food, are provided for.\"\n\nIn the same pamphlet from which we have quoted is also another\n\"Document,\" designated \"No. 4,\" embodying what purports to be a\nreport made to the \"State Council of Political Reform\" in 1870 by\n\"the Committee on Endowment and Support by the State of Sectarian\nInstitutions.\" This \"report\" contains, among other quotations from\nAristotle, Washington, Jay, De Witt Clinton, Chancellor Kent, Milton,\nLord Brougham, Guizot, and Horace Mann, many of which are so generally\nknown and accepted as to have become truisms, one notable extract\nfrom Thomas Jefferson, which embodies very nearly all that Catholics\ndesire and are contending for. Jefferson says: \"A system of general\ninstruction which shall reach every description of our citizens from\nthe richest to the poorest ... give it to us in any shape.\" This is\nwhat _we_ ask. We make no war; we have no \"plan of attack\" upon the\npublic schools, as charged upon page 5 of this Document No. 4; our\nchief desire is simply that expressed in the words already quoted\nfrom Thomas Jefferson; and, with the \"sectarians,\" we deny that the\nsystem now in use is sufficiently \"general\" to accomplish the purpose\nintended, or that it can be called a general system while it excludes\nany class whose positive religious convictions must necessarily be\ndaily interfered with by what is called an \"unsectarian\" method of\ninstruction. We believe, as did the Puritan fathers, that a knowledge\nof and an obedience to the divine government are essential in fitting\neach child \"to be a citizen of a free and tolerant republic.\" We\nbelieve in our right to say how and by whom such knowledge shall be\ngiven and such obedience shall be taught, and we also believe that\nwe are quite as competent to determine our methods and to select\nour teachers as is any political party now in being or ever likely\nto be. We are quite as strongly opposed to the establishment of any\n\"state religion\" as this self-elected body of political reformers are\nor affect to be; and, to quote and apply to this body the words of\n\"Document No. 4,\" \"we cannot yield one jot or tittle of their demand,\nfor it involves a principle to us sacred and vital. It means the union\nof church and state.\" And we refer to history for the proof that the\nCatholic has never been a state church, but has been more frequently\nfound in antagonism to the civil power than in alliance with it; always\non the side of liberty and the rights of the people; shielding them\nfrom oppression, even to the deposing of unjust rulers; enforcing\ntheir rights, even to the extent of aiding to make war upon tyrants;\nand yet, despite this teaching of history, we are told (on page 8 of\nthe Document first referred to), under the pretence of saying why we\n\"make war upon the public schools,\" as follows: \"But a single sect\nis taught by its head, a foreign and despotic ecclesiastical prince,\nthat the civil authorities in a republic have not the right to direct\nand control the course of study, and the choice and appointment\nof teachers in the public schools, open alike to the youth of all\nclasses, but that this right belongs to the church.\" Now, this is\nmerely a specious falsehood. For, let us ask what is here meant by\n\"the civil authorities\"? Does the phrase mean \"the state,\" which, we\nare also told, is a better educator than the church; or does it mean\nthat aggregation of individuals, each being represented and having\nan equal voice, composing \"the state\"? If the latter is the meaning,\nwhat Catholic American denies the right or asserts it for \"the church\"\nexclusively? We are yet to meet him.\n\nCatholics, and others not Catholics, do deny that \"the state\" is the\nbest educator, to the exclusion of the church; and they do their\nbest to maintain the rights of minorities as against the tyranny of\nmajorities.\n\nThere are certain words and phrases used in this \"Document No. 4\"\nwhich we do not altogether like; as, for instance: \"The state a better\neducator than the church\"; for, in the light of certain events not\nlong since occurring here and in Washington, \"the state\" has come to\nbe used, and perhaps understood, in a sense of which we are somewhat\nsuspicious. The doctrine of \"centralization\" is slowly becoming\nsomething more than _theory_ with a certain class of politicians and\noffice-holders; and the words, \"the state,\" the \"civil authorities,\"\nand the \"government,\" are beginning to have an ominous ring in our ears.\n\nTo be sure, when we are told, in a somewhat dogmatic way, that \"the\nstate is a better educator than the church,\" we _may_ infer from the\ntext illustrating the dogma (page 8, Document No. 4) that in this\nconnection the state is manifest in the persons of the public-school\nauthorities, and that _they_ are a power in opposition to \"a sect\" or\nto \"sects.\" And when our public schools are \"open alike to youth of all\nclasses,\" of all creeds, and Catholics are fairly represented among\n\"school authorities,\" and are allowed an equal voice in direction and\ncontrol, and in the choice of teachers--in short, when they have their\nrights as component parts and members of \"the state,\" we shall probably\nhear no more about this \"war upon the public schools,\" but until then\nprobably this clamor for their rights will still be heard.\n\nAll this talk, however, about secularizing education means nothing more\nnor less than the divorcement of religion from all public education;\nand it remains to be seen how far the descendants and the heirs of that\npeople who asserted that liberty of conscience and freedom to worship\nGod (even in the school-room) meant something, and are paramount, will\ntolerate this \"new departure.\"\n\nThe Catholic barons of England wrung from King John at Runnymede the\nfamous _Magna Charta_, and the Catholic settlers of Maryland gave\nthe first constitution recognizing equal rights for all men; and the\n\"Church of Rome,\" as a British Presbyterian writer has said, \"has\nalways been an 'independent, distinct, and often opposing power'; and\nthat civil liberty is closely connected with religious liberty--with\nthe church being independent of the state.\" Every school-boy might and\nought to be taught these and other like facts, for history mentions\nthem; and the assailants of the Catholic Church ought to be ashamed to\nignore or deny them. And yet such ignorance and such denials are the\ncapital in trade of the bigots and the fanatics who fear and affect to\nsee in the spread of Catholicism a menace to our liberties.\n\nOn page 5 of this \"Document No. 4\" we are told that \"the moment the\nstate takes under its protection any church, by appropriating public\nmoney or property to the uses or support of that church, or the\nteaching of its peculiar tenets or practices, it in that act, and to\nthat extent, unites church and state. The union of church and state, in\nall ages and in all countries, has led to oppression and bloodshed.\"\nNow, if this is not arrant nonsense, what is?\n\nThe practice of \"appropriating public money or property\" to churches,\nso called, is coeval with our national birth. And in this country\nchurch and state have, according to the logic of this statement,\nbeen very much united--very much married, like Brigham Young and his\nmultitudinous wives--and yet the \"oppression and bloodshed\" sure to\nfollow have not yet come upon us--in fact, \"churches\" and state have\nalways in this country been united, and we did not know it! Through\nwhat unknown dangers have we passed!\n\nThis \"Document No. 4\" is not honest in this kind of talk--the union of\nchurch and state means a form of religion established by law, and pains\nand penalties inflicted upon dissenters.\n\nNot a great many years ago, in Prussia, of which we hear so much upon\nthe \"educational question,\" by command of the king, the \"Prussian\nCalvinist and Lutheran, who had quarrelled for three hundred years\nabout the real presence and predestination, abandoned their disputes,\ndenied their faith, and became members of the 'Evangelical Church of\nPrussia'\"--a church whose simple creed is thus stated: \"Do ye believe\nin God? then must ye believe in Christ. Do ye believe in Christ? then\nmust ye believe in the king. He is our head on earth, and rules by the\norder of God. The king has appeared in the flesh in our native land!\"\nThis was a state religion--a union of church and state, and is about\nas likely to be established here as that the \"Document No. 4\" is to be\nadopted as a text-book in our public schools. This union of church and\nstate is about as sensible a cry, and quite as malignant, as the old\n\"No Jews, no wooden shoes!\" addressed to the mob in England, and is\nframed and uttered in the spirit of the same \"sectarian\" and bigoted\nhate.\n\nNow, one word as to \"secular education\"--there is no such thing, if\nGod's work is our work. If his glory requires the dedication of all the\npowers he has given us, it is preposterous to talk about an education\nfrom which he and his existence, and the knowledge of him and his\npurposes and laws, are excluded. We may endow, and send our children\nto colleges where no priest or clergyman shall ever come, and no\ncreed shall be taught or even mentioned, and call the education there\nreceived secular and unsectarian, as was intended to be done at the\n\"Girard College\" at Philadelphia, and yet we shall find the education\nunsatisfactory, and no \"state\" has yet adopted the plan.\n\nIn conclusion, we demand, in the language of the resolutions\n\"unanimously adopted\" and appended to the report in \"Document No.\n4,\" \"... free of cost, to every child in the state, a generous and\ntolerant education--such an education as qualifies him for the duties\nof citizenship\"; and, moreover, such an education as shall recognize\nand protect the first and most important of all the _rights_ of\ncitizenship--the right of conscience, which is grossly violated by the\nsystem of atheistical education.\n\n\n\n\nCHURCH POSTURES.\n\n\n    Ye would not sit at ease while meek men kneel\n    Did ye but see His face shine through the veil,\n    And the unearthly forms that round you steal\n    Hidden in beauteous light, splendent or pale\n    As the rich Service leads. And prostrate faith\n    Shroudeth her timorous eye, while through the air\n    Hovers and hangs the Spirit's cleansing Breath\n    In Whitsun shapes o'er each true worshipper.\n    Deep wreaths of angels, burning from the east,\n    Around the consecrated Shrine are traced,\n    The awful Stone where by fit hands are placed\n    The Flesh and Blood of the tremendous Feast,\n    But kneel--the priest upon the altar-stair\n    Will bring a blessing out of Sion there.\n\n                                              --_Faber._\n\n\n\n\nGRAPES AND THORNS\n\n\n                BY THE AUTHOR OF \"THE HOUSE OF YORKE.\"\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nSHADOWS AND LILIES.\n\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger came early to the rehearsal that evening, and, in his\nstately fashion, made himself unusually agreeable. There was, perhaps,\na very slight widening of the eyes, expressive of surprise, if not of\ndispleasure, when he saw Miss Ferrier's critics, but his salutation did\nnot lack any necessary courtesy. He did not lose his equanimity even\nwhen, later, while they were singing a fugue passage, a sonorous but\nstupid bass came in enthusiastically just one bar too soon.\n\n\"I am glad you chose to do that to-night instead of to-morrow night,\nsir,\" the director said quietly. \"Now we will try it again.\"\n\nAnd yet Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger was, in his profession, an object of terror\nto some of his pupils, and of scrupulous, if not anxious, attention\nto all; for not only did he possess notably that exalted musical\nsensitiveness which no true artist lacks, but he concealed under an\nhabitual self-control, and great exactness in the discharge of his\nduty, a fiery impatience of temper, and a hearty dislike for the\ndrudgery of his profession.\n\n\"If your doctrines regarding future punishments are true,\" he once said\nto F. Chevreuse, \"then the physical part of a musician's purgatory\nwill be to listen to discords striving after, but never attaining to,\nharmony, and his hell to hear sublime harmonies rent and distorted by\ndiscords. I never come so near believing in an embodied spirit of evil\nas when I hear a masterpiece of one of the great composers mangled by\na tyro. I haven't a doubt that Chopin or Schumann might be played so as\nto throw me into convulsions.\"\n\nAnd F. Chevreuse had answered after his kind: \"And your spiritual\npurgatory, sir, will be the recollection of those long years during\nwhich you have persisted in playing with one thumb, as a bleak monody,\nthat divine trio of which all the harmonies of the universe are but\nfaint echoes.\"\n\nNothing of this artistic irritability appeared to-night, as we have\nsaid. In its stead was a gentleness quite new in the musician's\ndemeanor, and so slight as to be like that first film of coming verdure\non the oak, when, some spring morning, one looks out and doubts whether\nit is a dimness of the eyes or the atmosphere, or a budding foliage\nwhich has set swimming those sharp outlines of branch and twig.\n\n\"He is really human,\" Annette whispered to Miss Pembroke; and Honora\nsmiled acquiescence, though she would scarcely have employed such\nan expression for her thought. She had already discovered in Mr.\nSch\u00f6ninger a very gentle humanity.\n\nLow as the whisper was, his ears caught it, and two sharp eyes,\nwatching him, saw an almost imperceptible tremor of the eyelids, which\nwas the only sign he gave. The owner of these eyes did not by any means\napprove of the manner in which their leader had given Miss Pembroke\nher music that evening, leaving the other ladies to be served as\nthey might; still less did she approve of the coldness with which her\nown coquettish demands on his attention had been met. It was scarcely\nworth while to submit to the drudgery of rehearsing, in a chorus too,\nif that was to be all the return. Rising carelessly, therefore, and\nallowing the sheet of music on her lap to fall unheeded to the floor,\nMiss Carthusen sauntered off toward where Miss Ferrier's two critics\nsat apart, talking busily, having, apparently, as she had anticipated,\nwritten their reports of the rehearsal before coming to it.\n\nThese critics were a formidable pair, for they criticised everybody\nand everything. One of them added to a man's sarcasm a woman's finer\nmalice, which pricks with the needlepoint. Dr. Porson was a tall,\naquiline-faced, choleric man, with sharp eyes that, looking through\na pair of clear and remarkably lustrous glasses, saw the chink in\neverybody's armor. Those who knew him would rather see lightning than\nmeet the flash of his glasses turned on them, and feel the probing\nglances that shot through, and thunder would have been music to their\nears compared to the short laugh that greeted a sinister discovery.\n\nThe other was Mr. Sales, the new editor of _The Aurora_, a little wasp\nof a man. He had twinkling black eyes that needed no lens to assist\ntheir vision, and a thin-lipped mouth with a slim black moustache\nhanging at either corner, like a strong pen-dash made with black ink.\nDr. Porson called them quotation-marks, and had a way of smoothing\nimaginary moustaches on his own clean-shaven face whenever the younger\nman said any very good thing without giving credit for it.\n\n\"A clever little eclectic,\" the doctor said of him. \"He pilfers with\nthe best taste in the world, and, with the innocence of a babe,\nbelieves everybody else to be original. He never writes anything worth\nreading but I want to congratulate him on his 'able scissors.' 'Able\nscissors' is not mine,\" the doctor added, \"but it is good. I found it\nin _Blackwood's_.\"\n\nThese two gentlemen had arrived early, and, seated apart, in a\nside-window of the long drawing-room, crunched the people between their\nteeth as they entered. Between the morsels, the doctor enlightened\nhis companion, a new-comer in the city, regarding Crichton and the\nCrichtonians.\n\n\"There's little Jones, the most irritating person I know,\" the doctor\nsaid. \"By what chance he should have that robust voice I cannot\nimagine. Sometimes I think it doesn't come out of his own throat, but\nthat he has a large ventriloquist whom he carries about with him. I\nshouldn't wonder if the fellow were now just outside that open sash.\nDid you see the way he marched past us, all dickey and boot-heels?\nA man who is but five feet high has no right to assume six-foot\nmanners; he has scarcely the right to exist at all among well-grown\npeople. Besides, they always wear large hats. Not but I respect a\nsmall stature in a clever person,\" he admitted, with a side glance\nat Mr. Sales' slight figure. \"We don't wish to have our diamonds by\nthe hundredweight. But common, pudding-stone men must be in imposing\nmasses, or we want them cleared away as _d\u00e9bris_.\"\n\n\"Is Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger a pudding-stone man?\" the young editor asked, when\nthat gentleman had passed them by.\n\nDr. Porson's face unconsciously dropped its mocking. \"If you should\nstrike Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger in any way,\" he said, \"you would find him\nflint. The only faults I see in the man are his excessive caution and\nsecretiveness. He is here, evidently, only to get all the money he\ncan, and, when he has enough, will wash his hands of us; therefore,\nwishes for no intimacies. That is my interpretation. He is a gentleman,\nhowever. A man must have the most perfect politeness of soul to salute\nMme. Ferrier as he did. While they were speaking together, she actually\nhad the air of a lady. See her look after him. It is an art which\nwe critics cannot learn, sir, that of setting people in their best\nlight. Of course it would spoil our trade if we did learn it; but,\nfor all that, we miss something. Sch\u00f6ninger is a Jew, to be sure, but\nthat signifies nothing. Each one to his taste. We no longer trouble\nourselves about people's faith. When you say that a man believes this\nor that, it's as though you said, he eats this or that. The world\nmoves. Why, sir, a few years ago, we wouldn't have spoken to a man who\nate frogs any more than to a cannibal; and now we are so fond of the\nlittle reptiles that there isn't a frog left to sing in the swamps.\"\n\n\"But,\" Mr. Sales objected, \"society has established certain rules--\"\nthen stopped, finding himself in deep water.\n\n\"Undoubtedly,\" the doctor replied, as gravely as though something had\nbeen said. \"The Flat-head Indians now, who seem to have understood the\nscience of phrenology, think it the proper thing to have a plateau on\nthe top of the head. Their reason is, probably, a moral rather than an\n\u00e6sthetic one. They know that the peaceful and placable qualities, those\nwhich impel a man to let go, are kept in little chambers in the front\ntop of the brain. They have other use for their attics. So they just\nclap a board on the baby's soft head, and press the space meant for\nsuch useless stuff as benevolence and reverence back, so as to increase\nthe storage for the noble qualities of firmness and self-esteem. That\nis one of the rules of their society; and I have always considered it a\nmost striking and beautiful instance of the proper employment of means\nto an end. There is a certain sublime and simple directness in it. No\ncircuitous, century-long labor of trying to square the fluid contents\nof a round vessel, but just a board on the head. That, sir, should be\nthe first step in evangelizing the heathen--shape their heads. When\nyou want a man to think in a certain way, put a strong pressure on\nhis contradictory bumps, and preach to him afterwards. That's what I\ntell our minister, Mr. Atherton. There he is now, that bald man with\nthe fair hair. He is a glorious base. His great-grandfather was a\nconceited Anglo-Saxon, and he's the fourth power of him. The reason why\nhe does not believe in the divinity of Christ is because he was not of\nAnglo-Saxon birth.\"\n\nHere, across the _pianissimo_ chorus which made the vocal accompaniment\nof an Alp-song, Miss Ferrier's brilliant voice flashed like lightning\nin clear, sharp zigzags, startling the two into silence.\n\n\"That wasn't bad,\" the doctor said when she ended.\n\nThe younger gentleman applauded with such enthusiasm that Annette\nblushed with pleasure. \"She needs but one thing to make her voice\nperfect,\" he said, \"and that is a great sorrow.\"\n\n\"Yes, as I was telling you some time ago,\" the doctor resumed, \"we are\na liberal and hospitable people in Crichton. We have no prejudices.\nEverybody is welcome, even the devil. We are \u00e6sthetic, too. We admire\nthe picturesque. We wouldn't object to seeing an interesting family\nof children shot with arrows, provided they would fall with a grace,\nand their mother would assume the true Niobe attitude. In literature,\ntoo, how we shine! We have reached the sublime of the superficial.\nThere's your Miss Carthusen, now, with her original poetry. How\nnicely she dished up that conceit of Montaigne's, that somebody is\npeculiar because he has no peculiarities. I've forgotten, it is so\nlong since I read him. I haven't looked over the new edition that\nthis poetess of ours has peeped into and fished a fancy out of. But\nyesterday I was charmed to see it scintillating, in rhymed lines, in\nthe Olympian corner of _The Aurora_, over the well-known signature of\n_Fleur-de-lis_.\"\n\nThe young man looked mortified. He had never read Montaigne, and had\nannounced this production as original and remarkable, firmly believing\nthe writer to be a genius. But he did not choose to tell Dr. Porson\nthat.\n\n\"What would you?\" he asked, raising his eyebrows and his voice in a\nphilosophical manner. \"I must fill the paper; and it is better to put\nin good thought at second-hand than flat originals. How many know the\ndifference?\"\n\nHere Annette's voice stopped them again.\n\n\"Strange that girl sings so well to-night,\" said the doctor, adjusting\nhis glasses for a clearer glance. \"She looks well, too. Must be the\ninspiration of her lover's presence. That's the kind of fellow, sir,\nthat a woman takes a fancy to--a pale, beautiful young man with a\nslouched hat and a secret sorrow, the sorrow usually having reference\nto the pocket.\"\n\nLawrence Gerald sat near his lady, and seemed to be absorbed in\nhis occupation of cutting a rosebud across in thin slices with his\npocket-knife, a proceeding his mother viewed with gentle distress.\nBut when the song was ended, he looked up at Annette and smiled,\nseeming to be rather proud of her. And, looking so, his eyes lingered\na little, expressing interest and a slight surprise, as if he beheld\nthere something worth looking at which he had not noticed before. Had\nhe cared to observe, he might have known already that Miss Ferrier had\nmoments of being beautiful. This was one of them.\n\nThere is a pain that looks like delight, when the heart bleeds into the\ncheeks, the lips part with a smile that does not touch the eyes, and\nthe eyes shine with a dazzling brilliancy that may well be mistaken for\njoyousness. With such feverish beauty Annette was radiant this evening,\nand the excitement of singing and of applause had added the last touch\nof brightness.\n\nThe programme for the concert was chiefly of popular music, or a kind\nof old-fashioned music they were making popular, part-songs and glees.\nThey had attained great finish and delicacy in executing these, and the\neffect was charming, and far preferable to operas and operatic airs as\nwe usually hear them. It would have been a bold woman who would have\nasked Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger's permission to sing a difficult _aria_. Annette\nhad once made such a request, but with indifferent success.\n\n\"Mademoiselle,\" the teacher replied, \"you have a better voice than\neither of the Pattis; but a voice is only a beginning. You must learn\nthe alphabet of music before you can read its poems. When you are ready\nto be a Norma, I will resign you to some teacher who knows more than I\ndo.\"\n\nThe singing was at an end, and the singers left their seats and\nwandered about the house and garden. Only Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger lingered by\nthe piano, and, seeing him still there, no one went far away, those\noutside leaning in at the window.\n\nHe seated himself presently, and played a Polonaise. He sat far back,\nalmost at arm's length from the keys, and, as he touched it, the\ninstrument seemed to possess an immortal soul. One knew not which most\nto admire, the power that made a single piano sound like an orchestra,\nor the delicacy that produced strains fine and clear like horns of\nfairyland.\n\nWhen he had finished, he went to ask Mrs. Gerald how the singing had\ngone.\n\n\"I observed that you listened,\" he remarked, being within Dr. Porson's\nhearing.\n\nMrs. Gerald had been sitting for the last half-hour beside Mrs.\nFerrier, and the time had been penitential, as all her intercourse with\nAnnette's mother was. It was hard for a fond mother and a sensitive\nlady to listen to such indelicate complaints and insinuations as Mrs.\nFerrier was constantly addressing to her when they were together\nwithout uttering any sharp word in return. To be reminded that Lawrence\nwas making a very advantageous marriage without retorting that she\nwould be far more happy to see him the husband of Honora Pembroke,\nrequired an effort; and to restrain the quick flash, or the angry tears\nin her fiery Celtic heart when she heard him undervalued, was almost\nmore than she could do. But she had conquered herself for God's sake\nand for her son's sake, perhaps a little for pride's sake, had given\nthe soft answer when she could, and remained silent when speech seemed\ntoo great an effort.\n\nThat coarse insolence of mere money to refined poverty, and the\nmistaking equality before the law for personal equality, are at any\ntime sufficiently offensive; how much more so when the victim is in\nsome measure in the tormentor's power.\n\nMrs. Gerald's face showed how severe the trial had been. Her blue eyes\nhad the unsteady lustre of a dew that dared not gather into tears, a\npainful smile trembled on her lips, and her cheeks were scarlet. Had\nshe been at liberty, this lady could perfectly well have known how to\nignore or reprove impertinence without ruffling her smooth brow or\nlosing her tranquil manner; but she was not free, and the restraint was\nagitating. This rude woman's rudest insinuation was but truth, and she\nmust bear it. Yet, mother-like, she never thought of reproaching her\nson for what she suffered.\n\n\"I never heard music I liked so well,\" she said to Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger's\nquestion. \"We are under obligation to you for giving us what we can\nunderstand. The composition you have just played delighted me, too,\nthough it is probable that I do not at all appreciate its beauties. It\nmade me think of fairies dancing in a ring.\"\n\n\"It was a dance-tune,\" Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger said, pleased that she had\nperceived the thought; for it required a fine and sympathetic ear to\ndiscern the step in that capricious movement of Chopin's.\n\nThe fact that he was a Jew had prevented her looking on this man with\nany interest, or feeling it possible that any friendship could exist\nbetween them; but the thought passed her mind, as he spoke, that Mr.\nSch\u00f6ninger might be a very amiable person if he chose. There was a\ndelicate and reserved sweetness in that faint smile of his which\nreminded her of some expression she had seen on Honora's face, when she\nwas conversing with a gentleman who had the good fortune to please her.\n\nMeantime, Lawrence had been having a little dispute with Annette.\n\"What's this about the wine?\" he whispered to her. \"John says there\nisn't any to be had.\"\n\nHe looked astonished, and with reason, for the fault of the Ferrier\nentertainments had always been their profusion.\n\n\"I meant to have told you that I had concluded not to have wine,\"\nshe said. \"Two gentlemen present are intemperate men, who make their\nfamilies very unhappy, and when they begin to drink they do not know\nwhere to stop. The last time Mr. Lane was here he became really quite\nunsteady before he went away.\"\n\n\"But the others!\" Lawrence exclaimed. \"What will they think?\"\n\n\"They may understand just why it is,\" she replied; \"and they may not\nthink anything about it. I should not imagine that they need occupy\ntheir minds very long with the subject.\"\n\n\"Why, you must know, Annette, that some of them come here for nothing\nbut the supper, and chiefly the wine,\" the young man urged unguardedly.\n\nShe drew up slightly. \"So I have heard, Lawrence; and I wish to\ndiscourage such visitors' coming. People who are in the devouring mood\nshould not go visiting; they are disagreeable. I have never seen in\ncompany that liveliness which comes after supper without a feeling of\ndisgust. It may not go beyond proper bounds, but still it is a greater\nor less degree of intoxication. I have provided everything I could\nthink of for their refreshment and cheering, but nothing to make\nthem tipsy. I gave you a good reason at first, Lawrence, and I have a\nbetter. My father died of liquor, and my brother is becoming a slave to\nit. I will help to make no drunkards.\"\n\n\"Well,\" the young man sighed resignedly, \"you mean well; but I can't\nhelp thinking you a little quixotic.\"\n\n\"The Ferriers are giving us _eau sucr\u00e9e_ instead of wine to-night,\"\nsneered one of the company to Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger, a while after.\n\n\"They show good taste in doing so,\" he replied coldly. \"There are\nalways bar-rooms and drinking-saloons enough for those who are addicted\nto drink. I never wish to take wine from the hand of a lady, nor to\ndrink it in her presence.\"\n\nThe night was brilliantly full-moonlighted, and so warm that they had\nlit as little gas as possible. A soft glow from the upper floor, and\nthe bright doors of the drawing-room, made the hall chandelier useless.\nMiss Ferrier's new organ there was flooded with a silvery radiance that\npoured through a window. Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger came out and seated himself\nbefore it.\n\n\"Shall I play a fugue of Bach's?\" he asked of Miss Pembroke, who was\nstanding in the open door leading to the garden.\n\nShe took a step toward him, into the shadow between moonlight of window\nand door, and the light seemed to follow her, lingering in her fair\nface and her white dress. Even the waxen jasmine blossoms in her hair\nappeared to be luminous.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"if you are to play only once more; but, if more\nthan once, let that be last. I never lose the sound and motion of one\nof Bach's fugues till I have slept; and I like to keep the murmur it\nleaves, as if my ears were sea-shells.\"\n\nShe went back to stand in the door, but, after a few minutes, stepped\nsoftly and slowly further away, and passed by the drawing-room doors,\nthrough which she saw Annette talking with animation and many gestures,\nwhile her two critics listened and nodded occasional acquiescence,\nand Lawrence withdrawn to a window-seat with Miss Carthusen, and Mrs.\nFerrier the centre of a group of young people, who listened to her\nwith ill-concealed smiles of amusement. At length she found the place\nshe wanted, an arm-chair under the front portico, and, seated there,\ngathered up that strong, wilful rush of harmony as a whole. It did not\nseem to have ceased when Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger joined her. She was so full of\nthe echoes of his music that for a moment she looked at him standing\nbeside her as if it had been his wraith.\n\nHe pointed silently and smiling to the corner of the veranda visible\nfrom where they sat. It was on the shady side of the house, and still\nfurther screened by vines, and the half-drawn curtains of the window\nlooking into it allowed but a single beam of gaslight to escape.\nIn that nook were gathered half a dozen children, peeping into the\ndrawing-room. They were as silent as the shadows in which they lurked,\nand their bare feet had given no notice of their coming. Their bodies\nwere almost invisible, but their eager little faces shone in the red\nlight, and now and then a small hand was lifted into sight.\n\n\"It reminds me,\" he said, \"of a passage in the Koran, where Mahomet\ndeclares that it had been revealed to him that a company of genii had\nlistened while he was reading a chapter, and that one of them had\nremarked: 'Verily, we have heard a most admirable discourse.' That\namused me; and I fancied that an effective picture might be made of\nit: the prophet reading at night by the light of an antique lamp that\nshone purely on his solemn face and beard, and his green robe, with,\nperhaps, the pet cat curled round on the sleeve. The casement should be\nopen wide, and crowded with a multitude of yearning, exquisite faces,\nthe lips parted with the intensity of their listening. As I came along\nthe hall just now, I saw one of those children through the window, and\nin that light it looked like a cameo cut in pink coral.\"\n\n\"I fancy they are some of my children,\" Miss Pembroke said, and rose.\n\"Let us see. They ought not to be out so late, nor to intrude.\"\n\n\"Oh! spare the poor little wretches,\" Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger said laughingly,\nas she took his arm. \"We find this commonplace enough, but to them it\nis wonderful. I think we might be tempted to trespass a little if we\ncould get a peep into veritable fairyland. This is to them fairyland.\"\n\n\"That anything is a strong temptation is no excuse for yielding,\" the\nlady said in a playful tone that took away any appearance of reproof\nfrom her words. \"We do not go into battle in order to surrender without\na struggle, nor to surrender at all, but to become heroes. I must teach\nmy little ones to have heroic thoughts.\"\n\nThe children, engrossed in the bright scene within, did not perceive\nany approach from without till all retreat was cut off for them, and\nthey turned, with startled faces, to find themselves confronted by a\ntall gentleman, on whose arm leaned a lady whom they looked up to with\na tender but reverent love.\n\nThese children were of a class accustomed to a word and a blow, and\ntheir instinctive motion was to shrink back into a corner, and hide\ntheir faces.\n\n\"I am sorry to see you here, my dears,\" she said. \"Please go home now,\nlike good children.\"\n\nThat was her way of reproving.\n\nShe stood aside, and the little vagabonds shied out past her, each one\ntrying to hide his face, and scampering off on soundless feet as soon\nas he had reached the ground.\n\n\"So you have a school?\" Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger asked, as they went round\nthrough the garden.\n\nThey came out into the moonlight, and approached the rear of the house,\nwhere a number of the company were gathered, standing among the flowers.\n\n\"Yes, I have fifty, or more, of these little ones, and I find it\ninteresting. They were in danger of growing up in the street, and I\nhad nothing else to do--that is, nothing that seemed so plain a duty.\nSo I took the largest room in an old house of mine just verging on the\nregion where these children live, and have them come there every day.\"\n\n\"You must find teaching laborious,\" the gentleman said.\n\n\"Oh! no. I am strong and healthy, and I do not fatigue myself nor them.\nThe whole is free to them, of course, and I am responsible to no one,\ntherefore can instruct or amuse them in my own way. As far as possible,\nI wish to supply the incompetency of their mothers. If I give the\nlittle ones a happy hour, during which they behave properly, and teach\nthem one thing, I am satisfied. One of the branches I try to instruct\nthem in is neatness. No soiled face is allowed to speak to me, nor\nsoiled hands to touch me. Then they sing and read, and learn prayers\nand a little doctrine, and I tell them stories. When the Christian\nBrothers and the Sisters of Notre Dame come, my occupation will of\ncourse be gone.\"\n\n\"I wish I might some time be allowed to visit this school of yours,\"\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger said hesitatingly. \"I could give them a singing-lesson,\nand tell them a story. Little Rose Tracy likes my stories.\"\n\nMiss Pembroke was thoughtful a moment, then consented. She had\nwitnessed with approval Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger's treatment of Miss Carthusen\nthat evening, and respected him for it. \"The day after to-morrow, in\nthe afternoon, would be a good time,\" she said. \"It is to be a sort of\nholiday, on account of the firemen's procession. The procession passes\nthe school-room, and I have promised the children that they shall watch\nit.\"\n\nThey went in to take leave, for the company was breaking up.\n\n\"Oh! by the way, Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger,\" Annette said, recollecting, \"did you\nget the shawl you left here at the last rehearsal? It was thrown on a\ngarden-seat, and forgotten.\"\n\n\"Yes; I stepped in early the next morning, and took it,\" he said. His\ncountenance changed slightly as he spoke. The eyelids drooped, and his\nwhole air expressed reserve.\n\n\"The next morning!\" she repeated to herself, but said nothing.\n\nLawrence went off with Miss Carthusen; and as Mrs. Gerald and Honora\nwent out at the same time with Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger, he asked permission to\naccompany them.\n\n\"How lovely the night is!\" Mrs. Gerald murmured, as they walked quietly\nalong under the trees of the avenue, and saw all the beautiful city\nbathed in moonlight, and ringed about with mountains like a wall.\n\"Heaven can scarcely have a greater physical beauty than earth has\nsometimes.\"\n\n\"I do not think,\" the gentleman said, \"that heaven will be so much more\nbeautiful than earth, but our eyes will be opened to see the beauties\nthat exist.\"\n\nHe spoke very quietly, with an air of weariness or depression; and,\nwhen they reached home, bowed his good-night without speaking.\n\nThe two ladies stood a moment in the door, looking out over the town.\n\"If that man were not a Jew, I should find him agreeable,\" Mrs. Gerald\nsaid. \"As it is, it seems odd that we should see so much of him.\"\n\n\"I am inclined to believe,\" Honora said slowly, \"that it is not right\nfor us to refuse a friendly intercourse with suitable associates on\naccount of any difference of religion, unless they intrude on us a\nbelief or disbelief which we hold to be sacrilegious.\"\n\n\"Could you love a Jew?\" Mrs. Gerald asked, rather abruptly.\n\nHonora considered the matter a little while. \"Our Lord loved them,\neven those who crucified him. I could love them. Besides, I do not\nbelieve that the Jews of to-day would practise violence any more than\nChristians would. We are friendly with Unitarians, yet they are not\nvery different from some Jews. I think we should love everybody but\nthe eternally lost. I could more easily become attached to an upright\nand conscientious Jew, than to a Catholic who did not practise his\nreligion.\"\n\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger, as soon as he had left the ladies, mended his pace, and\nstrode off rapidly down the hill. In a few minutes he had reached a\nlighted railroad station, where people were going to and fro.\n\n\"Just in time!\" he muttered, and ran to catch a train that was\nbeginning to slip over the track. Grasping the hand-rail, he drew\nhimself on to the step of the last car, then walked through the other\ncars, and, finally, took his seat in that next the engine. Once a week\nhe gave lessons in a town fifteen miles from Crichton, and he usually\nfound it more agreeable to take the night train down than to go in the\nmorning.\n\nIn selecting this car he had hoped to be alone; but he had hardly taken\nhis seat when he heard a step following him, and another man appeared\nand went into the seat in front of him--an insignificant-looking\nperson, with a mean face. He turned about, put his feet on the seat,\nstretched his arm along the back, and, assuming an insinuating smile,\nbade Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger good evening. He had, apparently, settled himself\nfor a long conversation.\n\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger's habits were those of a scrupulous gentleman, and he\nhad, even among gentlemen, the charming distinction of always keeping\nhis feet on the floor. This man's manners were, therefore, in more than\none way offensive, and his salutation received no more encouraging\nreply than a stare, and a scarcely perceptible inclination of the head.\n\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger seemed, indeed, to regret even this slight concession,\nfor he rose immediately with an air of decision, and walked forward to\nthe first seat. The door of the car was open there as they rushed on\nthrough the darkness, and, looking forward, it was like beholding the\nhalf-veiled entrance of a cavern of fire. A cloud of illuminated smoke\nand steam swept about and enveloped the engine with a bright atmosphere\nimpenetrable to the sight, and through this loomed the gigantic shadow\nof a man. This shadow sometimes disappeared for a moment only to appear\nagain, and seemed to make threatening gestures, and to catch and press\ndown into the flames some unseen adversary. Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger's fancy was\nwide awake, though his eyes were half asleep, and this strange object\nbecame to him an object of terror. Painful and anxious thoughts, which\nhe had resolutely put away, left yet a dim and mysterious background,\non which this grotesque figure, gigantic and wrapped in fire, was\nthrown in strong relief. He imagined it an impending doom, which might\nat any moment fall upon him.\n\nFinding these fancies intolerable at length, he shook himself wide\nawake, rose, and walked unsteadily up and down the car. In doing so,\nhe perceived that his fellow-passenger had retreated to the last seat,\nand was, apparently, sleeping, his cap drawn low over his forehead. But\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger's glance detected a slight change in the position of the\nhead as he commenced his promenade, and he could not divest himself of\nthe belief that, from under the low hat-brim, a glance as sharp as his\nown was following his every movement.\n\nIn an ordinary and healthy mood of mind he would have cared little for\nsuch espionage; but he was not in such a mood. Circumstances had of\nlate tried his nerves, and it required all his power of self-control\nto maintain a composed exterior. Did this man suspect his trouble, and\nsearch for, or, perhaps, divine, or, possibly, know the cause of it?\nHe would gladly have caught the fellow in his arms, and thrown him\nheadlong into the outer darkness.\n\nHe returned to his place, and, leaning close to the window, looked out\ninto the night. If he had hoped to quiet himself by the sight of a\nfamiliar nature, he was disappointed, for the scene had a weird, though\noccasionally beautiful aspect, very unlike reality. The moon had set,\nleaving that darkness which follows a bright moonlight, or precedes\nthe dawn of day, when the stars seem to be confounded by the near yet\ninvisible radiance of their conqueror, and dare not shine with their\nown full lustre. Only this locomotive, dashing through the heart of\nthe night, rendered visible a flying panorama. Groves of trees twirled\nround, surprised in some mystic dance; streams flashed out in all\ntheir windings, red and serpent-like, and hid themselves as suddenly;\nwide plains swam past, all a blur, with hills and mountains stumbling\nagainst the horizon. Only one spot had even a hint of familiarity.\nFramed round by a great semi-circle of woods, not many rods from the\ntrack, was a long, narrow pond, with a few acres of smooth green beyond\nit, and a white cottage close to its farthest shore. This little scene\nwas as perfectly secluded, apparently, as if it had been in the midst\nof a continent otherwise uninhabited. No road nor neighboring house was\nvisible from the railroad. The dwellers in that cottage seemed to be\nsolitary and remote, knowing nothing of the wide, busy world save what\nthey saw from their vine-draped windows when the long, noisy train,\ncrowded with strangers, hurried past them, never stopping. What web\nthat clattering shuttle wove they might wonder, but could not know,\ncould scarcely care as they dreamed their lives away, lotos-eating. For\nthe lotos was not wanting.\n\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger recollected his first glimpse of that place as he had\nwhirled past one summer morning, and swiftly now he caught the scene\nbetween his eyelids, and closed them on it, and dreamed over it. He\nsaw the varied green of the forest, and the velvet green of the banks,\nand the blue and brooding sky. Like a sylvan nymph the cottage stood\nin its draping vines, and tried to catch glimpses of itself in the\nglassy waters at its feet, half smothered in drifting fragrant snow of\nwater-lilies.\n\nWhat sort of being should come forth from that dwelling of peace? Mr.\nSch\u00f6ninger asked himself. Who should stretch out hands to him, and draw\nhim out of his troubled life, approaching now a climax he shrank from?\nHis heart rose and beat quickly. The door under the vines swung slowly\nback, and a woman floated out over the green, as silent and as gracious\nas a cloud over the blue above. The drapery fluttered back from her\nadvancing foot till it reached the first shining ripple of the pond,\nand then she paused--a presence so warm and living that it quickened\nhis breathing. She stretched her strong white arms out toward him over\nthe lilies she would not cross, and the face was Honora Pembroke's.\nThe large, calm look, the earnest glow that saved from coldness,\nthe full humanity steeped through and shone through by spiritual\nloveliness--they were all hers.\n\nHe started, and opened his eyes. Their pace was slackening, the great\nblack figure in its fiery atmosphere was in some spasm of motion, and\nwalls of brick and stone were shutting them in.\n\nThe cars stopped at the foot of an immense flight of stairs that\nstretched upward indefinitely, a dingy Jacob's ladder, without the\nangels. Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger slowly ascended them, heavyhearted again, and\ntherefore heavy-footed; and, not far behind, a man with a skulking\nstep and a mean face followed after. There was nothing very mysterious\nin this walk. It led merely through a deserted business street, by\nthe shortest route, to a respectable hotel. Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger called for\na room, and went to it immediately; the little man lingered in the\noffice, and hung about the desk.\n\n\"That gentleman comes down here pretty often in the night, doesn't he?\"\nhe asked of the clerk.\n\nThe man nodded, without looking up.\n\n\"Does he always record his name when he comes?\" pursued the questioner.\n\n\"Can't say,\" was the short answer, still without looking up.\n\n\"Comes down every Wednesday night, I suppose?\" remarked the stranger.\n\nThe clerk suddenly thrust his face past the corner of the desk behind\nwhich his catechiser stood. \"Look here, sir, what name shall I put down\nfor you?\" he asked sharply.\n\nThe man drew back a little, and turned away. \"I'm not sure of booking\nmyself here,\" he replied.\n\nThe clerk came down promptly from his perch. \"Then it's time to lock\nup,\" he said.\n\nAnd when he had locked the door, and pulled down the curtains, with a\nsnap that threatened to break their fastenings, he put his hands in his\npockets, and made a short and emphatic address to an imaginary audience.\n\n\"I don't believe there is any redemption for spies,\" he said; \"and I\nwould rather have a thief in my house than a sneak. You sometimes hear\nof a criminal who repents; but nobody ever yet heard of one of your\nprying, peeping, tattling sort reforming.\"\n\nThere being no other person present, no one contradicted him, a\ncircumstance which seemed to increase the strength of his convictions.\nHe paced the room two or three times, then returned to his first stand,\nremoving his hands from his pockets to clasp them behind his back, as\nbeing a more dignified attitude for a speaker.\n\n\"If I had my will,\" he pursued, \"every nose that poked itself into\nother people's affairs would be cut off.\"\n\nBravo! Mr. Clerk. You have sense. But if you had also that sanguinary\nwish of yours, what a number of mutilated visages would be going about\nthe world! How many feminine faces would be shorn of their _retrouss\u00e9_,\nor long, rooting feature, or clawing, parrot beak, and how many men\nwould be incapacitated for taking snuff!\n\nHaving delivered himself of his rather extreme opinion, this excellent\nman shut up the house and retired.\n\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger looked forward with interest to his promised visit to\nMiss Pembroke's school, and was so anxious that she should not by any\nforgetfulness or change of plan deprive him of it, that he reminded her\nas they came out of the hall, after their concert, of the permission\nshe had given him for the next afternoon.\n\n\"Certainly!\" she replied smiling. \"But how can you think of such a\ntrifle after the grand success of this evening?\"\n\nFor their concert had been a perfect success, and Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger\nhimself had been applauded with such enthusiasm as had pleased even\nhim. It was the first time he had played in public in Crichton, and,\nrespectable as he held their musical taste to be, he had not been\nprepared to see so ready an appreciation of the higher order of\ninstrumental music.\n\n\"I never saw a more appreciative audience,\" he said. \"They applauded\nat the right places, and it was a well-bred applause. How delicate was\nthat little whisper of a clapping during the prelude! It was like the\nfaint rustling of leaves in a summer wind, and so soft that not a note\nwas lost. I have never seen so nearly perfect an audience in any other\ncity in this country.\"\n\n\"Do not we always tell you that Crichton is the most charming city in\nthe world?\" laughed Annette Ferrier, who had caught his last remark.\n\nShe was passing him, accompanied by Lawrence Gerald. Her face was\nbright with excitement, and the glistening of her ornaments and her\ngauzy robe through the black lace mantle that covered her from head to\nfoot gave her the look of a butterfly caught in a web. She had sung\nbrilliantly, dividing the honors of the evening with Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger,\nand Lawrence, finding her admired by others, was gallant to her\nhimself. On the whole, she was radiant with delight.\n\n\"Do not expect too much of my little ones,\" Miss Pembroke said,\nrecurring to the proposed visit. \"Recollect, they are all poor, and\nthey have had but little instruction.\"\n\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger did not tell her that his interest was in her more than\nin the children, and that he desired to see how she would conduct\nherself in such circumstances rather than take any note of the persons\nand acquirements of her pupils. To his mind it was very strange that\na lady of her refinement should wish to assume such a work without\nnecessity. His conception of the character of teachers of children\nwas not flattering; he thought a certain vulgarity inseparable from\nsuch persons, a positiveness of speech, an oracular tone of voice, and\nan authoritative air, which the employment conferred on successful\nteachers, if it did not find them already possessed of. It amused him\nto fancy these fifty children swarming about Miss Pembroke, like ants\nabout a lily, and it annoyed him to think that she might receive some\nstain from them.\n\n\"I like ladies to be charitable,\" he said to himself, as he went\nhomeward; \"but there are kinds of rough work I would prefer they should\ndelegate to others.\"\n\nHe was thinking of the physical part of the work; Honora of the\nspiritual.\n\nThe school-room was the lower floor of a house at the corner of two\nstreets, and had been used as a shop, the two wide show-windows at\neither side of the door giving a full light. The upper floors were\noccupied as a dwelling-house. These windows looked out on a wide and\nrespectable street; but the cross street, beginning fairly enough,\ndeteriorated as it went on toward the Saranac, through the poorest\nsection of the city, and ended in shanties and a dingy wharf where\nlobsters were perpetually being boiled in large kettles in dingy boats,\nand crowds of ragged children seemed to be always hanging about,\nsucking lobster-claws, or on the watch for them. Miss Pembroke's charge\nwere from this class of children, and one of her great difficulties was\nto keep her school-room from having the fixed odor of a fish-market.\n\nThe room was severely clean and spotless, and, but that the side-walls\nwere nearly covered with maps, bookcases, and blackboards, would have\nbeen glaring white; for the walls and ceiling were white-washed, the\nwood-work painted white, and the floor scoured white. Two rows of\noak-colored benches extended across the room, the backs toward the\nwindows. The sun shone in unobstructed all the afternoon. Only when it\nbegan to touch the last row of benches were the green worsted curtains\ndrawn down far enough to keep it within bounds. Miss Pembroke's chair,\ntable, and piano were in the space opposite the door. On the centre of\nthe wall behind her hung a large crucifix, and on a bracket beneath\nit a marble Child Jesus stretched out his arms to the little ones. On\nlarger brackets to right and left stood an Immaculate Lady and a S.\nJoseph. They were thus in the midst of the Holy Family.\n\nThese images were constantly surrounded by wreaths, arches, and\nflowers, so that the end of the room had quite the appearance of a\nbower; and on all his festivals, and whenever prayers were said, a\ncandle was lighted before the Infant Jesus, who was the patron of their\nschool, and the dearest object of their childish devotion. It was\ndelightful to them to know that they need not always approach their\nGod in the language, to them, often inexplicable, of the mature and\nthe learned, but that they could whisper their ingenuous petitions\nand praises into the indulgent ear of a holy Child, using their own\nlanguage, and asking him to be their interpreter. S. Joseph with the\nlily and the white Lady with her folded hands they worshipped with awe;\nbut they were not afraid of the dear Infant who stretched out his arms\nto them.\n\nFifty little faces, all brown, but otherwise various, looked straight\nat their teacher--blue eyes and brown eyes, black eyes and grey, large\neyes and small eyes, bright and dull eyes; and fifty young souls were\nat that instant occupied with one thought. The first faint thrilling of\nthe silence with martial music was heard, and they were eager to take\ntheir places to see the advancing procession. But Miss Pembroke waited\nstill. She had told Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger to come at three o'clock, and it\nlacked five minutes of that. Just as she was thinking that she would\ngive him two minutes' grace, he appeared.\n\nShe went at once to place the children, and he watched with a smile\nof pleasure and amusement the soldierly precision of the performance.\nThe door was opened wide, and two of the largest boys carried out\nand placed a bench near the edge of the upper step. At the motion of\na finger, the smallest boys filed out and seated themselves on this\nbench, and an equal number of larger ones stood behind keeping guard.\nThen the door was closed. At the next silent gesture the smallest\nof the boys and girls remaining seated themselves in the low, broad\nledge of the windows, the next size placed a bench across each window\nrecess for themselves, and the largest again stood behind the benches.\nNot a word had been spoken, not a child had turned its head, not the\nslightest noise nor confusion had occurred, and all were perfectly well\nplaced to see.\n\n\"What admirable order!\" the gentleman exclaimed. \"You must have drilled\nthem thoroughly.\"\n\n\"It did not seem to me wasting time,\" Miss Pembroke replied. \"I wish\nto impress on them the necessity of a decorous and reserved manner in\npublic. They are too prone to presume, and be more than ordinarily\nlawless on such occasions. Besides, it teaches them self-control.\"\n\nThe two sat back at a little distance. The children began to stretch\ntheir heads forward, and whisper exclamations to each other. The air\nresounded with martial sounds, and a solid front of superb grey horses\nappeared, well-caparisoned and well-ridden, the full crimped manes\ntossed over their arching necks. Behind them another and another line\npressed, making a living wall.\n\n\"I think one feels the influence of such a mass of strong life and\ncourage,\" Miss Pembroke remarked. \"It seems to me it would invigorate a\nweak person to be near those horses.\"\n\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger had been thinking nearly the same thing. \"I have fancied\nit not unlikely,\" he said, \"that in a bold cavalry charge the horses\nmay help to inspire the riders. The neighborhood of strong animal life\nis, no doubt, invigorating. It would be fine to stand face to face with\na herd of wild cattle, if they could be surely stopped in mid-career,\nto feel the air stirring with their breaths, and see their eyes glaring\nthrough heaps of rough mane. There would be something electrical in\nit, as there is in a crowd of men; and in both cases it is a merely\nphysical excitement.\"\n\n\"But a crowd of men may be electrified by some great thought,\"\nsuggested Honora.\n\n\"Not unless each had the thought in his single mind before, either\nlatent or conscious. I do not believe that any crowd or excitement,\nhowever immense, can put a great thought into a little soul. I can\nnever act with an excited crowd, can hardly look at one with respect.\"\nHis lip expressed contempt. \"It is true that an eloquent leader may\nhave the power of inciting people to some good deed; but even so, they\nare only a machine which he works. Great thoughts are not vociferous.\nThey float in air, with no sound, unless it is the sound of wings.\"\n\nHonora checked the words that rose to her lips so suddenly that a deep\nblush bathed her face. She had been thinking of the crowd that roared\n\"Crucify him!\" and had recollected only just in time that they were\nthis man's remote ancestors. But she recollected also that it was to\nhim as original sin was to her, an hereditary, but not a personal,\nstain, and that baptism could wash both away. Her charity began at\nhome, in the great Christian family, but it stayed not there: it\noverflowed to all living creatures.\n\n\"I have almost an enthusiasm for firemen,\" she said hastily. \"They\nsometimes perform such wonders, and run such terrible risks for\nscarcely a reward. Unlike soldiers, they save without destroying\nanything. How beautiful their engines are!\"\n\nThe procession was a long and very brilliant one, and the companies\nhad vied with each other in decoration. The engines shone as if made\nof burnished gold and silver, and wreaths and bouquets of green and\nflowers decked them.\n\n\"These processions, more than any others I have seen, remind me of\ndescriptions of pageants in the old time,\" remarked Honora, when they\nhad been silent a while. \"There is so much show and glitter in them,\nand the costumes are so gay. How I would like to be transported back to\nthat time for one year!\"\n\nHer thoughts had taken a flight between the first and last words, and\nshe was thinking of medi\u00e6val religion, with its untroubled faith and\nits fiery zeal.\n\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger did not share her enthusiasm. Those had been bitter days\nfor his people, and perhaps he was thinking so.\n\n\"I imagine you would ask to be transported back again before the year\nwas over,\" he said quietly. \"Those times look very picturesque at\nthis distance, with their Rembrandt shading. But there was no more\nheroism then than there is to-day. I far prefer the hero of to-day. He\nis a better bred man, not so blatant as the medi\u00e6val. It seems to me\nthat the admirers of that time are chiefly the poets, who sacrifice\neverything to the picturesque; ambitious men, who covet power;\nand--pardon me!--devout ladies who have been captivated by legends\nof the saints, and stories of ecclesiastical pageantry, but who take\nlittle thought for humanity at large.\"\n\n\"But in those days,\" said Miss Pembroke, \"men had some respect for\nauthority and law, and now they despise it.\"\n\n\"It is the fault of authority if it is despised,\" Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger\nreplied with decision. \"License is the inevitable reaction from\ntyranny, and is in proportion to it. So long as man retains any vestige\nof the image of the Creator, tyranny will always, in time, produce\nrebels. The world is now inebriated with freedom; let those whose abuse\nof authority created this burning thirst share the opprobrium of its\nexcesses. Some day the equilibrium will be found. We cannot force it;\nit is a question of growth; but we can help. You are helping it,\" he\nadded, smiling.\n\n\"What you have said sounds just,\" she replied, thoughtfully; \"and I\nlike justice. Perhaps the abuse of legitimate authority is a greater\nsin than rebellion against it, since the ruler should be wiser and\nbetter than the ruled.\"\n\nThey were again silent awhile, the gentleman hesitating whether to\nspeak his thought, and finally speaking.\n\n\"Trust one who has studied the world well,\" he said earnestly. \"Instead\nof being determined not to believe, mankind at this time is longing to\nbelieve. But it is determined not to be duped. The sceptic of to-day\nwas made by the hypocrite of yesterday, and half the scepticism is\naffected, as half the piety was affected. Men are ashamed and afraid to\nbe caught in a trap, and they pretend to disbelieve, when in fact they\nonly doubt. You must now prove to them that truth itself is true, since\nthey have so often been deceived by falsehood in the garb of truth.\nLet a man or a measure prove to be sincere and honest, and there was\nnever a period in the history of the world when either would win more\nhearty approval than now. It is true that the childlike trustfulness\nof mankind is gone, partly from growth, partly because it has been\nabused; but the nobler powers are maturing. To believe this, you need\nnot give up your faith. I have seen the eyes of one of the most bitter\nof scoffers fill with tears, and his lips tremble, at a proof of ardent\nand pious devotion which was not meant to be known. That man was a\nscoffer because his common sense and sentiment of justice had been\ninsulted by pious pretenders. If he could believe, he would be a saint.\"\n\nHonora Pembroke's face was troubled. There could be no doubt that the\nman was honest and sincere in what he said, and that much of what he\nsaid was true. But was a Jew to teach a Christian? She could not be\nsure that his judgment was unbiased, and that one more learned than\nshe would not be able to refute him. She said the best thing she could\nthink of.\n\n\"False professors do not make false doctrines. And if the human mind is\nbecoming so adult and strong, it should judge the truth by itself, not\nby the person who professes it.\"\n\n\"You are quite right,\" Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger answered. \"And that is precisely\nwhat people are learning to do. It is also what many, who wish truth\nto be believed on their own testimony, object to their doing. I\nrepeat\"--he glanced with anxiety into her clouded face--\"I earnestly\nassure you that I have not uttered a word which conflicts with your\ncreed, though it is not mine. If I were to-day to become a Catholic, I\nshould only reiterate what I have said on this subject.\"\n\nThe cloud passed from her face, but still she did not speak. She was\nnot gifted in argument, and this subject was complex, and, moreover, a\nbone of contention.\n\n\"It has occurred to me,\" he said presently, \"that the people in\nCrichton, though they appear to be very liberal, may still have a\nprejudice against me as a Jew. That would be of no consequence to me in\nthe case of most of them; but there are a few whom I should be sorry to\nknow had such a feeling. The Jews are much misunderstood and slandered,\nthough people have an opportunity of learning their true character if\nthey would. The majority seem to look on every Jew as a probable or\npossible usurer and dealer in old clothes, and a person capable of\njoining a rabble at any moment, and pursuing an innocent man to death.\nI do not, of course, fancy for an instant that you have any sympathy\nwith such people; but I think it possible that you may misunderstand my\nattitude toward your church. I have not the slightest feeling of enmity\nagainst it as long as it does not do violence to me or mine, and while\nits members are true to the doctrines of peace and charity which they\nprofess. As an artist I admire it. Its theology is the only one which\nstill retains binding and implacable obligations of form, consequently,\nthe only one that can inspire high art. I do not count the old Jews,\nwho are rapidly melting away. I am of the reformed Jews.\"\n\n\"You no longer expect the coming of the Redeemer, nor the return to\nJerusalem, nor the triumph of your people?\" she asked, looking at him\nin astonishment.\n\n\"We no longer believe in them,\" he replied.\n\n\"What, then, is left you?\" she exclaimed.\n\nHe smiled slightly. \"I expect and long for the redemption of mankind by\nthe spirit of God, and I believe that truth and charity will prevail,\nthough they may not descend from heaven to become incarnate in one\nform. The Jerusalem my people will return to is the spiritual city of\nthe children of God. Is it not nobler than the pretty myths which have\nbeen wasting our energies and dividing the brotherhood of men into\npetty clans, all hating each other even while they professed that love\nwas their prime virtue?\"\n\n\"But sacrifice,\" she said, \"what did you mean by that?\"\n\n\"We had truth and error mingled. The sacrifice was merely a remnant\nof heathen customs. Peoples who knew nothing of Judaism nor of\nChristianity had their offerings and sacrifices. The Jews were the\nchosen people, finer and more spiritual than any other; and to the\nsouls of the chosen among them the Creator revealed his truths. They\nrenounced all heathenish doctrines, and into the few ceremonies and\ncustoms they retained they infused a spiritual significance. As the\nrace deteriorated, this spiritual meaning was misinterpreted, and\nbecame more and more literal and gross. The people fell into sin, and\nfor this the Creator punished them by taking away their power and\npre-eminence, and by scattering them over the face of the earth.\"\n\nHonora listened intently; and when he had finished, she uttered but\none word. Clasping her hands and lifting her eyes, her heart seemed\nto burst upward like a fountain, tossing that one word into air,\n\"Emmanuel!\"\n\nNot the primeval Creator alone, distant and awful, but God with us!\nInto this vast and terrible void which had been spread out before her,\nshe invoked with passion the incarnate, the lowly, the pitiful, the\nsuffering God.\n\n\"We hold that sacrifice is a practice of divine institution retained\nfrom our first parents, not an originally heathen custom,\" she added\nafter a moment, regaining her composure. \"You are, however, obliged\nto give up your belief in it, or be inconsistent. I can see now that\nif you hold to the sacrifice, you must hold to the Redeemer; if to\nthe Redeemer, then you must believe in Christ, since the time is gone\nby for expectation; and if you accept the Christ, you must be a Roman\nCatholic.\"\n\n\"Precisely!\" said the Jew. He had felt a momentary electric shock\nat the passion of her first exclamation, and had seen with emotion\nthe flush and fire in her countenance. Now he smiled at her concise\nstatement of the case.\n\nMiss Pembroke rose, for the last of the procession was passing. The\nchildren were called back to their seats in the same order in which\nthey had left them, and a few simple exercises were gone through with\nat the request of their visitor. All was well calculated to unfold and\ninform their young minds, but nothing was for show.\n\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger blushed for the mistake he had made in fancying that\nany occupation on earth could be more refined and noble than Miss\nPembroke's, when it was conducted in Miss Pembroke's manner. It seemed\nan occupation for angels. She possessed, evidently, in a preeminent\ndegree, the power to understand and interest children, and she\nused that power to perfect ends. There was none of that personal\nfamiliarity which he had dreaded to see, that promiscuous fondness and\ncaressing by which some women fancy they please children, when, in\nfact, the finer sort of children are oftener than not displeased with\nit. A kind touch of her fingers was to them an immense favor, and a\nkiss would have been remembered for ever. But while they treated her\nwith profound respect, they approached her with perfect confidence and\ndelight. They gathered about her, and gazed into her sympathetic face,\nbright and transparent with love from a bountiful woman's heart. They\nlooked at her as a sky full of little stars may look into a smooth\nlake, and each saw its own reflection there, and was happy. In her soul\nall innocent infantile thoughts and fancies were condensed, as cloud\nand spray are condensed into water, and not only could she remember the\nprocess, but she could reverse it at will, could evaporate a thought or\ntruth too strong for childish intellects, and give it in the form of\nrosy clouds to wide, grasping, childish imaginations.\n\nOnly one exercise failed at first. The children were shy of singing\nbefore the stranger. All their voices faltered into silence but one, a\nrather fair voice of a little boy who was perfectly self-confident, and\nwho evidently expected applause.\n\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger took no notice of the child. Its vanity and boldness\ndispleased him. \"A shallow thing!\" he thought; and said, \"I see that\nI must hire you to sing for me. You like fairy-stories, surely. Well,\nsing me but one song, and I will tell you the story.\"\n\nHis voice and smile reassured them. Moreover, a gentleman, no matter\nhow splendid he might be, who could tell fairy-stories, could not be\nvery dreadful. They exchanged smiles and glances, took courage, fixed\ntheir eyes on their teacher, and sang a pretty hymn in good time and\ntune, and with good expression.\n\nIn their first essay the musician had caught a faltering little\nsilvery note, which had failed as soon as heard. In the second it\ncame out round and clear, a voice of surprising beauty. He marked the\nsinger, and called him forward as soon as the hymn was over. The boy\ncame awkwardly and blushing. He was the ugliest and most dingy pupil\nthere. Only a pair of melancholy, dark, and lustrous eyes, habitually\ndowncast, and a set of perfect teeth, redeemed the face from being\ndisagreeable. Through those eyes looked a winged soul that did not\nrecognize itself, still less expect recognition from others, but felt\nonly the vague weight and sadness of an uncongenial life. He gave the\nimpression of a beautiful bird whose every plume is so laden with mire\nit cannot fly.\n\n\"You have a good voice, and should learn how to sing,\" Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger\nsaid to him kindly. \"I will teach you, if Miss Pembroke approves, and\nwill make the arrangements. Of course it will cost you nothing.\"\n\n\"He needs encouragement,\" the musician remarked when the boy had\nreturned to his seat; \"and he needs to have his position defined before\nthe others. Do you not perceive that they despise him? He has the voice\nof an angel, and he looks remarkable. And now for my story.\"\n\nThe children's eyes sparkled with anticipation, and the teacher leaned\nsmilingly to listen. Let us listen also, and become better acquainted\nwith Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger.\n\n\"Once upon a time, there was a great wrangle in a certain street,\"\nthe story-teller began. \"Five little boys and girls were quarreling,\nand two dogs were barking. The neighbors put their heads out their\nwindows, and the policeman stopped. Mrs. Blake put her two forefingers\nin her two ears, for the noise was near her step, and the five boys\nand girls were all telling her together what the matter was, and whose\nfault it was. Then the mothers called their children home, and two went\ninto Mrs. Blake's, for they were hers. This was the story she drew from\nthem: Anne Blake had said a cross word to one of the others, that other\nhad made a face at the next, the third had slapped the fourth, and it\nwent round the circle. So it seemed that Anne started the whole by\nspeaking a cross word.\n\n\"'Since you are sorry, I will talk no more to you about it,' her mother\nsaid. 'But I wish you to go up to your chamber and sit alone a little\nwhile, and think over a Chinese proverb which is written on this slip\nof paper. You are ten years old, and must begin to think.'\n\n\"Anne went slowly up-stairs to her chamber, shut the door after her,\nand sat down in a little cushioned chair by the window to read her\nproverb. Its being Chinese did not prevent it from being good. This is\nwhat she read: 'A word once spoken, a coach and six cannot bring it\nback again.'\n\n\"The day was warm, and the curtain at the window swung with a lulling\nmotion, giving glimpses of blue sky with white clouds sailing over,\nand, below, of the top of a grape-vine full of leaves and small green\ngrapes.\n\n\"Anne gazed at the sky till it made her feel sleepy--gazing at bright\nthings does make one sleepy--then she gazed at the grape-vine.\nPresently, she saw something in this vine that looked like a tiny\nladder, hidden among the leaves. It looked so much like a ladder that\nshe leaned forward and pulled the curtain aside, to see more plainly.\nSure enough! It was the loveliest ladder, or stairway, winding down and\ndown. Its steps were dark, like vine branches, and there was a railing\nat each side of twigs and tendrils, and it wound down and down, in\nsight and out of sight. And, more wonderful still, it was no longer a\nyard, with the city about, she saw, but a great vine covering all the\nwindow, and glimpses of a moonlighted forest down below.\n\n\"'I must go down,' says Anne; and so down she went on the beautiful\nstairs.\n\n\"Lights and shades fluttered over her, and the leaves clapped together,\nand little tendrils caught at her dress in play. And by-and-by she\nstepped on to the brightest greensward that could be, full of blue\nand white violets. The trees arched over her, the air was sweet, and\nthere was a smooth pond near by. The water was so very smooth that\nshe would never have known it was water if the banks had not turned\nthe wrong way in it, and the trees grown down instead of up. A little\nwhite boat, too, had another little white boat under it, the two keel\nto keel. Swans ran down the shore as she looked, and splashed into the\nwater, dipping their heads under, and making the whole surface so full\nof motion that the upside-down trees and banks and boat disappeared.\nWords cannot describe how beautiful the place was. There was every kind\nof flower, and hosts of birds, and the moonlight was so bright that all\ncould be distinctly seen. There were also a great many splendid moths\nthat looked like flowers flying about, and flapping their petals.\n\n\"But the most beautiful part was that everything seemed to breathe of\npeace and love. The birds sang and cooed to each other, the blossoms\nleaned cheek to cheek, the water laughed at the stones it ran over,\nand the wet stones smiled back, the gray old rocks held tenderly\nthe flowers and mosses that grew in their hollows, and the mosses\nand flowers held on to the rocks with their tiny roots, like little\nchildren clinging to old people who are fond of them.\n\n\"'How beautiful it is to see them so loving,' Anne said. 'They are a\nsort of people, too; for they look alive. I wish other folks would\nbe as good. I'm sure I try; but then somebody always comes along and\nsays something ugly; and then, of course, I can't help being ugly back\nagain.'\n\n\"'Oh! yes, you can,' said a sweet voice close by.\n\n\"Anne looked and saw a charming little lady standing beside her. She\nwas so beautiful that words cannot describe her, and she carried a\npink petunia for a parasol to preserve her complexion. For she was\nexquisitely fair, and the moonlight was really very bright.\n\n\"'Oh! yes, you can,' she repeated when Anne looked at her. 'You can\ngive a pleasant answer, and then people will stop being ugly.'\n\n\"'I could do it if everybody else would,' Anne said. 'The beginning is\nthe trouble. How nice it would be if there were a king over all the\nworld, and he would say, Now, after I have counted three, all of you\nstop being cross, and begin to love each other, and keep on loving a\nwhole hour. If you don't, I'll cut your heads off!'\n\n\"'That would not be love; it would be a make-believe to save their\nheads,' the little lady answered. 'But there is such a king, and he has\ncommanded us to love each other, and....'\n\n\"Here she was interrupted by a loud flapping of wings and a terrible\ncroaking, and a great black bird, something like a bat, flew by; and\nwherever it struck its wings other bats flew out, and the air grew\ndark with them, and all the beautiful forest was changed. The stones\ntried to stop the brook, and the brook tried to upset the stones; the\nleaves struck each other, the swans and little birds began to pull each\nother's feathers out. All was discord.\n\n\"And then there was a rolling of wheels, and a trampling of hoofs, and\na great yellow coach appeared drawn by six horses covered with foam.\nThe coachman looked as if he were driving for his life, and there was a\nhead thrust from each window of the coach, telling him to drive faster.\nAll the heads wore caps like dish-covers, and had long braids of hair\nhanging down their necks, though they were men; and their eyes slanted\ndown toward their noses, instead of going straight across their faces.\n\n\"'We are trying to catch a wicked word that is ruining all the place,'\nthey said, 'but we cannot. A wicked word has wings.'\n\n\"'So has a kind word wings,' said the little lady. 'Send a kind word\nafter the cross one, and perhaps it may bring it back.'\n\n\"'You are right, madam,' said one of the Chinamen; and he nodded his\nhead till the long braid at the back of it wagged to and fro. And he\nkept on nodding so queerly that Anne felt obliged to nod too, and so\nhe nodded, and she nodded, till he nodded his head off. And then she\nnodded her head off--no, not quite off; but she nodded so that she\nwaked herself up. For she had been dreaming.\n\n\"Then she jumped up and ran down-stairs and out doors as fast as her\nfeet would carry her. And in ten minutes she was back again, all out\nof breath, and full of excitement. 'Mother,' she said, 'a coach and\nsix can't do it, but a kind word can. I told Jane I was sorry, and she\ntold--and we all told each other that we were sorry, and then we were\nglad.' The words were rather mixed up, but the meaning was all right.\"\n\n\"I am truly grateful to you for allowing me to come this afternoon,\"\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger said on taking leave. \"My visit has been to me like a\ndrop of cold water to one in a fever, or like the sound of David's harp\nto Saul. I am refreshed.\"\n\nHe looked both sad and pleased. \"I was about to thank you for coming,\"\nHonora answered. \"You have given me and the children much pleasure.\"\n\nAnd so, with a friendly salutation, they separated.\n\nShe mused a moment. \"If he could believe in the sacrifice, all would\nfollow,\" she thought.\n\nThen she called the children to their prayers, but first said a word to\nthem.\n\n\"There is something, my dear children, that I want very much,\" she\nsaid. \"Oh! I long for it. I shall be unhappy if I do not have it. And I\nwant all of you to ask the Infant Jesus to give it to me for his dear\nmother's sake. Ask with all your hearts. I will tell him what I wish\nfor.\"\n\nHer wish was that Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger might believe that sacrifice was a\ndivine revelation, not a heathenish custom.\n\n\"That is all he needs from me,\" she thought. \"I trust him. If he has\nthat to begin with, he will himself ask God for the rest.\"\n\n\n\n\nITALIAN CONFISCATION LAWS.\n\n\n                 REVIEWED FROM AN AMERICAN STAND-POINT.\n\n                              BY A LAWYER.\n\n\"No state shall pass any _ex post facto_ law, or law impairing the\nobligation of contracts.\"[2]\n\nThis is indeed a moral law, and has been recognized as such by all\ncivilized nations.\n\nJustice Curtis, in his _Life of Webster_ (vol. i., chap. 7, p. 165)\nthus notices the decision in the Supreme Court which first gave the\nscope and meaning of this clause in regard to charters of private\ncorporations:\n\n  \"The framers of the Constitution of the United States, moved\n  chiefly by the mischiefs created by the preceding legislation of\n  the states, which had made serious encroachments on the rights of\n  property, inserted a clause in that instrument which declared that\n  'no state shall pass any _ex post facto_ law, or law impairing\n  the obligation of contracts.' The first branch of this clause\n  had always been understood to relate to criminal legislation,\n  the second to legislation affecting civil rights. But before the\n  case of Dartmouth College v. Woodward occurred, there had been\n  no judicial decisions respecting the meaning and scope of the\n  restraint in regard to contracts, excepting that it had more than\n  once been determined by the Supreme Court of the United States\n  that a grant of lands made by a state is a contract within the\n  protection of this provision, and is, therefore, irrevocable.\n  The decisions, however, could go but little way toward the\n  solution of the questions involved in the case of the college.\n  They did, indeed, establish the principle that contracts of\n  the state itself are beyond the reach of subsequent legislation\n  equally with contracts between individuals, and that there are\n  grants of a state that are contracts. But this college stood upon\n  a charter granted by the crown of England before the American\n  Revolution. Was the state of New Hampshire--a sovereign in all\n  respects after the Revolution, and remaining one after the federal\n  constitution, excepting in those respects in which it had subjected\n  its sovereignty to the restraints of that instrument--bound by\n  the contracts of the English crown? Is the grant of a charter of\n  incorporation a contract between the sovereign power and those\n  on whom the charter is bestowed? If an act of incorporation is a\n  contract, is it so in any case but that of a private corporation?\n  Was this college, which was an institution of learning, established\n  for the promotion of education, a private corporation, or was it\n  one of those instruments of government which are at all times\n  under the control and subject to the direction of the legislative\n  power? All these questions were involved in the inquiry, whether\n  the legislative power of the state had been so restrained by the\n  constitution of the United States that it could not alter the\n  charter of this institution, against the will of the trustees,\n  without impairing the obligation of a contract. If this inquiry\n  were to receive an affirmative answer, the constitutional\n  jurisprudence of the United States would embrace a principle of\n  the utmost importance to every similar institution of learning,\n  and to every incorporation then existing, or thereafter to exist,\n  not belonging to the machinery of government as a political\n  instrument....\n\n  \"On the conclusion of the argument the Chief-Justice (Marshall)\n  intimated that a decision was not to be expected until the next\n  term. It was made in February, 1819, fully confirming the grounds\n  on which Mr. Webster had placed the cause. From this decision,\n  the principle in our constitutional jurisprudence which regards a\n  charter of a private corporation as a contract, and places it under\n  the protection of the Constitution of the United States, takes its\n  date.\"\n\nWe add a passage from Mr. Webster's speech in this case, as quoted by\nthe same author from a letter of Prof. Goodrich, of Yale College, to\nRufus Choate:\n\n  \"This, sir, is my case. It is the case not merely of that humble\n  institution; it is the case of every college in our land. It is\n  more. It is the case of every eleemosynary institution throughout\n  our country--of all those great charities founded by the piety of\n  our ancestors to alleviate human misery and scatter blessings along\n  the pathway of life. It is more! It is, in some sense, the case of\n  every man among us who has property of which he may be stripped,\n  for the question is simply this: Shall our state legislatures be\n  allowed to take that which is not their own, to turn it from its\n  original use, and apply it to such ends or purposes as they in\n  their discretion shall see fit?\"\n\nThe charitable and religious institutions of Italy and the States of\nthe Church were founded under guarantees as strong at least as those\nwhich assured the perpetuity of Dartmouth College, and were entitled to\nas much immunity from confiscation and intrusion for all coming time.\n\nWhen a law is in its nature a contract, and absolute rights have vested\nunder that contract, a repeal of the law cannot divest those rights,\nnor annihilate or impair a title acquired under the law. A grant is\na contract according to the meaning given to the word by jurists. A\ngrant is a contract executed, and a party is always estopped by his own\ngrant. A party cannot pronounce his own act or deed invalid, whatever\ncause may be assigned for its invalidity, and though that party be\nthe legislature of a state. A grant amounts to an extinguishment of\nthe right of the grantor, and implies a contract not to reassert that\nright. A grant from a state should be as much protected as a grant from\none individual to another; therefore, a state is as much inhibited\nfrom impairing its own contracts, or a contract to which it is a\nparty, as it is from impairing the obligation of contracts between\ntwo individuals. A grant once made by the ruling or competent power,\ncreates an indefeasible and irrevocable title. There is no authority\nor principle which could support the doctrine that such a grant was\nrevocable in its own nature, and held only _durante bene placito_.\nFor no ruling power, be it kingly, legislative, or otherwise, can\nrepeal a law or grant creating a corporate body, or confirming to them\nproperty already acquired under the faith of previous laws or edicts,\nand by such repeal vest the property in others without the consent or\ndefault of the corporators. Such a procedure would be repugnant to the\nprinciples of natural justice. A society or order of religious people\nholding property in common or _in solido_, may be considered in the\ncharacter of a private eleemosynary institution endowed with a capacity\nto take property for objects unconnected with government: it receives\ngifts or devises, and other private donations bestowed by individuals\non the faith of its perpetuity and usefulness--such a corporation not\nbeing invested with any political power whatever, or partaking in\nany degree in the administration of civil government. It is merely\nan institution or private corporation for general charity. It is\nestablished under a charter, which was a contract, to which the donors,\nthe trustees of the corporation, and the governing power were the\noriginal parties, and it was granted for a valuable consideration--for\nthe security and disposition of the property necessary for the\nexistence of the community, order, or society.\n\nThe legal interest, in every such literary and charitable institution,\nis in trustees, and to be asserted by them, which they claim or defend\non behalf of the society or community for the object of religion,\ncharity, or education, for which they were originally created, and\nthe private donations made. Contracts of this kind, creating such\ncharitable or educational institutions, should be at all times\nprotected by the state, and their rights maintained by the courts\nadministered by a pure and just judiciary. Conquests or revolutions\ncannot change the rights acquired under such contracts, and no state\nshould by any act transfer the rights of property theretofore acquired,\nnor transfer from the trustees appointed according to the will of the\nfounders or donors. The will of the state should not be substituted for\nthe will of the donors, or convert an institution, moulded according\nto the will of its founders, and placed under the control of people\nof their own selection, into government property. Such action is of\ncourse subversive of the original compact on the faith of which the\ndonors invested their gifts, donations, or devises, and is, therefore,\nrepugnant to every idea of honesty and good morals, for enforcing which\ngovernments are instituted.\n\nA grant to a private trustee, for the benefit of a particular _cestui\nque trust_, or for any special, private, or public charity, cannot\nbe the less a contract because the trustee takes nothing for his own\nbenefit. Nor does a private donation vested in a trustee for objects\nof a general nature thereby become a public trust, which a government\nmay at its pleasure take from the trustee. A government cannot even\nrevoke a grant of its own funds, when given to a corporation or private\nperson for special uses. It has no other remaining authority but what\nis judicial to enforce the proper administration of the trust. Nor is\nsuch a grant less a contract though no beneficial interest accrues to\nthe possessor. All incorporeal hereditaments, as immunities, dignities,\noffices, and franchises, are rights deemed valuable in law, and\nwhenever they are the subject of contract or grant they should be held\nas legal estates. They are held as powers coupled with interests, and\nconsequently are vested rights, and of which the possessors should not\nbe divested by any legislative body without their consent.\n\nChief-Justice Marshall (in U. S. _v._ Percheman, _7 Peters 86_) says:\nIt is unusual, even in cases of conquest, for the conqueror to do more\nthan to displace the sovereign and assume dominion over the country;\nand that the modern usage of nations, which has become law, would\nbe violated; that sense of justice and right which is acknowledged\nand felt by the whole civilized world, would be outraged if private\nproperty should be generally confiscated and private rights annulled.\n\nJustice Sprague (Amy Warwick, _2 Sprague 150_) says: Confiscations\nof property, not for any use that has been made of it, which go\nnot against an offending thing, but are inflicted for the personal\ndelinquency of the owner, are punitive, and punishment should be\ninflicted only upon due conviction of personal guilt.\n\nThe communities whose rights are now invaded and whose property is\nconfiscated, ought to be protected under the law of nations. For, by\nthis law is understood that code of public instruction which defines\nthe rights and prescribes the duties of nations in their intercourse\nwith each other. The faithful observance of this law is essential\nto national character and the happiness of mankind. According to\nMontesquieu, it is founded on the principle that different nations\nought to do each other as much good in peace, and as little harm in\nwar, as possible. The most useful and practical part of the law of\nnations is instituted or positive law, founded on usage, consent,\nand agreement. It is impossible to separate this law from natural\njurisprudence, or to consider that it does not derive much of its force\nand dignity from the same principle of right reason, the same views of\nthe nature and constitution of man, and the same sanction of divine\nrevelation, as those from which the science of morality is deduced.\nThere is a natural and a positive law of nations. By the former, every\nstate in its relations with other states is bound to conduct itself\nwith justice, good faith, and benevolence; and this application of the\nlaw of nature has been called by Vattel the necessary law of nations,\nbecause nations are bound by the law of nature to observe it; and it is\ntermed by others the internal law of nations, because it is obligatory\nupon them in point of conscience.\n\nThat eminent jurist, Chancellor Kent, says that the science of public\nlaw should not be separated from that of ethics, nor encourage the\ndangerous suggestion that governments are not strictly bound by the\nobligations of truth, justice, and humanity in relation to other\npowers, as they are in the management of their own local concerns.\nStates or bodies politic are to be considered as moral persons, having\na public will, capable and free to do right and wrong, inasmuch as they\nare collections of individuals, each of whom carries with him into the\nservice of the community the same binding law of morality and religion\nwhich ought to control his conduct in private life.\n\nThe law of nations consists of general principles of right and justice,\nequally suitable to the government of individuals in a state of\nnatural equality and to the relations and conduct of nations; the\nconduct of nations should be governed by principles fairly to be\ndeduced from the rights and duties of nations and the nature of moral\nobligation; and we have the authority of lawyers of antiquity, and\nof some of the first masters in the modern school of public law, for\nplacing the moral obligations of nations and of individuals on similar\ngrounds, and for considering individual and national morality as parts\nof one and the same science.\n\nThe law of nations, as far as it is founded upon the principles of\nnatural law, is equally binding in every age, and upon all mankind.\n\nThe law of nature, by the obligations of which individuals and states\nare bound, is identical with the will of God, and that will is\nascertained by consulting divine revelation, where that is declaratory,\nor by the application of human reason where revelation is silent.\nChristianity is an authoritative publication of natural religion, and\nit is from the sanction which revelation gives to natural law that we\nmust expect respect to be paid to justice between nations. Christianity\nreveals to us a general system of morality, but the application to the\ndetails of practice is often left to be discovered by human reason.\n\nJustice is of perpetual obligation, and is essential to the well-being\nof every society. The great commonwealth of nations stands in need of\nlaw, and observance of faith, and the practice of justice.\n\nIf the question was one to be decided by the civil courts according to\nthe American rules concerning rights to property held by ecclesiastical\nbodies, the points involved might be presented as follows:\n\n1. Where the property which is the subject of controversy is, by the\nexpress terms of the deed or will of the donor or other instrument\nunder which it is held, devoted to the teaching, support, or spread of\na specific form of religious doctrine and belief.\n\n2. Where the property is held by a religious congregation, which\nby the nature of its organization is strictly independent of other\necclesiastical associations, and, so far as church government is\nconcerned, owes no fealty or obligation to any higher authority.\n\n3. The third is where the religious congregation or ecclesiastical body\nholding the property is but a subordinate member of some general church\norganization in which there are superior ecclesiastical tribunals\nwith a general and ultimate power of control, more or less complete,\nin some supreme judicatory over the whole membership of that general\norganization.\n\nRespecting the first of these classes, it does not admit of a rational\ndoubt that an individual or an association of individuals may dedicate\nproperty by way of trust to the purpose of sustaining, supporting, and\npropagating definite religious doctrines or principles, provided that\nin doing so they violate no law of morality, and give to the instrument\nby which their purpose is evidenced the formalities which the law\nrequires.\n\nAnd it is then the duty of a court of law, in a case properly brought\nbefore it, to see that the property so dedicated is not diverted from\nthe trust which is thus attached to its use. So long as there are\npersons qualified within the meaning of the original dedication, and\nwho are also willing to teach the doctrines or principles prescribed in\nthe act of dedication, and so long as there is any one so interested in\nthe execution of the trust as to have a standing in court, it must be\nthat they can prevent the diversion of the property or fund to other\nand different uses.\n\nThis is the general doctrine of courts of equity as to charities, and\nit is also applicable to ecclesiastical matters.\n\nIn such case, where the trust is confided to a religious congregation\nor church government, it is not in the power of the majority of that\ncongregation, however preponderant by reason of a change of views on\nreligion, to carry the property so confided to them to the support of\nnew and conflicting doctrine.\n\nA pious man building and dedicating a house of worship to the sole and\nexclusive use of those who believe in the doctrines of the Holy Roman\nCatholic Church, and placing it under the control of those who at the\ntime held the same belief, has a right to expect that the law will\nprevent that property from being used for any other purpose whatsoever.\nThe law should throw its protection around the trust, and it is the\nduty of courts of law to enforce a trust clearly defined, and to\ninquire whether the party accused of violating the trust is using the\nproperty so dedicated as to defeat the declared objects of the trust.\nIn such cases, the right to the use of the property must be determined\nby the ordinary principles which govern voluntary associations.\n\nThe same rule prevails as to the class of cases coming within the view\nof the third proposition, as to property acquired in any of the usual\nmodes for the general use of a religious congregation which is itself\npart of a larger and general organization, with which it is connected\nby religious views and ecclesiastical government, and which appeals\nto the courts to determine the right to the use of the property so\nacquired. That is, where property has been purchased for the use of\nthe congregation, and so long as any such body can be ascertained to be\nof that congregation, and is under its control and bound by its orders\nand judgments, or its regular and legitimate successor, it is entitled\nto the use of the property.\n\nIn this class of cases, the rule of action which governs the civil\ncourts of the United States, as enunciated by the highest legal\ntribunal, the Supreme Court, is founded upon a broad and sound view of\nthe relations of church and state, and is, that wherever questions of\nfaith or of discipline, or ecclesiastical rule, custom, or law, have\nbeen decided by the highest of these church judicatories to which the\nmatter has been carried, the legal tribunals must accept such decisions\nas final, and as binding on them in their application to the case\nbefore them.[3]\n\nIn delivering the opinion of the court in that case, the learned Mr.\nJustice Miller said:\n\n  \"In this country the full and free right to entertain any religious\n  belief, to practise any religious principle, and to teach any\n  religious doctrine which does not violate the laws of morality\n  and property, and which does not infringe personal rights, is\n  conceded to all. The law is not committed to the support of any\n  dogma, the establishment of any sect. The right to organize\n  voluntary religious associations, to assist in the expression and\n  dissemination of any religious doctrine, and to create tribunals\n  for the decision of controverted questions of faith within the\n  association, and for the ecclesiastical government of all the\n  individual members, congregations, and officers within the general\n  association, is unquestioned. All who unite themselves to such\n  a body do so with an implied consent to this government, and\n  are bound to submit to it. But it would be a vain consent, and\n  would lead to the total subversion of such religious bodies, if\n  any one aggrieved by one of their decisions could appeal to the\n  secular courts and have them reversed. It is of the essence of\n  these religious unions, and of their right to establish tribunals\n  for the decision of questions arising among themselves, that\n  those decisions should be binding in all cases of ecclesiastical\n  cognizance, subject to only such appeals as the organism itself\n  provides for.\n\n  \"Nor do we see that justice would be likely to be promoted by\n  submitting those decisions to review in the ordinary judicial\n  tribunals.\n\n  \"The Catholic Church has constitutional and ecclesiastical laws\n  of its own that task the ablest minds to become familiar with.\n  It cannot be expected that judges of the civil courts can be as\n  competent in the ecclesiastical law as the ablest men in the\n  church. It would therefore be an appeal from the more learned\n  tribunal in the law, which should decide the case, to one which is\n  less so.\n\n  \"These views are supported by the preponderant weight of authority\n  in this country.\"\n\nAnd according to the American rule, where the subject-matter of\ndispute, inquiry, or decision is strictly and purely ecclesiastical\nin its character, it is a matter over which the civil courts should\nnot exercise any jurisdiction--a matter which concerns theological\ncontroversy, church discipline, ecclesiastical government, or the\nconformity of the members of the church to the standard of morals\nrequired of them, the civil court has not and should not have any\njurisdiction. If the civil courts were at liberty to inquire into\nthe whole subject of doctrinal theology, usages, and customs, the\nwritten laws and fundamental principles would have to be examined into\nwith minuteness and care, for they would be the criteria by which\nthe validity of the ecclesiastical decree would be determined in the\ncivil court. And that would deprive the authorities of the church of\ntheir proper right and power to construe their own church laws, and\nwould open the way to the evil of transferring to the civil courts,\nwhere the rights to property were concerned, the decision of all\necclesiastical questions.[4]\n\nOf all the cases in which this doctrine is applied, no better\nrepresentative can be found than that of Shannon _v._ Frost,[5] where\nthe principle is ably supported by the learned Chief-Justice of the\nCourt of Appeals of Kentucky, wherein he says:\n\n  \"This court, having no ecclesiastical jurisdiction, cannot revise\n  or question ordinary acts of church discipline. Our only judicial\n  power in the case arises from the conflicting claims of the parties\n  in the church property, and the use of it. We cannot decide who\n  ought to be members of the church, nor whether the excommunicated\n  have been justly or unjustly, regularly or irregularly, cut off\n  from the body of the church.\"\n\nThe same principle was laid down in the subsequent case of Gibson _v._\nArmstrong,[6] and of Watson _v._ Avery.[7]\n\nOne of the most careful and well-considered judgments on the subject is\nthat of the Court of Appeals of South Carolina, delivered by Chancellor\nJohnson in the case of Harmon _v._ Dreher.[8] That case turned upon\ncertain rights in the use of church property claimed by the minister,\nnotwithstanding his expulsion from the synod as one of its members:\n\n  \"He stands,\" says the chancellor, \"convicted of the offences\n  alleged against him by the sentence of the spiritual body of which\n  he was a voluntary member, and whose proceedings he had bound\n  himself to abide. It belongs not to the civil power to enter into\n  or review the proceedings of a spiritual court. The structure\n  of our government has for the preservation of religious liberty\n  rescued the temporal institutions from religious interference; on\n  the other hand, it has secured religious liberty from the invasion\n  of the civil authority. The judgments, therefore, of religious\n  associations, bearing on their own members, are not examinable\n  here; and I am not to enquire whether the doctrines attributed\n  to Mr. Dreher were held by him, or whether, if held, were\n  anti-Lutheran, or whether his conduct was or was not in accordance\n  with the duty he owed to the synod or to his denomination.... When\n  a civil right depends upon an ecclesiastical matter, it is the\n  civil court and not the ecclesiastical which is to decide. But\n  the civil tribunal tries the civil right, and no more, taking the\n  ecclesiastical decisions out of which the civil right arises as it\n  finds them.\"\n\nThis principle is reaffirmed by the same court in the John's Island\nChurch case.[9] And in Den _v._ Bolton[10] the Supreme Court of New\nJersey asserts the same principle.\n\nThe Supreme Court of Illinois, in the case of Ferraria _v._\nVascouelles, refers to the case of Shannon _v._ Frost with approval,\nand adopts the language of the court, that the judicial eye cannot\npenetrate the veil of the church for the forbidden purpose of\nvindicating the alleged wrongs of excised members; when they became\nmembers, they did so upon the condition of continuing or not as they\nand their churches might determine, and they thereby submit to the\necclesiastical power, and cannot now invoke the supervisory power of\nthe civil tribunals.\n\nAnd in the case of Chase _v._ Cheney, recently decided in the same\n(Illinois) court, Judge Lawrence says: \"The opinion implies that in the\nadministration of ecclesiastical discipline, and where no other right\nof property is involved, their loss of the clerical office or salary\nincident to such discipline, a spiritual court is the exclusive judge\nof its own jurisdiction, and that its decision of that question is\nbinding on the secular courts.\"\n\nIn the case of Watson _v._ Ferris,[11] which was a case growing out of\nthe schism in the Presbyterian Church in Missouri, the court held that\nwhether a case was regularly or irregularly before the assembly, was a\nquestion which the assembly had the right to determine for itself, and\nno civil court could reverse, modify, or impair its action in a matter\nof merely ecclesiastical concern.\n\nThe opinion of the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania, expressed in the\ncase of the German Reformed Church _v._ Seibert,[12] sets forth that\nthe decisions of ecclesiastical courts, like every other judicial\ntribunal, are final, as they are the best judges of what constitutes\nan offence against the word of God and the discipline of the church.\nAny other than those courts must be incompetent judges of matters of\nfaith, discipline, and doctrine; and civil courts, if they should be so\nunwise as to attempt to supervise their judgments on matters which come\nwithin their jurisdiction, would only involve themselves in a sea of\nuncertainty and doubt, which would do anything but improve religion and\ngood morals.\n\nIn the subsequent case of McGinnis _v._ Watson,[13] this principle is\nagain applied and supported by a more elaborate argument.\n\nLord Chancellor Eldon, upon delivering the opinion of the House of\nLords in the celebrated test-case of Craigdallie _v._ Aikman, reported\nin 2 _Bligh_, 529 (1 _Dow_, 1), said: That they (the law lords) had\nadopted this principle as their rule and guide for cases of dispute\nrespecting the right to property conveyed for the use of religious\nworship--that it is a trust which is to be enforced for the purpose\nof maintaining that religious worship for which the property was\ndevoted, and in the event of schism (the original deed having made no\nprovision for such cases) its uses are to be enforced, not on behalf of\na majority of the congregation, nor yet exclusively in behalf of the\nparty adhering to the general body, but in favor of that part of the\nsociety adhering to and maintaining the original principles upon which\nit was founded: the exclusive standard or guide by which conflicting\nclaims are to be decided is adherence to the church itself.\n\nRegarding, therefore, church property, or the property of religious\nsocieties, communities, or orders, in the same manner as the private\nproperty of any other corporation or individual, it may with safety be\nassumed as a settled and fundamental law that ought to be recognized\nby every Christian and civilized state, that it is bound to make just\nindemnity and compensation to the citizen or subject, society, or\ncorporation, or community, for all property taken under the pressure\nof state necessity for the public good, convenience, or safety. The\neminent domain of the state should be so exercised as to work no\nwrong, to inflict no private injury, without giving to the party\naggrieved ample redress. This doctrine was not engrafted on the public\nlaw to give license to despotic and arbitrary sovereigns. It has its\nfoundation in the organization of society, and is essential to the\nmaintenance of public virtue in every government, whether a republic, a\nmonarchy, or a despotism. It is of the very essence of sovereignty, for\nwithout it a state cannot perform its first and highest duties--those\nrequired by justice and righteousness. Whenever, therefore, from\nnecessity a state appropriates to public use the private property of\nan individual or of a corporation, lay or religious, it is obliged by a\nlaw as imperative as that by which it makes the appropriation, to give\nto the party aggrieved redress commensurate with the injury sustained.\nUpon any other principle the social compact would work mischief and\nwrong. The state might impoverish the citizen it was established to\nprotect, and trample on those rights of property, security for which\nwas one of the great objects of its creation.\n\nAll the elementary writers of authority sustain these views of the duty\nand obligations of states.\n\nJustice requires, says Vattel, that the community or individual be\nindemnified at the public charge.\n\nThe taking, says Grotius, must be for some public advantage; as, for\ninstance, in time of war, the erection of a rampart or fortification,\nor where his standing corn or storehouses are destroyed to prevent\ntheir being of use to the enemy, in which case the person injured\nshould receive a just compensation for the loss he suffers out of the\ncommon stock. The state is obliged to repair the damage suffered by\nany citizen out of the public funds. The conversion cannot take place\neither to gratify any whim, caprice, or fashion; it must be an actual\npublic necessity. For, do we not read of an instance where some king,\nperhaps of Prussia, was erecting a magnificent palace at his capital,\nand, in order to carry out the design of the architect, it became\nnecessary to remove a small unsightly tenement, the property of a poor\nman, who, though so poor, would not sell his place or consent that it\nshould be removed, and there it remained for years, an eyesore perhaps\nto many, and yet the king, as the chief depositary of justice, would\nnot permit it to be disturbed, although urged by his flatterers and\ncourtiers to do so, until in lapse of years the owner died, and his\nsuccessors consented to sell. The historian recalls the justice of the\nking, that all honest and honorable rulers and men might follow such a\nnoble example of honor and justice. But can any one reasonably praise\nsuch an act, and approve of the confiscation of the houses of religious\nand charitable associations in Italy, and the very suppression and\nwiping out of the corporation or society itself, without trial, or\ncharge of offence or crime other than the offence of doing good to the\nhuman race without pay, fee, or reward here, but looking only to heaven\nfor recompense.\n\nIf the Italian government or parliament may to-day confiscate or\nescheat the property of Catholic communities, and thus commit a breach\nof the pact made by former rulers, emperors, or governments with the\nfounders of such communities, disregarding all inherent rights of\nsuccession and perpetuity, may it not to-morrow also commit a breach\nof its own compacts or implied guarantees, and confiscate or escheat\nall the property of churches, school-houses, colleges, of other\ndenominations who have lately or are now building them within Italian\njurisdiction? For what obstacle is to prevent it doing so? Having\noutraged and set aside as nought the moral or human law, styled law of\nnations, in this respect, may it not do so again in any other, from\neither whim or caprice? Unless there is some power left in public\nopinion to restrain it, this is a dilemma from which all the arguments\nof theoretical political economists or logicians cannot relieve them.\n\nTherefore, is it not a question now well worthy the consideration\nof all honest-thinking men, whether or not they should aid public\nopinion in sending forth a note of warning against this doctrine\nof confiscation--for else, perhaps, the disease may make a wider\nsweep over the earth, and parliaments or congresses be elected for\nthe purpose of confiscating or escheating other property besides\nchurch property or the property of religious or charitable houses or\ncommunities?\n\nJudging from the tenor and tone of American decisions--upon the\nquestion involved--pronounced by some of our ablest and purest\nmen, this \"confiscation,\" or, more expressively, this \"spoliation\"\nof the property of the church and of religious orders, by Victor\nEmanuel, under color of parliamentary enactments, and tested also by\nrecognized rules of international law, to say nothing of that higher\nlaw which commands us to \"do unto others, etc.,\" such \"confiscation\"\nis utterly indefensible upon any doctrine other than that set forth\nin the nefarious maxim, \"To the victors belong the spoils,\" and\nany acquiescence on the part of the Christian nations, Catholic or\nnon-Catholic, is simply disgraceful, and an act of homage to the prince\nof this world which is in itself an act of dishonor towards God.\n\nAnd as any title so acquired can only be maintained so long as the\nusurper has the material power to occupy and defend, it is certain\nthat with the destruction of that power the true and rightful owners\nmay revive and assert their rights of ownership and possession, as the\nlawful successors of the original grantors and founders, regardless of\nany claims or incumbrances whatsoever made or suffered by intervening\nholders or intruders.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by Rev. I.\nT. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington,\nD. C.\n\n[2] Constitution of the United States.\n\n[3] Watson _v._ Jones, _13 Wallace 729_.\n\n[4] See Cardcross case, McMillan _v._ General Assembly of the\nPresbyterian Church, 22 _D._ (_Scotch Ct. of Sess._) 270, decided 23d\nDecember, 1859. Attorney-General _v._ Pearson, _3 Merivale 353_; Miller\n_v._ Goble, _2 Denio 492_.\n\n[5] _3 B. Monroe 253_.\n\n[6] _7 B. Monroe 481_.\n\n[7] _2 Bush 332_.\n\n[8] 2 Speers' _Equity_ 87.\n\n[9] 2 Richardson's _Equity_ 215.\n\n[10] _7 Halstead 206_.\n\n[11] _45 Missouri 183_.\n\n[12] _3 Barr 291_.\n\n[13] _41 Pennsylvania State 21_.\n\n\n\n\nHOW GEORGE HOWARD WAS CURED.\n\n\nTo give up the battle of life at any age is bad, so long as a flicker\nof life is left. It is like deserting the doomed ship whilst the\ngroaning planks hold together; like refusing to make one in the forlorn\nhope, but choosing rather to sit down with closed eyes, and let death\ncome as it may. But to give up the battle of life at five-and-twenty,\nwhen the battle can scarcely be said to have begun, whilst the future\nlies hidden behind an uncertain mist, when the sinews are braced, the\neyes clear, the heart hopeful, the hair unsilvered--to give it up then\nis like deserting the ship whilst all is fair sailing, like sneaking\nfrom the ranks at first scent of the enemy. It is as cowardly as for\nthe sentinel to abandon his post or the ensign to surrender without\na blow the colors which he swore to defend to death; nay, as for the\nhusband to desert the wife he chose out of all the world before God to\nbe his until death. Yet this was what George Howard had done.\n\nOf course a woman was in it, as she is in most difficulties here\nbelow. And is it not her province? If she sometimes happen to be \"in\nit\" a little too much, rather in the light of an obstacle than a\nhelper--well, the best and not the worst must be made of her under the\nawkward circumstances. The first man, if Mr. Darwin will excuse the\nheresy, set us a good example in this way. It was a pity that Eve did\nnot turn her ear away from the voice of the charmer; but as she did\nthe other thing, and so wrought upon her husband that he followed her\nexample, after all he made the very best of a very bad bargain, and,\nlike a true man, stuck to his wife. But to return from Adam to his\nXIXth century descendant, Mr. George Howard: Why had that promising\nyoung gentleman metaphorically \"thrown up the sponge,\" and drawn aside\nlike a coward from the broad road of life, to linger on uselessly in\nthis little out-of-the-way French town where nobody knew him, where\nnobody heard of him from the great city at the other side of the ocean,\nwhich he left one fine morning a year or more ago without a word of\nwarning or a single good-by to the many friends whose kindly eyes had\nlooked hopefully upon him, and whose friendly lips had prophesied\nsuccess? Why had he gone out from this busy heart of the New World,\npalpitating with promise and half-defined yearnings, to bury himself\naway in this silent nook in an obscure corner of the south of France,\ndoing nothing, caring nothing, planning nothing, wearily waiting for\nlife to end?\n\nAs is generally the case with despairing five-and-twenty in the\nmasculine, and despondent seventeen or eighteen in the feminine, sex,\nit was one of those peculiar difficulties known as \"affairs of the\nheart.\" Nobody ever knew the exact ins and outs of it; how far the\nlady was to blame, and how far George had himself to accuse. Like many\na passionate, high-souled young man, where he bestowed his heart he\nexpected that heart to absorb and fill up the life and soul of the\nwoman he loved. That effect does follow generally, but by degrees\nmore or less slow. George was apt to love too fiercely and too fast.\nBut young, high-spirited girls like to be wooed before they are won.\nThough their hearts may have been virtually taken by storm long before\nthe besieging party so much as suspect that a breach has been made in\nthe stubborn fortress, still they like to make a show of surrendering\nat discretion, and marching out with all the honors of war, rather\nthan be instantly and absolutely overwhelmed by love. There is such\na thing as a surfeit of happiness. George Howard had probably made\nthis mistake. Such lovers as he are apt to start at shadows, imagining\nthem realities. The end of it was that George's fortress surrendered\nto somebody else, married the conqueror, and was disgracefully happy.\nWhether or not she ever cast a thought back on the bright young fellow\nthat once loved her so fiercely, who can tell? Probably not. She made a\ngood match--and contented wives soon drop romance; sooner than husbands\noften. It is astonishing how easily the goddess we adore before\nmarriage descends from the clouds, walks the earth like a sturdy woman,\nand becomes a practical, sensible wife. It may be a little unromantic\nat first sight, but it is undoubtedly by far the best thing she could\ndo under the circumstances. But when poor George saw his goddess riding\nabout smiling and happy by the side of her husband, and that husband\nnot himself, he could not endure the sight. After lingering a little\nin misery, he threw up his connections, and left the city for what\ndestination nobody knew.\n\nGeorge Howard was alone in the world. His mother had died early; his\nfather went off when George was twenty, leaving him fortune enough to\nhelp him to make life as pleasant as he chose to make it for himself.\nHe was advancing rapidly in his profession--law--and had made a host\nof friends when the collapse came. As is so often the case, his pride,\ninstead of sustaining him, sank under the blow. Most probably, if\nthe truth were told, the wound inflicted on his self-esteem rankled\ndeeper than that which had killed his love. The thought that another\nman could succeed where George Howard had failed would have been gall\nand wormwood to him in any case; but when the object of rivalry was a\nwoman's heart, and George Howard's were the rejected addresses, death\nwould be a small word to express the consummation of that gentleman's\nmisery; it was the annihilation of all that made life worth the living.\n\"Howard the jilted,\" he seemed to read in everybody's eye, when perhaps\nnot half a dozen persons knew anything about the affair. Jilted by a\ngirl! How could a man recover such a blow? What was there in the wide\nworld to fill up the void left in one when his mighty self shrank to\nsuch insignificant proportions?\n\nCommon sense might have suggested that there was more than one woman\nin the world, and that there lay a deeper fund of love in the heart\nof a man than could be exhausted on the first girl he chanced to meet\nand admire. It might have suggested also that failure in love did\nnot necessarily mean failure in matters which, after all, as far as\nthe world outside of our little selves is concerned, are of far more\nimportance than love. Man is not sent into this world for the one\npurpose of being \"married and done for,\" as the phrase goes. But when\ndid common sense find the ear of a lover, particularly of a lover\nrejected?\n\nSo here was George Howard, clever enough, good-looking enough, and by\nno means a bad fellow, self-stranded on the barren sand-banks of life,\nwith a short five-and-twenty years behind him, a future full of fair\npromise still before him, hugging a useless sorrow in silent sadness,\nand making that his bride.\n\nHe lived on listlessly from day to day. He mixed with no circle;\nhe knew nobody. He took his meals at his hotel, addressed a few\ncommonplaces to those he happened to meet, and passed most of his time\nin the open air, taking long strolls into the country, walking up and\ndown the beach by the sea, watching the solitary sails that came and\nwent and faded out of sight--sadly, it seemed to him sometimes, as\nthough beckoning him back to a living world. There were few visitors\nat the little town, save just during the hottest of the summer months.\nSuch as did come hurried away again as fast as they could. The train\nrushed through it day after day, a crowd of peering faces would show\nthemselves a few moments at the windows of the cars, strange eyes\nwould stare curiously at the strange place, and pass on a moment after\nas indifferent as before. Something of the instinct which prompts a\nwounded animal to seek out a silent covert where it may lie down with\nits wound and die alone, must have conducted George Howard to this spot.\n\nYet to a man who had only gone there for a short holiday, weary awhile\nof the rush, and the struggle, and the incessant strain and roar of a\nbusier life, the little French town, with its quaint look and quaint\nways, might have offered a refreshing relief from the dust, and the\nturmoil, and the worry of the world of politics and money, railroads\nand trade. Many a one doubtless has at some time or other had the\nwish to wake up some morning a century or two ago in a world that had\ngone away. To such the placid evenings by the sea, the homely looks of\nthe inhabitants, the clean blouses of the men, the white caps of the\nwomen, the busy tongues of the children, the long silver hair of M. le\nCur\u00e9, the dances by the sea as the sun went down, the slow wains drawn\nby drowsy oxen, the fuss and bustle of the weekly market-day, the big\n_gendarme_ with his clanking sword, the white houses and their antique\ngables, with the beat of the surf on the beach for ever, and the fresh\nodor of the ocean pervading all places, would have seemed the delicious\nrealization of many a picture looked on and lingered over in a gilded\nframe.\n\nBut on the deadened senses of George Howard these simple scenes, and\nsights, and sounds fell as you might fancy the roll of the muffled\ndrums to fall on the one stretched out in the coffin who is being borne\nspeedily on by the living to his grave. They wake no life in him; he\nmakes no stir; he is let down into the earth--a farewell roll, and the\ngrave is closed over him for ever, whilst the bright world above seems\nto smile the merrier that another dead man is hidden away.\n\nOf course, this kind of life and mode of thought were rapidly telling\non him and bringing nearer and nearer the consummation he seemed to\ndesire. The step grew slower, the eyes began to lose their quick\nlustre, the cheek its flush, the body its swing and half-defiant\nbearing. The simple people round about looked at him silently, shook\ntheir heads, and sighed as he moved by without noticing them. He grew\nmore and more attached to the beach, where he would stroll up and down\nand sit for hours on the yellow sand, staring out blankly at the\nbroad water, casting a pebble into it from time to time, and watching\nthe circles that it made. There was something congenial to his nature\nin the changeable face and mood, the smile, the frown, the hoarse\nbreathing, the sob, the sigh, the roar, the rage of the ocean. To all\nthese changes something within him gave a voice, until the very spirit\nof the mysterious deep seemed to creep into his being, and make it an\nabode there.\n\nSo he lived on, never writing to a friend, never yearning to go back to\nthe world he had quitted, and which still held out its arms to him. All\nambition, all desire of achievement, all common feeling with the world\ninto which he had been born, seemed to have gradually oozed out of him.\nHe had staked his happiness and lost, and now he only wished for the\nend to come soon. It never occurred to him that he had possibly staked\nhis happiness at too low a figure. He only saw before him an empty\nlife with a dreary existence. At such stages, some men commit suicide.\nHe was not yet coward enough for that, though not Christian enough to\nperceive that this world was not made for one man and one woman only,\nbut for all the children of Adam.\n\nBut happily, however man may reject Providence, and close his eyes to a\nPower that shapeth all things for good, Providence mercifully refuses\nto reject him without at least giving him plenty of opportunities,\nhumanly called chances, to come back to the possession of his senses,\nand the fulfilment of the mission which is appointed unto every man.\nAnd one of George Howard's chances came about this wise.\n\nA favorite walk of his was along a winding road leading some distance\nout of the little town up a lofty hill, from the summit of which the\neye could scan the sweeping circle of the waters, stretching out in\nits glittering wonder to the verge of dimness, or, inland, where miles\nand miles of fair pasture-land and vineyards spread away in gentle\nundulations, with smoke rising from hollows in which hamlets slept, and\nchurch spires clove the clear air, and airy villas crowned the pleasant\nhills. Alternate gleams of sea and land shot through the tall poplars\nthat lined the road as it circled round the hill. At the top, buried\namid trees, and fronted by a garden filled almost the year through with\ndelicious flowers, was the Maison Plaquet, a sort of _caf\u00e9_, where\nvisitors could procure a cup of coffee, a glass of _eau sucr\u00e9e_, or\nthe good wines _du pays_. This establishment was presided over by Mme.\nPlaquet, a buxom dame with a merry eye and kindly voice, whose pleasant\nface had become quite a part of the landscape. There was understood\nto be a M. Plaquet somewhere, but he did not often show himself to\nvisitors. He left the whole business to madame, having a strong\nsuspicion that there was no woman like her in the world, and spent most\nof his time trimming the flower-beds, pruning the trees, or tending to\nthe vineyard.\n\nGeorge was a frequent visitor at the Maison Plaquet. He would spend\nhours in the garden dreaming. Madame was won by his handsome face\nand the fixed sadness in his eyes, which always lighted up, however,\nin response to her genial greeting. She half suspected that it was\nsomething more than a love of nature which sent the _pauvre gar\u00e7on_,\nas she called him, away from friends, and home, and family, to sit\nthere day after day dreaming in her arbor, beautiful as it was. With\nthe chatty good-nature which in a Frenchwoman never seems offensive,\nshe would sometimes try to draw him out of himself, to learn something\nabout him that might help her to lift the settled cloud off his\nhandsome face. To Mme. Plaquet it seemed almost a sin against the good\nGod to wear a cloudy face always. But George was so jealously reserved\nthat she gave him up, with the secret conviction that it was love alone\nthat could inflict so deep a wound on so young a heart, and that love\nalone could heal it.\n\nOne afternoon, whilst George was reclining in the arbor, a riding party\nof gay cavaliers and dames showed themselves suddenly in front of the\nMaison Plaquet. Exclamations of delight at the beauty of the scene\nburst from one and another. One fair young girl stood her horse just\nat the entrance to the arbor, and, to those within, completely filled\nin the picture. Thus she met the dreamy eyes of Mr. George Howard. The\nsteed was a little restive, but with a firm though gentle hand she\ncurbed him until he stood still as death and she upon him. The light\nhat she wore was thrown back, showing a shapely head with glossy curls,\naround which the sun made a glory under the clustering blossoms. For\na moment horse and rider seemed to stand out startlingly clear from\nthe sky, and for that moment George allowed his eyes to linger there\nas upon a striking picture. A moment after, the party had dismounted,\nentered the arbor, and seated themselves at a table opposite to our\nfriend. As the centre figure of the picture which had attracted his\ngaze passed, she glanced at him, and he had a momentary view of a\nblooming cheek and a pair of those large, soft, but courageous eyes,\nfilled with that courage which makes a man reverence a woman--eyes\nround, and full, and clear as a child's, that fear no evil without,\nbecause they are conscious of none within. The party was a gay one, and\ntheir gaiety grated on George's ear. He rose and sauntered down the\nhill, a little sadder, if possible, than when he had ascended it.\n\nAfter his departure, one of the gentlemen, an old acquaintance of Mme.\nPlaquet's apparently, inquired of her who her strange visitor might be\nwhom he had met there more than once, and always alone.\n\nMadame, with a sigh and many a shrug, and much amiable volubility,\ntold the company that she knew nothing at all about him, save that\nhe lived in the little town _en bas_, that he came there very often,\nthat he was evidently suffering from some great trouble, that he was a\ngood gentleman and always gave something to the poor when they asked\nhim, and that it was a great pity so handsome a young gentleman should\noffend the good God by not being happy.\n\nThe ladies were quite interested in madame's narrative. Ladies will be\ninterested about good-looking young men who are suffering from that\nromantic complaint, an incurable melancholy. But as madame's narrative,\neloquent and pathetic though it was, left them in much the same state\nof enlightenment as before with regard to the interesting stranger, all\nthey could do was sigh a little, remount, and resume their gay tone.\nJust as they were commencing the descent, a hare started and frightened\nthe horse of the young lady who had attracted George's attention. A\nplunge, a rear, and an instant after it was out of sight, thundering\ndown the steep road at a speed that mocked pursuit.\n\nGeorge was strolling along in his listless way, stopping now at this\nturn, now at that, to admire the scenery, pluck a flower or a leaf,\nand muse a little. He had almost arrived at the foot of the hill, when\na cry from above and a clatter of hoofs broke on his ear. He stood at\na narrow turn between two high banks opening into the last bend of the\nroad, to listen and observe. A moment after, a horse with a lady on his\nback came tearing down at a mad speed right on him. A glance showed\nthat the rider stood in imminent danger of her life, and that the only\nmeans of saving her was to stop the animal in the midst of its wild\ncareer. The thought and determination to do something had scarcely\ntime to flash through his brain, when the horse was on him; and how he\nnever knew, but he found himself dragging at the reins--a stumble of\nthe steed against the bank as it swerved, a fainting lady in his arms,\nand a moment after a crowd of persons around them. He surrendered her\nto the care of her friends, and, seeing her revive whilst they were\nengaged in tending her, took occasion to slink away unobserved, as\nthough he had been guilty of some mean action. And the Maison Plaquet\nsaw him no more.\n\nAbout a week after this occurrence, he was taking one of his usual\nmoody walks along the beach, his hands clasped behind him, and his eyes\nfollowing the golden path that led away over the waters down to the\nsinking sun. He walked along listlessly, insensible to everything save\nthe subtle solemnity of the hour, when the brooding calm of the evening\nbegan to settle over the crimson wave and the flushed earth. He did not\nobserve a figure leaning against a huge boulder that lay rosy-red right\nin his path. The leaning figure was that of a young man, who, like\nGeorge, was surveying the scene, but with an air of genuine admiration\ncuriously tempered by the eye of a connoisseur examining a painting\nas to the merits or defects of which his oracular opinion might be\ncalled for at any moment by a listening world. Let us look at him as\nhe leans back there, so contented, to all seeming, with the world in\ngeneral, and possibly with himself in particular; for notwithstanding\nan occasional touch of what in others would be called impertinence, but\nin him was really rather assumed than natural, and, as he was wont to\nsay, often got him out of difficulties, Ned Fitzgerald was a fellow you\nwould like.\n\nHis slim, well-knit figure, clad in a light summer suit, his pleasant,\nanimated face surmounted by a straw hat that became him, his bright\neyes glancing around and taking all in in a sweep--the sinking sun, the\nmingling colors on the waters, the flush on the hills, the blood-red\nglow on the sands, the quiet circles of a solitary sea-bird that turned\nand dipped its snow-white wings in the rosy light--to one looking at\nhim, he made nature seem all the more lovely and enjoyable for having\none who could feel its loveliness so thoroughly and so evidently.\n\nThe quick eye did not take long to pick out the slightly stooped\nfigure that seemed so wrapt in silent thought, and, as it neared\nhim, never turned its gaze from the dying sun. Mr. Ned Fitzgerald\nwatched its approach, and, with his usual tendency to be sociable,\nevidently contemplated addressing it; when, as it came close enough to\ndistinguish the features, he started from his recumbent position, took\noff his hat and tossed it wildly in the air, never waiting to catch it\nagain, but, rushing towards George, seized that astounded and miserable\nmortal in his arms, and hugged him almost to suffocation before he\ncould see who it was, whilst the exclamation burst from him:\n\n\"Why, George Howard, by all that's impossible!\"\n\nAnother hug and a longer one, and a hearty laugh, and a shake of both\nhands up and down, and a look of genuine pleasure in the bright eyes\nthat seemed to throw a light over the kindly face--Ned's pleasantry\nwas contagious, and the first flush of surprise on George's face was\nsucceeded by a faint smile as soon as he recognized his old friend and\nschool-fellow, whilst a sort of moisture forced itself into his own\neyes. It was as though he had come back from the grave a moment to find\nthat after all the hand shaken so vigorously by an old friend--the\nbest-liked old friend of them all, who had studied with him, and fought\nwith him, and played with him, and got into all sorts of scrapes and\nout of them with him, and built with him those bubble castles that boys\nwill build at school, destitute of nothing save foundation--was still\nreal flesh and blood, and that the heart throbbing within him was still\nhuman.\n\n\"Why, Ned, old fellow, what in the name of wonder brought you here?\"\n\n\"Destiny, my boy, destiny, fate--anything you please that may give\na sufficiently solemn turn to a landslip close by which interfered\nconsiderably with locomotion, and forced me bag and baggage out of\nmy snug _coup\u00e9_, to set me down in this unknown corner of the earth,\nabsolutely without a soul to speak to, for one night. But I do believe\nI could have endured a broken head as well as a broken journey for the\nsake of dropping on you again, old boy.\"\n\nWhy young gentlemen, supposed to know the meaning of words, should\nfind such a secret fund of special endearment in the terms which they\nso lavishly apply to one another of \"old boy,\" \"old fellow,\" or \"old\nman,\" is a mystery whose solution is still to appear. Young persons\nof the opposite sex, as it is called--goodness knows why--are not in\nthe habit of addressing each other as \"old woman,\" \"old duck,\" or \"old\nmaid.\" Such terms would be esteemed in them as anything but endearing,\nalthough married ladies have been known to speak of their lord and\nmaster as \"a dear, good old thing.\" However, to return from this\ndigression, which is becoming dangerous, to the \"old\" men in question:\n\n\"Well, Ned, I am really glad to see you,\" said George, and then added\nslowly, as the old chill came back to him, \"and that's more than I'd\nsay to many an old acquaintance--now.\"\n\nHe looked away moodily to where the sun had gone down, as the gray\nbegan to settle over the water. Ned took a quick glance at his friend,\nand saw that, as he expressed it to himself, \"all was not right\nsomewhere.\" He had seen very little of Howard since they left college,\nand knew nothing of what had driven him from New York. However, he\ndetermined to take no notice of his last remark for the present, but\nsaid gaily:\n\n\"This sea of yours gives one a tremendous appetite. I move dinner.\nThere's nothing like dinner to liven up a man's wits. Come along,\nGeorge. We have had our fill of gorgeous sunsets and scenery for one\nday. There's a poetry as well as a glare in the gaslight when it shines\non a well-spread table. What! you have no gas here? Happy people!\nOne tax the less. But it is to be hoped you find something to eat in\nthis backbone of the world. Now, come along, and we'll have all the\nadventures by flood and field with the cigars.\"\n\nNed was at his best during dinner, though, for that matter, he seemed\nalways at his best. His presence gave a pleasant flavor to dishes which\ntime after time George had turned away from with disgust. He had an\noriginal remark for everything. And the polite French waiter was rather\nastonished as the dinner progressed to see M. O--art, as the domestics\ncalled George, give vent to an occasional laugh, which grew and grew,\nuntil the two old friends became almost as uproarious as a couple of\nschool-boys out for a holiday.\n\nThat delicious after-dinner moment having arrived when the cigars are\nlighted and the legs stretched out in lazy contentment, without the\nslightest regard for \"the proprieties\"--nobody but themselves being\npresent--they began their questionings and cross-questionings. George\nwas the first to start.\n\n\"Well, Ned, what in the name of good fortune brought you down here?\nWhat are you doing? Still writing?\"\n\n\"Yes. At present I am despatched on a secret diplomatic mission, which\nof course it is impossible for me to divulge, by the editor of the\ngreatest daily in the world. You know what that means.\"\n\n\"Well, I can guess. The particular 'greatest daily' does not matter\nmuch. There are so many.\"\n\n\"Yes; and the fun of it is, I write for them all. The six or seven\nspecial correspondents who keep New York and London on the _qui vive_\nwith regard to European affairs, and who lay bare to their wondering\nvision from time to time the real undercurrent of those affairs,\nsocial, political, and religious, are often one and the same with your\nMephistophelian friend.\"\n\n\"Bohemianizing, eh? Why, I took you to be respectable, Ned. Ah! a\nnewspaper office is a sadly demoralizing place.\"\n\n\"Pshaw! What will you have? The public wants news, and somebody must\nfurnish it. People nowadays are much the same as people ever were.\nHumanity must have something to talk about, or it could not exist.\nHumanity is a woman.\"\n\n\"I agree with you there; that is why I have abandoned it.\"\n\n\"Oh! I see what you would say. There are two sides to that. But what\nI mean is, we must talk, or the world will come to a stand-still. The\nnewspaper man nowadays furnishes the staple commodity on which the\nworld exercises its tongue.\"\n\n\"Nowadays, yes. Well, it's a poor commodity. Somebody has well called\nit the 'cheap and nasty.'\"\n\n\"Always the same, George; always the same. What was the cry of\nthe Athenians when S. Paul went amongst them? 'What news? _Quid\nnovi?_'--and the Athenians were the intellect of their time. To-day we\nlive too fast for the tongue; hence electricity, hence the daily.\"\n\n\"Hence the Bohemian?\"\n\n\"Well, Bohemian is a much-misapplied word. It requires a sort of genius\nto be a true Bohemian; erratic genius, if you like, but still genius.\nBohemianism is not all boots down at heel, crushed hat, and broken\nelbows, five-cent cigars and lager-beer that a friend pays for, with\nan occasional bottle of champagne when the pocket happens to be flush.\nLook at me, for instance, supplying the six or seven leading dailies\nwith news. If I tell a lie one day, I contradict it the next. If I\nsend a false account to the government organ, I send an extra true one\nto the opposition, and a trimmer to the free and independent. If the\ngovernment is malicious, the opposition is ultra pious; and if the\nfree and independent is scandalous, both unite in coming down on and\ncrushing it. To be sure, things get mixed up a little sometimes; but,\non the whole, matters are pretty evenly balanced, and in the end the\ntruth comes uppermost. Then all along you are supported by the secret\nconviction that nobody ever believes a word you say.\"\n\n\"Whose fault is that?\" asked George.\n\n\"The weakness of humanity, my dear fellow. You must not go too deeply\ninto things, nor expect a daily newspaper, with its villanous printers,\nto be true as gospel. A newspaper correspondent is despatched to find\nnews; and if he can't find it....\"\n\n\"He invents.\"\n\n\"Well, what is the use of imagination, unless you exercise it a bit?\nBut it is the greatest fun in the world to see yourself quoted by\nopposite parties for opposite purposes.\"\n\n\"Yes, it must be amusing. Some people--old-fashioned people, to be\nsure--might consider it a trifle dishonest, perhaps; but then, they are\nbehind the age.\"\n\nNed rose, laughed, and took a turn round the room. Standing opposite\nhis friend, he said:\n\n\"So, George, I find I have succeeded in giving you an exalted idea of\nmy character and ability already. Have you forgotten that famous gift I\nhad of extemporizing yarns at school? Well, to relieve your mind, the\ndevil--that is to say, Mr. Edward Fitzgerald--is not quite so black as\nhe has painted himself. Nor, indeed, am I quite so powerful and fluent\na writer as I have imagined. I am on a mission here, though; partly\nbusiness, and partly to take my sister back with me to New York. She\nhas been staying with some of her school friends, convent companions.\nI was on my way to join them when this lucky accident tumbled me into\nyour hermitage. And now, what has brought you here? You seem quite\ndomiciled. Why, I expected to have heard great things of you by this\ntime.\"\n\n\"I? Oh! I am doing nothing,\" said George, with a sigh, coming back to\nhimself.\n\n\"Nothing! Well, that is not such a bad occupation when you only know\nhow to do it, and can find no other employment.\"\n\n\"Why, what else can a fellow do?\"\n\nNed was fairly taken aback at this question. To ask him what a fellow\ncould do in this world was like asking him why he had teeth, or hands,\nor a head, or life altogether. After an amazed stare at his friend, he\nanswered:\n\n\"Well, I suppose that what a man can do is generally best known to\nhimself, when, like you, he has life in his veins, brains in his head,\nand money in his pocket. At all events, it is scarcely likely that you\nwere made for the precise purpose of burying yourself alive here.\"\n\n\"Oh! I don't know. It is not such a bad sort of life,\" said George\nwearily. \"Here I have no cares, and fuss, and bother, no visitors to\nbore, and no bores to visit. Nobody comes to borrow or beg. There is no\nnecessity for playing at compliments with people for whom you do not\ncare a straw, and who care for you less. Here is, instead, the sea, and\nthe shore, and the woods, and the hills, a fair table, a good enough\nwasherwoman, and people around you who never speak till they are spoken\nto. What more can a fellow want?\"\n\nNed made no reply. He was puffing his cigar in silence, and following\nthe curling smoke with his eye as he blew it against the light--a\nfavorite fashion of his when thinking to himself. He was thinking\nnow, rapidly, how changed was his friend in so short a time. He was\nwondering where all the ardent spirit and high hopes that fired him a\nfew years back had gone. Contact with the world, instead of crushing,\nhad raised his own hopes the more. Why had it not done the same for\nHoward? He could find no solution to the difficulty; for life to him\nwas a glorious battle, and inaction worse than death. His friend must\nhave encountered some great shock, some bitter disappointment, at\nthe outset. He was seeking the clew in the smoke apparently. After a\npainful pause, he at length asked:\n\n\"How long have you been here now, George?\"\n\n\"On and off, a year or more. I go and come. I make short excursions\nround about for a week or so sometimes, but I always return here.\"\n\n\"You entered a firm on the other side, did you not?\"\n\n\"No; I was about to do so.\"\n\n\"And why didn't you? Were they cheats?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Did they fail?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Did _you_ fail? Did you lose any money in any way?\"\n\n\"No, what makes you ask?\"\n\n\"Because I want to find out what the trouble is with you. You are not\nin love?\"\n\n\"Good God! No!\" exclaimed George almost fiercely, as he rose, strode to\nthe window, and stood there looking out at the moon.\n\nThe bitterness of his tone, the abruptness of his action, told the\nobservant Ned that unwittingly he had touched the right chord. He\nindulged in a silent whistle to himself, and shook his head as a\ngood-hearted physician might over a hopeless case. Ned confessed\nhimself a bad hand at ministering to the love complaint. That was\nthe only ill for which he would advocate the calling in of a female\nphysician. For heart disease of this nature, Ned would, on his own\nauthority, grant a diploma to any suitable lady doctor; for he was\nconvinced of the utter inability of man to handle such a delicate\naffair. So he shook his head despondently.\n\nWhilst these thoughts were passing through the brain of the now\nvery wide-awake Mr. Fitzgerald, George seemed to have recovered his\nusual dead calm, and, leaving the window as he proceeded to light\na fresh cigar, inquired, with a smile that seemed to anticipate a\ncharacteristic answer:\n\n\"Ned, have you ever been in love?\"\n\nIt was now Ned's turn to rise. He tore about the room frantically a\nmoment, dashed his hand through his hair, and finally, coming to a\nstand-still before his amused friend, burst out:\n\n\"In love! Have I ever been in love? What a question to ask a man! Don't\nyou know my name? Did you ever hear of a Fitzgerald or any other of his\nrace who had not been in love? Why, man, I fall in love every day of my\nlife. How can I help it when every woman I see for five minutes falls\nin love with me. I might say I have lost my heart so often that I don't\nthink there's a bit of it left to lose now; and still I go on falling\nin love by sheer force of habit.\" And Ned \"hove to\" with a comic burst\nof despair.\n\n\"You are a happy man, Ned,\" said George, laughing.\n\n\"Happy?\" questioned Ned, half to himself, and as though the idea had\nstruck him for the first time in his life. \"Well, I suppose I am. I\ndon't see much advantage to be gained by being otherwise.\"\n\n\"Nor I; but, for all that, people differently constructed from your\nfortunate self cannot always help being otherwise.\"\n\n\"Bah! Of course they can; particularly in love matters. Love was not\nmeant to make a man mope, but to stir him up. Those old fogies in the\nmiddle ages had a much truer idea of love, as of many other things,\nthan we have nowadays, with all our boasting. Ah! love then was the\ngenuine article. Not all sighs, and tears, and millinery, and newspaper\nparagraphs, and mothers-in-law, and the lovers playing cat's-cradle\nto each other. No; but the man went about his business, bearing his\nlove in his heart for a year and a day. He wore his lady's gage on his\nhelm, and, if his business happened to be the giving and taking of hard\nknocks, why, he gave and took, his love and himself against the world.\nHe rode in the lists under his lady's eye, and proved himself a brave\nman for her sake. Love nerved his arm, whilst it purified his heart and\nsoftened his soul. Why did the wife gird the buckler on her lord? Love\nwas akin to religion then, marriage a sacrament, and not, as it now\nis....\"\n\n\"A social exchange, a trade carried on by the great Mother-in-law\nCompany, Unlimited--a thing of barter and loss, where dollars are\nwedded to dollars by the magistrate, where youth and beauty sells\nherself to old age for so much a year and her own carriage. O Ned, Ned!\nwhat a pity we were not born in the middle ages!\"\n\n\"Hallo!\" said Ned, \"I did not mean to go quite so far as that, George.\nAfter all, they were men and women then, just as we are; and, though\none cannot help breaking out now and again on modern notions, one thing\nis certain--for every true knight there is somewhere a true lady.\"\n\n\"Have you found yours yet, Ned?\"\n\n\"Perhaps not, perhaps yes,\" said Ned, dropping a moment his light tone.\n\"Perhaps because I am not a true knight; perhaps because, though I\nfound a true lady, she was meant for somebody else. Because I may have\nmade one mistake, that is no reason why my true lady should not be\nwaiting for me somewhere, nor why I should fail to rejoice at seeing\ntwo others happy, though my own toes may have been trodden on a little\nbit. After all, the world is very wide and full of happy possibilities.\"\n\nSomething unusual in Ned's tone seemed to spring from real feeling\nthat lay concealed under his usual airy manner; perhaps suffering,\nwith which his good-nature cared not to trouble the sufficiently\ntrouble-laden world. For the first time in his life, George Howard\nfelt a little ashamed of himself, and conscious of something akin\nto selfishness in his nature which he had never suspected there\nbefore. It takes a very long time to see ourselves. Self-knowledge\ncomes piecemeal, and the pieces that go to make the human mosaic are\nsometimes very ugly when seen alone, though they may pass muster in the\nwhole, and merge and be lost in its common symmetry.\n\nWhen he awoke the following morning, and the thought came to him that\nthe usually dreary day was to be enlivened for once by the presence of\nNed Fitzgerald, the thought was not an unpleasant one; and when that\ngentleman burst into his room with a bundle of sea-weed in his hand,\nspeckled all over with curious little shells, which he said he would\nkeep for Mary, the look of young, active, earnest life in his bright\neyes and diffused over his whole person seemed in some indescribable\nmanner to make the sun brighter and the air clearer. George began to\nfeel young again, and examined the shells and the slimy weed, over\nwhich Ned gloated and expatiated, with an interest that would have been\na marvel to him yesterday.\n\n\"And who is Mary?\" he asked, as that name passed Ned's lips more than\nonce.\n\n\"Why, the sister I was telling you about.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said George, and was silent.\n\nThat evening, it was arranged that Ned should go the next day, and\nbring Mary back with him. As he found the little town so quaint and\nquiet, he determined to stay a week or so with his old friend, instead\nof going on directly to Paris, as he had intended; and George, to pass\nthe interval, made his first visit since the accident to his friend,\nMme. Plaquet.\n\nThat good dame was as angry as she could be with him. Why had he not\ncome to see her for so long? What had he been doing? Was he sick from\nthe dragging that _m\u00e9chant_, the horse, had given him? How did she know\nabout it? Why, had not M. de Lorme and the ladies been there almost\nevery day since, and all on purpose to meet him and thank him for his\nbrave service? And now, was not mademoiselle going away, and her heart\nbreaking because she could not see her preserver, and thank him for\nsaving her life? And there was the card and the letter of M. de Lorme\nwaiting for him all these days. She would not have it sent, because\nshe expected monsieur to come every day. Ah! it was cruel!\n\nGeorge opened the letter, and found that it was an eulogium of M. de\nLorme on his gallantry and devotion, to which he was indebted for\nthe life, probably, of his charming young friend; that her brave but\nunknown preserver would confer an honor on her and on M. de Lorme by\nfavoring them with his distinguished friendship; that it was cruel of\nhim to escape from them whilst they were all engaged with his charming\nyoung friend; that he hoped he would excuse this mode of addressing\nhim, as, owing to the peculiarity of the circumstances, he knew of\nno other; and that, as his charming young friend was about to leave\nthem, he would no longer deny them the opportunity, so much desired,\nof paying the deep debt of gratitude they owed him, by allowing them\nto testify in person their admiration of his admirable courage and\nchivalrous devotion.\n\n\"Well, and what do you say?\" asked Mme. Plaquet, as, with arms folded\nand a general air of mistress of the situation, she surveyed her\nmysterious young friend, whilst, with a half-amused countenance, he\nread M. de Lorme's missive.\n\n\"Oh!\" said George, \"I don't know. What a fuss you French people make\nabout stopping a horse! There--don't say any more about it. I have a\nfriend staying with me who knows how to arrange all these matters, and\nI will consult him. To-morrow or the day after he shall come to see\nyou. You will like him. Is the lady quite recovered?\"\n\n\"Entirely. But she looked so sad when she came, and came, and never\nfound you. Ah! if I were a handsome young man, how many horses would I\nnot stop, only to get one such glance from such lovely eyes!\"\n\nThe next morning, Ned was to return with his sister, and George went\ndown to the railway station to meet them. If he showed himself a trifle\nmore careful than he had been lately in his selection of a tie and\nin his dress generally, and if anybody had entered at the time and\ntold him so, George would probably have been angry at the idea of his\nreturning to such weaknesses. There was Ned's pleasant face at the\nwindow; there he is waving his hat; and here he is now introducing\nMiss Mary Fitzgerald to his old friend, Mr. George Howard, to the\nmutual astonishment and evident confusion of that lady and gentleman,\nwho blushed and turned pale by turns like guilty things. Even Ned\nwas dumfoundered a moment, and argued to himself, from these silent\nbut unmistakable signs of recognition between the parties, that his\nceremony of introduction was quite a superfluous piece of etiquette.\n\nHe broke the awkward silence in his characteristic fashion:\n\n\"Well, if you people know each other already, you had better say so at\nonce, and not let me make an ass of myself by going through a formal\nintroduction--a thing I always hate. Mary, do you know George, or don't\nyou?\"\n\nThere were tears in Mary's large eyes, as, clinging a moment to her\nbrother, she sobbed rather than said:\n\n\"O Ned! this is the gentleman I told you of, ... to whom I owe my\nlife, ... of whom we were all speaking....\" And then, turning the\nluminous and still tearful eyes full on George, who could scarcely\nstand up against the rush of mingled feelings that oppressed him, said,\nwith a genuine simplicity and native grace which were most moving, as\nshe took his hand in her own with an action at once gentle and natural:\n\"Sir, it was a bitter thought to me that I should be compelled to\nleave France without knowing and thanking the brave gentleman who\nrisked his life to save mine. I had hoped to see you at M. de Lorme's,\nand had so much to say to you. But now that I meet you,\" glancing\nat Ned, \"in this ... in this way, my heart is so full I can say\nnothing....\" And the gathering tears began to fall.\n\nIt was time for Ned to intervene:\n\n\"Oho! So you are the unknown knight whom M. de Lorme and the ladies\nhave been raving about; who goes around in sable sadness, rescuing\ncharming young ladies from perilous situations, and disappearing as\nmysteriously as you come. Faith, my friend, there is a nice romance\nconcocted over you. But, George, my boy, I could say a great deal more\nthan my eloquent sister has done on this subject, only I know it would\nbe distasteful to you. However, we shall have it out together on the\nquiet some day. But what a shame!\" Ned rattled on as they made their\nway to the hotel. \"Here is all my nice little plot spoiled. Mary, I\ngave him such a description of you. Let me see, George, what was she\nlike? Red-haired, freckled, middle-aged, and stout; short of breath and\ntall of body; weighing one hundred and seventy pounds after dinner, and\na trifle less before.\" George looked disgusted, and Mary was laughing.\n\"You took snuff, Mary, and wore your carroty curls in little whisks of\nbrown paper half through the day. You had a vixenish temper, a liking\nfor toddy, and would insist on speaking French to the servants with\na beautiful Galway accent, and swore at them like a trooper for not\nunderstanding you. It was only out of pure regard for your handsome\nbrother and for the sake of 'auld lang syne' that my friend George\nwould tolerate your presence at all. And here you are the whole time\nold and valued friends, under mutual obligations to each other--you\nfor saving my middle-aged relative from being run away with and dashed\nto pieces by a vicious brute, and my middle-aged relative for being\ngracious enough to allow you to do anything of the kind. I declare it\n_is_ shameful, and almost makes one take the rash oath of never telling\na good-natured lie again.\"\n\nThis harangue of Ned's set them both at their ease as though they had\nknown each other all their lives.\n\n\"And may I ask, Miss Fitzgerald, if this conscientious brother of yours\ngave an equally accurate description of his old school-fellow?\" said\nGeorge, laughing.\n\n\"Mary, don't tell.... He'll murder me....\"\n\n\"I was instructed all the way along to be particularly kind and\nattentive to a dapper....\"\n\n\"No, not dapper ...\" interjected Ned.\n\n\"Yes, dapper, Mr. Howard; I remember the word distinctly. A dapper\nlittle old gentleman with a bald head and only one eye, who was as deaf\nas a post, but would not allow any one to consider him so. I was led to\nunderstand that he made excellent company at table, only that he simply\nfollowed out his own train of thought, and his remarks consequently\nwere generally rather _mal-\u00e0-propos_; and in fact quite a lot of other\nthings that I cannot remember, save that I was to take him his drops\nevery morning at half-past eleven precisely, and always put six lumps\nof sugar in his coffee, and none in his tea.\"\n\nThere was a merry dinner-party that evening at the hotel, and a long\nramble by the beach afterwards under the moon.\n\nMary had a great deal of Ned's happy nature in her, and between the\ntwo, what with sailing, and riding, and long strolls, George could not\nwell help throwing off his despondency. The light soon came back to the\neye, the color to the cheek, the spring to the step, the gaiety to the\nyoung heart, the belief that, after all, life was not such a bad thing,\nand that there were pleasant places even in this miserable world for\nthose who sought them in the right spirit.\n\n\"Your friend George is getting quite gay,\" remarked Mary one evening,\nas brother and sister sat alone, during the temporary absence of the\nsubject of that young lady's remark.\n\n\"Yes, poor fellow. He was in a sad way when I dropped on him. Going to\nthe dev--I mean the grave, fast.\"\n\n\"Why, what was the matter with him?\"\n\n\"Oh! I don't know. Put his foot in it somehow.\"\n\n\"Put his foot in what?\"\n\n\"In the wrong box, of course. How stupid you women are!\"\n\n\"But what wrong box, Ned?\"\n\nThat gentleman looked ineffable disgust at his beautiful sister, whose\neyes were fixed a little anxiously on his. Then taking the peachy\ncheeks between both hands, he drew her face up to his own and kissed\nher, saying, \"There, Mary.... There are only two women in the world to\nwhom I would do that.... You are one--\"\n\n\"And the other?\" asked Mary, a little bewildered.\n\n\"Is to come,\" answered Ned enigmatically. \"It will take some time\nperhaps to find her. One makes a mistake sometimes among so many. When\nhe does, he puts his foot in the wrong box.\"\n\n\"And you think he--that is, Mr. Howard has quite recovered now?\" asked\nMary, after a pause.\n\n\"Well, it looks as though he were very near it; but here he is to\nspeak for himself,\" said Ned, as George half bounded into the room,\nflushed with exercise, and looking as handsome as any young lady could\nwish.\n\nBut why give the stages of what all know so well and have heard\nthousands of times told and retold? One morning, some months after,\nthe little French town looked very gay. There were green rushes strewn\nat the door of the hotel, and all the towns-people turned out in gala\nattire. There was the carriage of M. de Lorme, and an enormous bouquet\nin the coachman's button-hole. There were more carriages, and more\ncoachmen, and more bouquets. Soon the church was filled with a buzzing\nand excited crowd that hushed into silence as a bridal party moved up\nthe nave and stood at the steps of the altar, whilst the venerable\n_cur\u00e9_ in the name of God joined the hands together which no power on\nearth may sunder. The sunlight fell softly on them through windows of\npictured saints. Mme. Plaquet was there, wiping her eyes, and weeping\nsilently, as she praised the good God, who had saved the _pauvre\ngar\u00e7on_ and brought it all about so wonderfully. M. Plaquet was there,\nmore convinced than ever that his wife was a wonderful woman; for had\nnot she made the match? Old women, and tender girls wept as the sweet\nbride passed out a wife, amid showers of blossoms strewn in her path\nby little white-robed children. They blessed her for an angel, and\nher handsome husband, whom they all knew so sad, and who now looked\nso happy. There was another happy face, with bright eyes and a sunny\nsmile, that attracted many an eye--the face, the eyes, and the smile\nof Mr. Edward Fitzgerald. If the reader would know more of George's\nhistory, it is being made. He has found his true lady-love, and is\nproving himself a true knight. Ned, gay Ned, is as merry as ever. He\nis called uncle now by a chubby-cheeked youngster with sturdy legs and\nthe large eyes of his mother, into whose innocent face his father often\ngazes half anxiously, wondering will he ever come to imitate him in his\nshort-lived folly. Ned has not put his foot in the right box yet; so he\nsays, but rumor tells another tale. He may meet us again some day.\n\n\n\n\nRECENT POETRY.\n\n\n                           BY AUBREY DE VERE.\n\n    We looked for peach and grape-bunch drenched in dew:--\n    He serves us up the dirt in which they grew.\n\n\n\n\nCRIME--ITS ORIGIN AND CURE.\n\n\nIt is no exaggeration to say that there is scarcely a man or woman in\nthe community who, upon taking up a morning newspaper, is not prepared\nto find recorded in its pages at least one case of wilful murder or\nsome other atrocious infraction of the law, human and divine. Whether\nit be homicide or uxoricide, attempt at either, or the criminal\nindulgence of the baser passions; whether the result of artificial\nexcitement or the wilful premeditation of bad or diseased minds,\nthe effect is the same on the public, and the dreadfully frequent\nrecurrence of such offences--that the lives of the most harmless among\nus are put in jeopardy equally with those of the most belligerent;\nwhile the law, the first office of which is to protect the life, honor,\nand property of the citizen, is practically ignored and defied.\n\nThis terrible prevalence of crime has been a fruitful subject of\ncomment, and while the supineness of the legal guardians of the general\nwelfare and the unaccountable stupidity or weak sentimentality of\njurymen have been unsparingly denounced, very little has been done in\nthe way of intelligent legislation to check the ever-flowing stream\nof criminality. It is true that the common and the statute laws\nhave long ago prescribed death as the penalty for the commission of\nmurder, arson, treason, and one or two other high crimes, long terms\nof imprisonment in state-prisons and penitentiaries for felonies, and\nshorter terms in local prisons for minor offences, but all these wise\nenactments do not appear to check the onward march of outrage and\nlawlessness. The result is that abroad the good name of the Republic\nsuffers, while at home the very familiarity with deeds of violence and\ndishonesty created by the sensational and minute newspaper reports is\ndebasing the youth of the country, and, by throwing a halo of romance\nover their commission, robs them of half their repulsive and disgusting\nfeatures.\n\nStill, while much indignation and more apprehension have been\nmanifested at the growth of crime and the apathy and ignorance of those\nentrusted with the duty of repressing it, very little has been done\neither to remove the causes which lead to its perpetration, or to visit\nit with condign punishment when all other efforts have failed. This\nmere theorizing over what is a tangible evil is deeply to be deplored.\nSurely nothing can be more worthy of the attention of the statesman\nand the philanthropist than the study and analysis of this frightful\nsocial phenomenon, with a view of limiting its growth, even though\nit were found impossible to lesson appreciably its present gigantic\nproportions. It is well recognized that it is the primary duty of\nall civil governments to protect the lives, liberties, and property\nof their subjects, and our own national and state organizations,\nclothed as they are with such ample powers and supported by popular\napprobation, ought to be the foremost in discharging this trust.\nUnder arbitrary or usurping governments, such as those which dominate\nPoland, Ireland, and Italy, it is generally difficult to execute what\nis called the law, for the oppressed people are at enmity with their\noppressors, and take every opportunity to oppose and thwart what is\nstyled the administration of justice. They feel, and properly feel,\nthat \"the world is not their friend, nor the world's law;\" but with us\nit ought to be far different. Here the laws are made by the people,\nand it is understood for the people, and hence every good citizen\nshould feel a personal interest in the rectitude and exactitude of\ntheir administration. He is not only injured in person and property by\nimperfect and ignorant legislation, through his own carelessness, but\nhe violates his obligations to his fellow-man when through neglect, or\nfrom unworthy motives, he does not do all in his power to prevent it.\n\nHowever, to act intelligently as well as conscientiously in matters\nof such gravity, the study of the origin of the evils which afflict\nand disgrace our country, and the sources from whence they generally\nspring, requires more attention than has usually been given, even\nby those who most deplore their existence. It will not do to throw\ndown your newspaper after perusing accounts of three or four cases\nof murder, and ask to what is the world coming? It is almost equally\nuseless to occasionally hang a criminal, or to send another to prison\nfor life. For the one so punished, a score at least escape, and the\ndemands neither of retributive nor distributive justice are satisfied.\nThe evil-disposed gratify their revenge by the commission of these\ncrimes, while their chances of punishment are no more than one in\ntwenty. Thus the plague that infests society daily becomes more noxious\nand, as it were, epidemic.\n\nCrime has its latitude and longitude, its nationality, classes, and\ncastes, its peculiar inciting causes, as well as the great vital\ncause--the absence of true religious faith and practice. For instance,\nit might be easily demonstrated that the many-nationed people of the\nUnited States are addicted to special classes of crime, as distinct\nand almost as obvious as their language, habits, and intellectual\nidiosyncrasies. We speak now of the more flagrant violations of the\nsocial compact, not with the intention of discriminating against any\nclass or race in the community, nor with the object of holding the mass\nof any people, no matter what their origin or country, responsible for\nthe acts of a few among them--for after all the criminals are in a\nsmall minority, fortunately, among all nations--but to point out the\nnature and peculiar motives for the commission of offences against the\nlaw as they exist among different classes of our population, so that\nsuitable remedies may be applied to the respective cases.\n\nOutrages against law and justice depend to a certain extent on locality\nfor their distinctive character. The desperate hand-to-hand encounters\nwhich have so long characterized a certain class of society in the\nborder states, are as different in motive from that of the cool\nConnecticut poisoner, as the assassin of our aristocratic circles is\ndissimilar to the ruffian of the slums.\n\nWhen we ascribe homicide to the criminal classes of America, we do not\nassume it to be a national sin, for though of late we have read of some\ncases in New England and the West, and know of many deliberate ones\nin this vicinity, we refer specially in our analysis to the remote\nSouthern and Southwestern states, where the bowie-knife, the rifle,\nand the revolver are considered much more efficacious and prompt in\nthe settlement of disputes than the slower and less exciting appeal\nto the courts. It may be said that this is the natural consequence\nof the war, the termination of which has thrown out of employment\nmany desperate men habituated to the use of arms; but this is only\npartially true, for the same state of society existed in New Orleans,\nArkansas, and along the banks of the Mississippi many years anterior\nto the late internecine contest. Lawless men of every grade, gamblers,\nhorse-thieves, the idle, and the debauched, have for nearly two\ngenerations infested those and neighboring localities; deadly quarrels\nwere constantly springing up, and were decided in a moment by the\ndeath of one if not of both disputants; and the public authorities,\nwhenever they dared to interfere, were sure to be set at defiance, if\nnot maltreated. The same state of affairs exists to this day, but in a\nmodified form, and there seems to have been no way discovered to alter\nit.\n\nStill, the American people as a whole are not responsible for what\nmight be called a local disorganization of society, grown out of\ntheir rapidly-extending settlements, whence flock naturally many\noutcasts, vagabonds, and reckless men, anxious to escape the odium of\npublic opinion and the chastisement that awaited them in the older\nand more thickly settled communities of the East. But our country,\nwith a better show of reason, may be accused of condoning, if not of\nactually encouraging, a widespread system of political and commercial\ndishonesty, an offence which, though not by any means as bad as the\ntaking of human life in its direct consequences, indirectly encourages\nand promotes the commission of the greater crime. A legislator or a\njudge who can be guilty of taking bribes, is sure, the one to make bad\nlaws and the other to execute good ones corruptly. Criminals who have\npolitical or moneyed influence are allowed to escape with impunity,\nwith a _carte blanche_ to continue their nefarious business. Whoever\nhas read the proceedings of the several investigating committees in\nWashington during the last session of Congress, and of our State Senate\nacting as a court of impeachment during the summer of 1872, will hardly\ndoubt the truth of this assertion.\n\nThis spirit of bribery, false swearing and peculation we find\nprevailing, among some of the most prominent members of the national\nCongress, who, these investigations have shown, are not above the\nacceptance of paltry bribes for the use or abuse of their high\ndelegated authority; we find it in many of our state legislatures,\nparticularly when a United States senator is to be elected or the\ninterest of a railroad company, a corporation, or a wealthy private\nindividual is to be subserved by forcing or retarding legislation; and\nit is a matter of public notoriety that among the officers of municipal\ncorporations, notably our own, where integrity, if in any place, should\nfind a home, the most unblushing robbery, swindling, and false swearing\nhave prevailed for years. Again, let us look at the history of our\nlarge banks and insurance companies. There is scarcely a week passes\nbut we hear of defaulting officers and clerks who, after years of\nsecret, continuous stealing and false entries, finally decamp, leaving\nit to be discovered that the aggregate amount of their individual\nabstractions reaches tens and hundreds of thousands. What makes this\n\"respectable\" species of larceny so heartless and reprehensible is,\nthat the money so stolen does not actually belong to the institutions\nthemselves, but to the public, and generally the poorer classes, who\nare depositors or policyholders. It is significant that in proportion\nto the number of counting-houses superintended by their owners to the\nnumber of banks and insurance companies the trust-funds of which are in\nkeeping of paid officials, the number of defalcations in the former are\nas a mere nothing compared with those of the latter. Why? In one case,\nthe merchant is liable to lose his own money by negligence; in the\nother, the president and directors lose only that of other people, and\nthus a criminal betrayal of trust is added to swindling.\n\nNow, these blots on the national escutcheon are of comparatively\nrecent date, and are the result mainly of two causes: the late war,\nwhich suddenly elevated an ignorant and ignoble class to enormous\nwealth, and the corruption of politics and politicians by the unguarded\nand unchecked abuse of universal suffrage. The shoddyites and the\npoliticians, having no claim on the respect or esteem of honest men,\ncommenced a career of extravagance and vulgar display, which, if it did\nnot win the approbation of the judicious and refined, certainly was\nwell calculated to dazzle the moral vision of the vain and unstable.\nPalaces, diamonds, and resplendent equipages became the order of the\nday, and their effect on the integrity of the staid men of business\nwas marked and deleterious in the highest degree. Mrs. A., whose\nhusband before the war was doing a thriving little business and was\ncontent with an occasional drive in a hired light-wagon, now enjoyed\nthe luxury of a private carriage and liveried servants; consequently\nMrs. B., whose husband was cashier in a bank at two or three thousand\na year, must have one similar. Mr. C., who was a resident of the Sixth\nor Seventh Ward previous to his election to office, and occupied part\nof a comfortable house, now lived in a handsome mansion on Madison\nor Fifth avenues; hence Mr. D., who was confidential clerk in a\nlarge importing house, abandoned his cosy cottage in the suburbs and\nfollowed his old friend's example. Now, how are B. and D. to support\nthis luxury? Clearly, not out of their salaries. Having control of the\nfunds and enjoying the confidence of their employers, they abstract the\nmoney and rush into Wall or New Streets to gamble in gold or stocks.\nThey are not common thieves--oh! no; they only borrowed from time to\ntime large sums of cash from the true owners, intending to return it;\nbut they never do so! For a short time they are lucky, and are able to\nkeep place in a course of wild dissipation with A. and C., but sooner\nor later a crisis arrives, there is \"a panic in the street,\" and they\nlose all. Then follow flight, detection, and public exposure--in any\nwell-regulated community, we might add dishonor. But it is not so; for,\nyou see, this is the age of progress and enlightenment. The public\nthink very lightly of such matters, probably from their very frequency,\nand soon forget them; the \"knowing ones\" condemn the fugitives only\nfor not having been \"smart\" enough; the bank or insurance authorities\ncompromise the felony for a consideration, for it is only the public,\nnot themselves personally, who have suffered; and, after a brief\nsojourn in Europe or Canada, the criminals return to the bosom of their\nfamilies prepared to enter on some new field of peculation.\n\nAs for the political rogues, no one seems to heed their depredations.\nPublic opinion has become so vitiated that it is expected every man\nin office will steal; in fact, some persons go so far as to say they\nought to steal, holding it a trivial affair to appropriate large\namounts of the people's money, while they would hesitate long before\nadvising any one to rob a till or strip a clothes-line. We recollect\nan official in this city who for a wonder was so honest that he was\npoorer when he resigned than when he accepted office. Upon being met\non an occasion by a friend and congratulated on having been able to\npurchase one of the largest hotels in New York out of the \"spoils,\" the\ngentleman indignantly resented the insult in no measured terms. His\nacquaintance laughed quietly, and walked away with an expression of\nmingled pity and contempt on his countenance.\n\nNow this lust for gain, this inordinate love of display, which leads\nthe inexperienced and weak-minded into so many unworthy actions,\nshould be abated, if we hope to preserve anything like commercial\nhonor and political purity. They are eating into the very vitals of\nsociety, infecting the very highest as well as the lowest class in\nthe community; and though the consequences to which they lead may\nnot appear so heinous as other crimes, they are so far-reaching and\nso general that they might well be classed with those to which the\nlaw attaches its severest penalties. There was a time, not very far\ndistant, when the idea of attempting to bribe a senator, or what is\ncalled \"buying up\" a state legislature, would have been considered\npreposterous, and when the counting-house and the banker's desk were\nconsidered the temple and altar, as it were, of honesty and integrity.\nWhy is it that so lamentable a change has taken place, and in so short\na time? Clearly, because an insatiate longing for the acquisition of\nwealth, speedily and with as little labor as possible, has taken\npossession of the present generation, and in a headlong pursuit of\nfortune, honor, reputation, and conscience are too often cast aside and\nforgotten. This should not be so in a country like ours of unlimited\nresources, and where industry and ability need never look in vain for a\ncompetency.\n\nBut a more diabolical crime against all law, natural, human, and\ndivine, is the system, so prevalent in some sections of this country,\nof mothers depriving their inchoate offspring of existence even on\nthe very threshold of their entrance into the world. So unnatural is\nthis offence that it is beyond the power of language to reprobate it\nadequately, and in charity we hope that the guilty votaries of ease\nand fashion, who perpetrate such horrible atrocities, do not realize\nthe full turpitude of their acts. We had long refused to believe that\nsuch a violation, not only of God's law, but of the strongest and\nmost beautiful instincts of our nature--the parent's love for her\nchild--existed to any great extent, but we have been so often assured\nof it by physicians and other reputable persons conversant with such\nmatters, that we have been forced to admit as true the existence\namong us of a crime that would disgrace the veriest savage. We are\nassured that in certain localities, which we shall not particularize,\nthe evil is not only widespread but is growing into a custom, and\nthis extraordinary fact is adduced as one of the reasons why the\nchildren of native-born parents are so few in proportion to those of\nforeigners. If we were to look for a primary cause for such barbaric\ncriminality in merely human motives, we should fail to find one at\nall commensurate with the enormity of the guilt. The wish of married\nwomen to be freed from the care of young children, so that they, being\nunincumbered by household duties and cares, may participate in outdoor\npleasures, attend the opera, the theatres, concerts, and ball-rooms,\nhas been advanced with some force as one of the reasons; but this is\nnot sufficient, for we find the heinous practice prevailing in remote\ntowns and villages where no such attractions are presented. The laws of\ncivil marriage and of divorce, as recognized in most of the states of\nthe Union; that curse of what is called modern civilization; that fatal\nlegacy handed down to us by the \"Reformers,\" has much to answer for\nin this respect. Protestantism has reduced the holy sacramental bond\nof matrimony beneath the level of a limited co-partnership, degraded\nthe nuptial contract below the most trivial commercial obligation,\nannihilated its responsibilities, destroyed its safeguards, and even\nwishes to go further--to ignore the very shadow of marriage, from\nwhich it has long since taken the substance. The purchase of a piece\nof land or the delivery of a bale of goods is now attended with more\nceremony than that sacred rite at which our Saviour himself attended\nin Galilee and at which he performed his first miracle! How deeply\nhas humanity been made to suffer for the bestiality of Henry Tudor\nand the apostasy of the monk of Augsburg! Is it any wonder then that\na link, so thoughtlessly accepted and so lightly worn, should be as\nunceremoniously sundered, and that the woman, who does not know but on\nthe morrow she may be either plaintiff or defendant in a divorce suit,\nshould be adverse to bringing into the world children which either\nparent may claim or disown?\n\nBut the grand motive cause is to be found still deeper. If the truth\nmust be told, the masses of the people of this noble country are fast\nsinking into intellectual paganism, beside which that of imperial\nRome was harmless and innocuous. Protestantism, as has often been\npredicted, has nearly reached its logical conclusion--infidelity.\nRead the sermons of the prominent sensational preachers, their\nnewspapers and periodicals, and what do you find in them? No stern\nlessons of Christian morality; no appeals to the moral conscience or\nexposition of the beauties of the cardinal virtues; no dogma, as befits\nheaven-appointed guides; no doctrine such as only the ordained of God\ncan preach and teach; but, instead, stale tirades against Catholicity,\nrehashed lyceum lectures, and fragments of stump-speeches delivered\nbefore the last election and interlarded with pious ejaculations\nto suit the occasion, apologies for being Christians at all, and\noccasional efforts to explain away Christianity itself--all covered\nover with a thin veil of cant and mock philanthropy.\n\nDo we find these so-called ministers telling their congregations that\nmarriage is an indissoluble tie, which no man can burst asunder; that\nthe object of it is to enable husband and wife to live together happily\nand to bring up their children in the love and fear of God; that to\ntake the life of an infant ante-natal is a dark, deadly, mortal sin;\nthat no living human being who has not received baptism can ever see\nthe face of God; and that whoever wilfully deprives her helpless babe\nof that ineffable delight will have to account for that lost soul\nto its Maker? Oh! no; that might shock the sensibilities of their\naudiences, and might lead to their own expulsion from their livings. Is\nit surprising, then, that a vice so much in harmony with the working\nof human passions, as apparently devoid of all moral responsibility\nas it is free from civil punishment, should be so frequently and so\nfreely indulged in by those whose base inclinations are unchecked and\nunregulated by anything like true Christian teaching?\n\nBut what most surprises us is the appearance in the public prints\nfor the past two or three years of numerous cases of suicide. This\n\"self-slaughter\" was a crime, we thought, confined to the older\nnations of Europe almost exclusively. The Americans are neither a\ndespondent, an impoverished, nor a sentimental people; and yet we have\nbeen exceedingly pained to read of men well-to-do in the world, many\nof them being comfortable farmers and most of them advanced in years,\ndeliberately taking that life which God gave them for wise and useful\npurposes, and voluntarily going before the judgment-seat of their\nMaker with the crime of murder on their souls. The policy of the old\ncommon law was to consider every suicide insane, but that was merely\na fiction to save his goods from confiscation by the crown; we would\nfain believe that the numerous instances among ourselves were the\nresult of aberration of mind--doubtless some of them were; but others\nhave been planned and executed with such forethought as to preclude\nthe possibility of such a supposition. As we write, we have before us\na copy of a New York journal in which no less than four suicides of\nAmericans in various parts of the country are recorded.[14]\n\nIt has been debated whether the act of a suicide is, humanly speaking,\none of courage or cowardice: we are inclined to the latter opinion, but\nthe question is immaterial. Whatever be its character in that respect,\nit is sure to originate in the absence of any belief which affirms a\nhereafter, or in that morbid form of idiocy known as spiritualism,\nwhich runs into the other extreme. In either case, it can only be\nprevented by moral suasion, for the civil law is of course utterly\npowerless in the matter; yet of all known crimes it is the most\nseductive, and even might be called contagious.\n\nLet us now turn to another class of our people--the adopted citizens,\nand consider the peculiarities of their criminal classes. The largest\nproportion of our immigrant population is from Ireland, and, coming\nfrom a misgoverned and plundered land, many of them, indeed we think\na large majority, are very poor indeed, so destitute that they have\nnot means to bring them to the West, or into the rural districts, and\nconsequently remain in the large cities for life. We have observed that\ndeeds of violence committed by a certain class of Irish-Americans are\ndisproportionately large, when compared with the native population or\nwith those of other countries. We regret to be obliged to say so.\n\nWe yield to none in our respect, nay affection, for the children of\nlong-suffering and persecuted Ireland, but we would be untrue to\nourselves and unjust to the bulk of our fellow-citizens of Irish birth\nwere we to ignore or deny that but too many of them allow themselves to\nbe led into the commission of acts of violence not unfrequently ending\nin deadly quarrel.\n\nThis should not be. As a rule, an Irishman is social, humorous,\nand kind, affectionate in his family relations and disinterested\nin his friendships. In this country he has all the advantages that\nreligion can afford, the churches are open to him every day, he is\nnot restricted in his attendance at divine service on Sundays, he\nhas always, particularly in cities and large towns, an opportunity of\nhearing good, practical, and instructive sermons and discourses on\nthe duties of life, at least once a week; and the strength to resist\ntemptation, which the sacraments alone can give, is always within his\npower to obtain.\n\nWhence, then, originates this ungovernable passion, this desperate\nrecklessness that resists all control, and, disregarding consequences,\nrushes madly into sin, makes man an outlaw among his fellows, and drags\nhim to the dungeon and the scaffold? We must not attribute it to his\ndefective education, the result of a jealous and tyrannical system of\ngovernment in his native country, though it may have something to do\nwith it; neither will the fact that many who had golden dreams before\nthey reached our shores failed to realize them, and so became heedless.\nPoverty and destitution have been pleaded in extenuation, but they are\nmore a result than a cause; for no able-bodied man, if well-conducted,\nneed be in that sense either poor or destitute in this country, where\nlabor is ever in demand. No; the secret, if it be a secret, lies in\none word--intoxication, and, as a consequence, in the neglect of\nthe religious duties taught and performed in their younger days.\nIntoxication is the demon that creeps into their souls, fires their\nheated blood, plunges his victims into an abyss of crime and transforms\nman, the noblest work of the Creator, into a ferocious brute. We are\naware that instances of forgery, arson, swindling, and premeditated\nhomicide--in fact, all offences requiring skill and deliberation--are\nexceedingly rare among our Irish-born population, but that is no\nreason why a few men born and baptized in the church, as little\nchildren taught the great truths of religion in the simple words of the\ncatechism, and as adults weekly and almost daily within reach of moral\ninstruction and a participation in the benefits of the sacraments,\nshould by their neglect of religion, and their insane desire for\ndeleterious stimulants, disgrace the race from which they have sprung\nand bring obloquy on the religion they profess to respect, but never\npractise. Who ever heard of an Irish adopted citizen, a teetotaler or\neven a uniformly temperate man, committing an atrocious crime or a\ndeliberate breach of the laws of his adopted country?\n\nNo better illustration can be given of the beneficial effects of\ntemperance on the Irish character than the following official\nstatistics taken from the _Life of Father Mathew_. The author says:\n\n  \"As a conclusive proof that the diminution of crime [in Ireland]\n  was one of the necessary consequences of the spread of temperance\n  among those classes of the community most liable to be tempted to\n  acts of violence or dishonesty, some few facts from the official\n  records of the time may be quoted here. They are taken from the\n  returns of 'outrages specially reported by the constabulary,'\n  from the year 1837 to the year 1841, both included. The number of\n  homicides, which was 247 in 1838, was only 105 in 1841. There were\n  91 cases of 'firing at the person' in 1837 and but 66 in 1841. The\n  'assaults on police' were 91 in 1837 and but 58 in 1841. Incendiary\n  fires, which were as many as 459 in 1838, were 390 in 1841.\n  Robberies, thus specially reported, diminished wonderfully from\n  725 in 1837 to 257 in 1841! The offence of 'killing, cutting, or\n  maiming cattle' was also seriously lessened; the cases reported in\n  1839 being 433, to 213 in 1841! The decrease in cases of 'robbery\n  of arms' was most significant; from being 246 in 1837 there were\n  but 111 in 1841. The offence of 'appearing in arms' showed a\n  favorable diminution, falling from 110 in 1837 to 66 in 1841. The\n  effect of sobriety on 'faction fights' was equally remarkable.\n  There were 20 of such cases in 1839 and 8 in 1841. The dangerous\n  offence of 'rescuing prisoners,' which was represented by 34 in\n  1837, had no return in 1841.\n\n  \"Without entering further into details, the following returns of\n  the number committed during a period of seven years, from 1839 to\n  1845, must bring conviction home to the mind of any rational and\n  dispassionate person that sobriety is good for the individual and\n  the community:\n\n                   Total\n  Year.             No.\n  1839             12,049\n  1840             11,194\n  1841              9,287\n  1842              9,875\n  1843              8,620\n  1844              8,042\n  1845              7,107\n\n\"The number of sentences of death and transportation evidenced the\noperation of some powerful and beneficial influence on the public\nmorals. The number of capital sentences in eight years, from 1839 to\n1846, was as follows:\n\n                  No. of\n  Year.         Sentences.\n  1839              66\n  1840              43\n  1841              40\n  1842              25\n  1843              16\n  1844              20\n  1845              13\n  1846              14\n\n\"The sentences to transportation during the same period, from 1839 to\n1846, exhibited the like wonderful result:\n\n                 No. of\n  Year.        Sentences.\n  1839            916\n  1840            751\n  1841            643\n  1842            667\n  1843            482\n  1844            526\n  1845            428\n  1846            504\n\n\"The figures already quoted are most valuable, as they prove, beyond\nthe possibility of a doubt, that national drunkenness is the chief\ncause of crime, and that sobriety is, humanly speaking, one of the best\npreservatives of the morals of a people.\"[15]\n\nWhen we recollect that during the years above reported the consumption\nof ardent spirits had decreased one-half, though the population had\nincreased by at least a quarter of a million, the inexorable logic\nof the figures above quoted becomes irresistible--intemperance is a\ngreater enemy of the Irish race than even her hereditary foe, England.\n\nWith the Germans it is different. They are by no means given to\nindulgence in violent stimulants, though they, too, are a social\npeople, fond of enjoyment and of their national beverage, beer; yet\ncrime, and that of a very serious character, is not unusual among\nthem, particularly the killing of females. And here again we have the\nevidence of the terrible havoc which the great rebellion of the XVIth\ncentury against the church and her authority has wrought in the social\nrelations of mankind. Germany was the originator, the centre, and the\nmain supporter of that revolt on the Continent of Europe, and, having\nbeen violently wrested from the seat of Catholic unity, has ever\nsince been groping in the dark, oscillating between heathenism and\ntranscendentalism, without stability or any sort of fixed principles.\nThe blight of the Reformation, so called, has eaten into the very\nmarrow of their family relations, and what would be deemed infamous for\nwomen of other countries to do, is considered among a certain class of\nthis people, limited, it is true, a matter of course.\n\nOnce again, let us not be misunderstood. In ascribing this species of\noffence to the Germans in the United States, we do not mean to say\nthat it is general to the whole body; on the contrary, we are happy\nto know that it is confined to a few, for, as a whole, the people\nfrom the north of Europe are perhaps the most law-abiding portion of\nour citizens. We are well aware that in this city, and in the West\nand South, there are many learned professors, devoted priests, and\ndevout congregations, all of German birth, as well as many reputable\nmerchants, mechanics, and professional men of the same nationality, who\nworship God according to their hereditary customs; but we think we do\nnot go too far in saying that the majority of German-Americans have\npractically no religion, that they never enter a church, say a prayer,\nor perform any of the ordinary duties of a Christian. Some years ago,\nthe writer was introduced into a Germania society in a neighboring\ncity which consisted of over three hundred members, all gentlemen of\neducation and wealth. He subsequently visited it three or four times on\nvarious Sundays, and always found its spacious suite of rooms crowded.\nUpon enquiring where those persons went to church, his friend placidly\nreplied: \"I don't think there is one of us ever goes to church; you\nknow I do not.\" If such an example is set by the \"higher classes,\" what\ncan we expect from those in the lower scale of social life?\n\nWe often have had occasion to admire the way in which the Germans enjoy\nthemselves on week-days and Sundays; the order and good-fellowship\nwhich prevail at their gatherings, their songs and instrumental music,\nand the fact that they always bring with them their wives and children\nto partake of their enjoyment. But our satisfaction at seeing them go\nto the rural retreats on a Sunday morning, and return peaceably in the\nevening after a long day of rational pleasure, has been considerably\nlessened by the knowledge that no portion of the day, set apart\nas a day of prayer as well as of rest, has been devoted by those\npleasure-seekers to the service of the great Giver of all blessings,\nof happiness here and hereafter. Such practical defiance of God's law,\nsuch ingratitude towards our common Father, such complete disregard\nof the simplest requirements of religion, must necessarily blunt the\nmoral sense, more especially as it affects and weakens the sanctified\ntie that binds husband and wife. It is therefore with more sorrow than\nsurprise that we read of so many cases among our German fellow-citizens\nof men and women living with other persons' wives and husbands. Such\nconditions are unlawful and short-lived, the fruitful source of anger,\njealousy, and discontent, and not unusually culminate in ill-treatment,\nblows, and even death.\n\nWhile we also ascribe the crime of the destruction of offspring to\nthe Germans, we do not mean to say that it is practised to any extent\namong them, but that the foul crime is perpetrated in this and other\nlarge cities almost exclusively by German quack doctors, male and\nfemale; their victims being generally from other nationalities. For\nthis the German people are not so much to blame as our own press,\nwhich publishes the advertisements of those miscreants and scatters\nthem broadcast on the world for a paltry consideration; and our state\nlegislatures, which have neglected until lately to enact proper\nlaws; and our prosecuting attorneys, who have failed to enforce such\nenactments as we have on our statute-books against this class of rank\nmurderers.\n\nOffences against property are almost exclusively in the hands of our\nEnglish criminals, if we except the horse-stealing of the Southwest.\nOur most expert pickpockets, our most dexterous sneak-thieves, daring\nhighwaymen, and scientific burglars come from London, many of whom have\nserved her Majesty for a term of years in her penal colonies, and are\nso well known to the detectives of the British metropolis that they\nhave sought new fields of enterprise in this country. They have been\npreceded or accompanied by prize-fighters, gamblers, and keepers of\nlow dens called concert-saloons. The former they make the partners in\ntheir labors and gains, and in the latter hot-beds of infamy they find\nshelter and concealment. It may be said that this class of crimes is\nfar less reprehensible than those above enumerated, and so they would\nbe were it not that highway robbery and burglary sometimes terminate\nin the taking of human life. Still, it must be said in justice that\nwe hear of very few cases of wilful homicide being perpetrated by the\nEnglish among us, though, like the French, suicide is not unknown\nto them, but arises from different causes. The Briton \"shuffles off\nthis mortal coil\" through moroseness and despondency; the Gaul gaily\nprepares to smother himself with carbonic acid gas from a morbid\nsentimentality, and a contempt for the precious gift of life which he\nis about to throw away.\n\nNow, if all these offences were simply infractions of the municipal\nlaw, we would naturally look to our legislatures, our courts, juries,\nand sheriffs for their prevention or punishment, but they are not only\nthat, but breaches of the divine law, and we must depend likewise on\nthe efficacy of moral suasion to prevent if not to correct them. Public\nopinion can do much to repress crime, the legislative, administrative,\nand judicial branches of our various local governments, each in its\nsphere, might effect far more good; but it is on the teachings of true\nChristianity alone, and all the consequences that flow from it, that\nwe must rely if we wish to stem the tide of misery, vice, and outrage\nwhich are fast surging over every portion of our fair land. The strong\narm of the civil power is potent to punish when the crime has been\ncommitted, but weak indeed to prevent its perpetration. This higher\nand nobler duty is reserved for religion, and for religion alone.\nIt is well enough to make concise and exact punitive laws, though\nthis is not always done; and to administer them fearlessly, honestly,\nand intelligently, though the reverse is generally the case; still,\nexperience has taught us that wise enactments and impartial judges\nhave very little power to stay the promptings of bad hearts or repress\nthe temptations ever presenting themselves to men of vicious habits or\ndefective moral training. The church, and only the church, can rule\nthe mind and heart of man, can train him from his infancy, before he\nknows or is responsible to any civil law, can strengthen him with the\ngraces of the sacraments, arm him with the most potent of all weapons\nagainst sin--prayer--place constantly before his eyes the certainty of\neverlasting bliss or eternal damnation, keep him in the \"narrow path,\"\nand thus prevent the possibility of his being an enemy to society and\nan outcast of heaven.\n\nNext to the church comes the school. The importance of education to the\nwell-being of society can never be overstated. It may be well said that\nit is in the school-room the seeds of vice or virtue are first sown, it\nis there that the future benefactor or the enemy of his kind commences\nhis career in life, and it is upon the proper or vicious method of\nteaching which he receives as a boy depends mainly his future course in\nthe world. No wonder, then, that the Catholic Church is so desirous of\nsuperintending the training of those little ones who by the sacrament\nof baptism have been made children of God and heirs to the kingdom of\nheaven; that the zealous parish priest should mourn over the loss of\nhundreds of the youth of his congregation, who, taught in Protestant\nor infidel schools, have fallen away from the faith to plunge into\nsin and vice. Is he to be blamed if he exhausts every resource and\nstrains every nerve to establish for his people a school where their\noffspring will be guarded from worldly contamination, and trained in\nall the beautiful morality of Catholic doctrine? Few seem to understand\nthe comprehensive meaning of the word education. The mere acquisition\nof worldly knowledge is not education, the development of the highest\nintellectual powers is not education, but only a part, and a secondary\npart at that, of a complete education; for without inculcating\nmorality, justice, a high sense of honor, a noble disregard for self,\nand a sympathy for the suffering and unfortunate, you curse man with a\ndisposition that is its own Nemesis, with unlawful desires that \"make\nthe food they feed on,\" and simply enlarge his capacity for doing evil.\n\nThat this is the result of our present common-school system cannot well\nbe gainsaid in view of the general spirit of peculation and corruption\nwhich prevails in those very portions of the country where such schools\nare most numerous and best attended and supported. And this view is not\nours alone. Already we find the secular press, hitherto the strongest\nopponents of denominational education, clamoring for a reform in our\nmethod of public instruction. \"We must have,\" says a leading daily\npaper of this city, \"a higher system of morals taught in our public\nschools\"; though the writer does not condescend to say how morals can\nbe taught without religion, or who are to be the teachers. Is it the\nfagged-out teacher who tries to earn his salary by the least possible\nlabor, and who perhaps, in this respect, is as deficient as the\nchildren themselves; or is it the trained priest or the lowly Christian\nBrother, who has devoted himself heart and soul to the service of God\nand of his creatures, and whose reward is not of this world?\n\nOur common schools, with some modifications, are decidedly a New\nEngland invention, but none the worse for that, for the early settlers\nof that much-abused region, whatever may have been their other faults,\nwere neither an irreligious nor an immoral people. On the contrary\nthey were deeply imbued with a sense of the dignity of religion\nand a reverence for its ministers, according to their limited and\nerroneous but honestly entertained ideas; and being all of one way of\nthinking, they established schools, at the public expense it is true,\nbut they took care that their peculiar theological notions should go\nhand-in-hand with secular teaching. The minister, the elder, or the\ndeacon generally united with his clerical office that of schoolmaster,\nand the morals as well as the intellectual qualities of the pupils\nwere sedulously developed and cultivated. Now all this is changed. The\nfoundation upon which the public-school system was built has crumbled\ninto dust, and the superstructure cannot and ought not to stand\nlonger. Our country is now composed of many nationalities, believing\nin various creeds, and the task of educating the rising generation\nshould be remitted to each denomination to take care of and instruct\nits own members. If we want to inculcate true lessons of morality and\nintegrity, to stop bribery, forgery, perjury, dishonesty, infanticide,\nand homicide, we must change our system of education, or it is possible\nthat society, laboring under so heavy a burden of sin and dishonor,\nwill in the near future be crushed to pieces.\n\nBut for the adult immigrants who have never felt the baleful\ninfluence of our public schools, what is the remedy? For the Germans\nwe would say, a more general attendance at divine service. They are\npre-eminently an organizing people: why do not those good German\nCatholics who are so constant in their devotions establish more\nsocieties, with a view to induce their erring compatriots to give up\nat least a portion of that time now wholly devoted to pleasure to the\nworship of God? This would be a work of great charity, and if earnestly\nundertaken would doubtless be successful. The panacea that lies before\nour Irish fellow-citizens is temperance--that observed, we venture to\nsay that they will be found among the most moral and orderly portion of\nour population. In this connection we are glad to observe the untiring\nenergy exhibited by prominent laymen to organize and unite temperance\nsocieties, and the encouragement given them by priests and bishops. Our\nIrish friends must not forget that not only the honor of their native\nland and the prosperity of their children in that of their adoption\ndepend on their good conduct and sobriety, but that, to a great extent,\nthe Catholic Church in America is contemned or revered in proportion\nas they act against or in harmony with her doctrine and discipline. If\nwoe be denounced against whosoever gives scandal, a blessing is also\npromised to those who, by their actions, glorify the name of God.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[14] New York _Times_, May 13, 1873.\n\n[15] _Father Mathew: A Biography._ By John Francis Maguire, M.P. New\nYork: D. & J. Sadlier & Co. 1871.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TROUVERE.[16]\n\n\n                           BY AUBREY DE VERE.\n\n    I make not songs, but only find:--\n      Love, following still the circling sun,\n    His carols casts on every wind,\n      And other singer is there none!\n\n    I follow Love, though far he flies;\n      I sing his song, at random found\n    Like plume some bird of Paradise\n      Drops, passing, on our dusky bound.\n\n    In some, methinks, at times there glows\n      The passion of a heavenlier sphere:\n    These, too, I sing:--but sweetest those\n      I dare not sing, and faintly hear.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[16] The Greeks called the poet \"the Maker.\" In the middle ages, some\nof the best poets took a more modest title--that of \"the Finder.\"\n\n\n\n\nMADAME AGNES.\n\n\n                   FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES DUBOIS.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nLOUIS IS DISMISSED.\n\nSuch, then, was the state of affairs when Louis, after an absence of\nten days, returned to his usual occupation. The evening was somewhat\nadvanced when he arrived. Mr. Smithson, who was not in the habit of\ndoing anything hastily, thought it better to defer the interview till\nthe following day. The order to the porter was therefore countermanded,\nand a servant sent to inform Louis that Mr. Smithson wished to see him\nthe next morning. Louis was quite startled at receiving so unexpected a\nsummons.\n\n\"What has happened?\" he said to himself. \"Can Mr. Smithson be\ndispleased at my long absence?... Has he heard of Adams' intended\nconversion?... Perhaps Albert has obtained my dismissal.\" There was\nnothing cheering whichever way he turned. He therefore passed a\nrestless night. Fortunately, he had a support that was once wanting: he\ntrusted in God, and could pray. Prayer does not remove our fears, but\nit calms them. Besides, whatever misfortune threatens the Christian, he\nfeels it will never befall him unless it is the will of God. However\nrude the blow, it is even changed into a blessing to him that turns\nwith confidence to the Hand that chastens. God is ever merciful,\nespecially toward those who truly hope in him.\n\nEug\u00e9nie, better informed than Louis as to what had taken place, but\nless pious, was at that very hour tormented by a thousand apprehensions\nreally justified by the circumstances. She saw the storm approaching,\nand was sure it would overwhelm the one she loved. But what could\nshe do? She had already got into trouble by undertaking his defence.\nShe could only await in silence the result which was at hand. Then,\nperhaps, she could decide on something, or wait still longer before\ndeciding. Thwarted affection more than any other sentiment in the world\nrelies on the help of time.\n\nThe next morning, Louis went to Mr. Smithson's office at the appointed\nhour. They had not had a special interview for a long time. Louis\nappeared as he usually did at that period--easy in his manners, but\ncold and taciturn. Mr. Smithson, on his side, had recovered his usual\ncalmness. He ceremoniously offered the engineer a chair, and thus began\nthe conversation:\n\n\"Monsieur, I have thought it proper to have an immediate explanation\nwith you. Your long absence has been unfortunate on many accounts.\nMoreover, a fact has recently come to my knowledge, or rather, a series\nof facts which have occurred in my manufactory, by no means agreeable\nto me.\"\n\n\"I acknowledge, sir,\" replied Louis, \"that my absence was long--much\nlonger than I could have wished. But you would regard the motives that\nkept me away from the mill as a sufficient excuse, if you knew them.\"\n\n\"I am already aware of them, monsieur, and admit that they were\nreasonable. But as you had a sufficient excuse for absenting yourself,\nyou did wrong not to communicate it before leaving.\"\n\n\"It would have been better to do so, I acknowledge; but I was sent for\nin haste, and obliged to leave without any other notice than a note. I\nhave since been so absorbed in care as to hinder me from thinking of\nanything else.\"\n\n\"Very well, monsieur, we will say no more about that. There remains\nthe other occurrence that has vexed me. You have excited religious\ndoubts in the mind of a poor fellow of my own belief who is young and\ninexperienced--considerations that should have checked your propensity\nto make proselytes.\"\n\n\"Excuse me, sir, if I beg leave to correct an inexactness--quite\ninvoluntary, I am sure, but a serious one--in the expressions you have\njust made use of. I made no effort to induce this man to abandon his\nreligion. He first came to me, and said....\"\n\n\"What he said was prompted by certain things in your evening\ninstructions. You dwell on the necessity of the Catholic faith; you\ninfuse doubts in the minds of the workmen who do not partake of your\nconvictions.\"\n\n\"I have never directly attacked any religion.\"\n\n\"Your indirect attacks are more dangerous.\"\n\n\"What could I do?\"\n\n\"Your course was all marked out beforehand. Employed in an\nestablishment the head of which belongs to a different faith from\nyours; exercising an influence perhaps beneficial to the workmen by\nmeans of your evening-school, your library, and your visits to their\nhouses, but exercising this influence in my name and under my auspices,\nyou ought not to have allowed yourself to wander off to religious\nsubjects.\"\n\n\"Excuse me, sir, I did not and could not. Have the goodness to listen\nto my reasons. Morality without religion is, in my opinion, merely\nUtopian. That the Anglican religion sanctions morality I do not deny.\nNor can you deny that it is supported in a most wonderful manner by the\nCatholic Church--indeed, my conscience obliges me to say the faith is\nits most efficient support. In talking to the workmen, who are nearly\nall Catholics, I give them moral instructions in the name of the belief\nthey practise, or ought to practise.\"\n\n\"That was a grave error, as it soon proved. In consequence of your\nimprudent course, a weak-minded man was led to the point of changing\nhis religion. As I am of the same faith, this was an insult to me. Such\na thing could not occur in my establishment without my consent, and it\nwas inadmissible. If Adams had persisted, I should have discharged him.\nToleration has its limits.\"\n\n\"Ah! he has not persisted?\"\n\n\"No; his fears were imaginary, and only needed calming. I have used\nno other means of leading him back but persuasion. Friendly reasoning\nbrought him back to the point where he was a month ago. Nevertheless, I\ndo not wish a similar occurrence to take place. We must decide on the\ncourse you have got to pursue. My wishes may be summed up thus: either\nyou must give up attempting to exercise any influence over my workmen,\napart from your official duties, or you must bind yourself by a promise\nnever to touch on religious subjects before them, either in public or\nin private.\"\n\n\"Does this prohibition apply equally to the Catholic workmen and those\nof other religions?\"\n\n\"To all indiscriminately. I must say to you, with my habitual\nfrankness, that you manifest a zeal for proselyting that displeases me\nand excites my fears.\"\n\n\"What fears, monsieur?\"\n\n\"I fear that, knowingly or unknowingly, you are the agent of the\npriests. They always seek, I know, to insinuate themselves everywhere,\nand to rule everywhere. I will not tolerate it on my premises.\"\n\n\"You have a wrong idea of the Catholic priesthood, monsieur. The love\nof power imputed to the clergy it would be difficult to prove. I am not\ntheir agent, for the reason that they have no agents. If I desire to\ndo some good to those around me, this wish is inspired by the Gospel,\nwhich teaches us in many places to do all the good we can. Now, to\nbestow money or food on the poor, to instruct the ignorant in human\nknowledge merely, is but little. We should, above all, give spiritual\nalms. The alms their souls need is the truth.... For me, the truth is\nCatholicism.\"\n\n\"I suppose, then, monsieur, with such sentiments, you cannot accept the\nconditions I propose?\"\n\n\"No, monsieur, I cannot. Doing good in the way you wish would have but\nlittle attraction for me. I had the serious misfortune to live for many\nyears as if I had no belief. Now I have returned, heart and soul, to\nthe faith, I wish to make myself truly useful to others, and to repair,\nif possible, the time I have lost. I wish, therefore, to take the stand\nof a Catholic, and not of a philanthropist--to be useful, not to appear\nso.\"\n\n\"Monsieur, I have always had a high respect for people of frankness\nand decided convictions, and they entitle you to my esteem; but, your\nconvictions being opposed to mine, we cannot live together.\"\n\n\"I regret it, sir, but I am of your opinion.\"\n\n\"I assure you, monsieur, that my regret is not less than yours.\nBut though forced to separate for grave reasons, there need be no\nprecipitation about it.\"\n\n\"Just as you please, monsieur.\"\n\n\"Well, you can fix the day of your departure yourself.\"\n\nMr. Smithson and Louis then separated. Mme. Smithson had succeeded! A\nquarter of an hour later, she imparted the agreeable news to Albert.\n\n\"We are rid of him!\" said Albert. \"Well, for lack of anything better, I\nwill content myself with this semi-victory. I shall never forget, aunt,\nthe service you have done me on this occasion. I have no hope now of\nmarrying Eug\u00e9nie, but I am sure the other will never get her, and that\nis a good deal!\"\n\n\"You give up the struggle too readily,\" said Mme. Smithson, in a\nself-sufficient and sarcastic tone. \"I am more hopeful about the future\nthan you.\"\n\nEug\u00e9nie was likewise informed that very morning of all that had taken\nplace. Her mother took care to do that. The news, though anticipated,\nagitated her so that she came near betraying her feelings. But she saw\nin an instant the danger to which she was exposing herself. Making\nan energetic effort to recover herself, she laughed as she said: \"My\ncousin ought to be quite satisfied. Poor fellow! if he undertakes to\nrout all he looks upon as rivals, he is not at the end of his troubles.\nThere are a great many men I prefer to him!\"\n\nWhile this was taking place at Mr. Smithson's, Louis was so distressed\nthat he shut himself up in his chamber to recover his calmness. He came\nto see me that very evening, and related all that had occurred.\n\n\"I cannot blame Mr. Smithson,\" he said. \"Every means has evidently\nbeen used to prejudice him against me. There is some base scheme at\nthe bottom of all this. I have quietly obtained information which has\nconvinced me of Adams' hypocrisy. He never intended to change his\nreligion. His only aim was to get me into inextricable difficulty. He\nhas succeeded. It remains to be discovered who prompted him to do all\nthis.... I have tried in vain to get rid of a suspicion that may be\nwrong, for I have no proofs; but it is continually recurring to me.\"\n\n\"And to me also. Yes, I believe Albert is at the bottom of it all.\"\n\n\"Well, that is my idea. But what can I do? Unmask him? That is, so to\nspeak, impossible. Even suppose I succeeded, it would not destroy the\nfact that Mr. Smithson regards me with distrust, and has people around\nhim who depict me in odious colors. And in the end, how could I confess\nmy love for his daughter? I have lost my property through my own fault.\nI am not sure that Mlle. Eug\u00e9nie loves me. Even if she cherished a\nprofound affection for me, I have reason to believe her parents would\nregard it with disapprobation. Whichever way I look at things, I cannot\nhide from myself that my hopes are blasted!... It is the will of God: I\nsubmit; but the blow is terrible.\"\n\n\"Poor friend! you remained too long with me. It was your prolonged\nabsence that has endangered everything. Allow me, by way of consoling\nmyself for my regret, to give you my advice. I feel as if it were\nVictor himself who inspires me: he loved you so much!... Remain at\nMr. Smithson's some days longer. Instead of manifesting any coolness\ntowards him, appear as you used to. Everything is not lost as long as\nyou retain his esteem. If you meet with Mlle. Eug\u00e9nie, do not avoid\nher. The time has come when she ought to know you as you are. Yes, we\nhave at last arrived at the decisive hour which Victor spoke of the\nnight before he died. Mlle. Eug\u00e9nie must now be enabled to appreciate\nyou as you deserve. She must pity you.... She must love you! If this\nis not the case, however sad it will be to give up an illusion without\nwhich it seems impossible to be happy, renounce it, and acknowledge\nwithout shrinking: 'She does not love me; she never will love me; she\nis not the wife God destines me.' But do not act hastily. Believe me,\nif she is intended for you, whatever has been done, nothing is lost.\nBut it is my opinion she is intended for you.\"\n\nThese words did Louis good. \"I hope you are not deceived,\" said\nhe, \"and this very hope revives me. I will try to believe you are\nright. We will do nothing hastily, therefore. But do you not think I\ncould now venture to disclose my sentiments to Mlle. Eug\u00e9nie, if I\nhave a favorable opportunity, and see it will give no offence? One\nconsideration alone restrains me--I fear being suspected of seeking her\nhand from interested motives.\"\n\n\"The time for such suspicions is past. If Eug\u00e9nie still cherishes them,\nit will lower her in my estimation. She is twenty-two years of age.\nShe has a good deal of heart and an elevated mind, and is capable of\ndeciding her own destiny. I therefore approve of your plan. If she\nloves you, she will have the courage to avow it to her parents. If she\ndoes not love you, she has sufficient courage to make it evident to\nyou.\"\n\n\"How I wish the question already decided!\"\n\n\"No youthful impulsiveness! You need more than ever to be extremely\ncautious while feeling your way. Your situation is one of great\ndelicacy. Act, but with deliberation.\"\n\nSuch was pretty nearly the advice I gave Louis, often stopping to give\nvent to my grief, which was as profound as ever. He left me quite\ncomforted. Though he did not say so, for fear of being deceived, he\nthought Eug\u00e9nie loved him, and believed, with her on his side, he\nshould triumph over every obstacle. When a person is in love, he clings\nto hope in spite of himself, even when all is evidently lost.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nALL IS LOST!-THE PROSPECT BRIGHTENS.\n\nLouis spent several evenings in succession with me. He briefly related\nhow the day had passed, and afterwards took up the different events,\nand enlarged upon them. He often found enough to talk about for hours\nupon the sometimes ungrateful theme. I can still see him sitting\nopposite my mother and myself in the arbor in the little garden behind\nour house. Everything was calm and delightful around us in those\nbeautiful autumn evenings. Louis alone was troubled. In vain we tried\nto restore peace to his soul: it was gone!\n\nI never comprehended so thoroughly all the power of love as then. The\nprofound sadness in which I was at that time overwhelmed rendered me\ninaccessible to such passionate outbreaks--such fits of elevation\nand depression as Louis was then subject to. I gazed at him with a\ncool, dispassionate eye, but with the affectionate compassion with\nwhich we regard a friend who is trying to make himself unhappy. I was\nastonished; sometimes I was even--yes, I acknowledge it--irritated to\nsee how utterly he gave himself up to the passion he had allowed to\ndevelop so rapidly in his heart. Doubtless my poor friend remained\nresigned to the will of God, but not so completely as he thought. It\nis true, even when his mind was apparently the most agitated, we felt\nthat piety was the overruling principle; but then, what a struggle\nthere was between the divine Spirit, which always seeks to infuse\ncalmness, and the gusts of passion that so easily result in a tempest!\n\nAh! I loved my husband too sincerely, and I recall other loves too\npure, to dare assert that love is wrong. But believe me, my young\nfriend, I do not exaggerate in adding that, if love is not always\ncensurable, it is in danger of being so. We are told on every hand\nthat love ennobles the heart and tends to elevate the mind; that it is\nthe mainspring of great enterprises, and destructive of egotism. Yes,\nsometimes; ... but for love to effect such things, what watchfulness\nmust not a person exercise over himself! How much he must distrust his\nweakness! What incessant recourse he must have to God! Without this,\nthe love that might ennoble is only debasing, and to such a degree as\nto lead unawares, so to speak, to the commission of acts unworthy, not\nonly of a Christian, but a man.\n\nAllow me, my friend, continued Madame Agnes, to make use of a\ncomparison, common enough, but which expresses my idea better than any\nother. Love is like generous wine. It must be used with sobriety and\ncaution. Taken to excess, it goes to the head, and makes a fool of the\nwisest. You are young. You have never loved. Beware of the intoxication\nto which I allude! If you ever do love, watch over yourself; pray with\nfervor that God will give you the grace of self-control. The moment\nlove becomes a passion--an overruling passion--ah! how its victim is to\nbe pitied! When reason and conscience require it, you can--I mean with\nthe divine assistance--banish love from the heart where it reigns; but\nbelieve me, it will leave you as an enemy leaves the country it has\ninvaded--with fearful destruction behind. And first of all, it destroys\none's peace of mind. The soul in which passion has reigned continues to\nbear marks of its ravages a long time after its extinction!...\n\nLouis had arrived at this deplorable state; he had not full control\nover his heart; his happiness depended on the success of his love.\nEug\u00e9nie's image beset him everywhere. The word is hard, I confess, but\nit is true. He attached undue importance to whatever had the least\nbearing on this predominant thought. One day, he announced he had\nseen Albert walking with a melancholy air. He was sad, then. But why\nshould he be sad unless his cousin had treated him coldly? And Louis\nhastily added by way of conclusion: \"Mlle. Eug\u00e9nie knows all I have to\nannoy me; she follows me in thought, she participates in my sorrows,\nshe repays me for them....\" Another day he had really seen her. She\npassed by his window, lovelier than ever, but more thoughtful. She was\ndoubtless as anxious as he to be freed from the suspense in which they\nboth were.\n\nAt last he came with important news. He had had the unhoped-for\nhappiness of meeting Eug\u00e9nie. She was advancing towards him, blushing\nwith embarrassment, and was the first to greet him, with an expression\nso friendly as to leave no doubt of her sentiments. He returned her\nsalutation, but was so overpowered with emotion that he could scarcely\nspeak. After some words of no importance, he said: \"I am going to leave\nyou, mademoiselle.\"\n\nEug\u00e9nie replied that she should regret to see him go. Then, as if to\nintimate he had enemies in the house, she added: \"More than one--I wish\nI could say all--will be as afflicted as I at your departure. I refer\nto those you have benefited, and to whom you might continue to do good.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Louis, \"it is hard to have to leave my work incomplete.\nHowever limited it is, my soul is in it. But I must not make myself out\na better Christian than I am. It is not my work I shall leave with the\nmost regret....\" He dared not complete the expression of his thought.\n\nEug\u00e9nie, generally so self-restrained, was visibly affected and\nintimidated. She was about to reply, when Mme. Smithson suddenly made\nher appearance. It looked as if she kept watch over her daughter. When\nshe saw her talking with Louis, she could not conceal her annoyance.\nSaluting him in a freezing, insolent manner, she said: \"Eug\u00e9nie, what\nare you doing here? Your cousin is hunting everywhere for you to go to\ntown with him!\"\n\n\"There is no hurry,\" replied Eug\u00e9nie, resuming her habitual coolness\nand dignity. She went away, taking leave of Louis with a visible air of\ndecided sympathy.\n\nThis brief interview was sufficient to render Louis' hopes legitimate.\nI agreed with him that Eug\u00e9nie would have behaved very differently if\nshe regarded him with antipathy, or even with indifference.\n\n\"There is no doubt she knows all that has taken place,\" said I to my\nfriend. \"If there is any plot against you, she cannot fail to be aware\nof it, or, at least, suspect it. Under such circumstances, the very\nfact of her showing you unmistakable sympathy is a sufficient proof\nthat she loves you.\"\n\nAt this time, an occurrence took place that had an unfortunate effect\non me, and created new difficulties in Louis' path. It was then in\nthe latter part of the month of September. The summer had been rainy\nand unpleasant. The rains increased in September, and soon caused\nan alarming rise in all the rivers. I was then at the end of my\nstay in the little village of St. M----, where I lived unknown to\nthe Smithsons. Faithful to my request, Louis had told no one of my\ntemporary residence in the vicinity.\n\nExcuse me for giving you here some topographical details, perhaps\nsomewhat difficult to comprehend, but necessary for you to know in\norder to understand what follows.\n\nSt. M---- is situated in a charming valley. In ordinary weather, the\ncurrent of the Loire is below the level of the valley through which\nit winds with a majestic sweep. When a rise occurs, the plain would\nat once be inundated were it not protected by a dike which the water\ncannot cross. This dike did not extend to Mr. Smithson's manufactory,\nthough but a short distance from St. M----. When, therefore, the\nriver got very high, the mill ran the risk of being inundated. The\ndwelling-house alone was out of danger, being on an eminence beyond the\nreach of the waters of the Loire, even when it joined, swelled by the\njunction, the small stream that drove Mr. Smithson's machinery.\n\nHaving given you some idea of that region, I will now resume my story.\nOne evening, then, towards the end of my stay at St. M----, Louis told\nme the Loire was rising fast. He assured me, however, before leaving,\nthat there was no danger. \"No matter how strong or high the current,\"\nhe said, \"the dike secures you from all danger. It is as firm as a\nrock.\"\n\nMy friend was mistaken. The bank had certain weak places which the\nwater had undermined without any one's being aware of it.\n\nTowards eleven o'clock, there was a tremendous noise in every\ndirection. People were screaming and rushing around the house: the\ndike had given way! The water had reached the ground floor. My mother,\nmy sister, and myself were lodged on the first story. The proprietor,\nbeside himself, and frightened enough to alarm every one else, came up\nto tell us we must make haste to escape; his house was not solid; we\nwere in danger of being carried away.\n\n\"The water is only rising slowly,\" he said. \"By wading two or three\nhundred yards, we can reach the causeway. There we shall be safe;\nfor the ground is firm, and the causeway extends to St. Denis. The\ninundation cannot reach that place, for it is built on a height.\"\n\nI did not lose my presence of mind in the midst of the alarm. Victor's\ndeath had destroyed all attachment to life. If my mother and sister had\nnot been in danger as well as myself, I should have remained where I\nwas, trusting in God, not believing I was under any moral obligation to\nescape from a house which might withstand more than was supposed; as it\ndid, in fact. But my mother and sister lost all reason, so to speak.\nWild with terror, they fled, and I followed them. When we got down to\nthe ground floor, we found the water had risen to the height of about\nsix inches. There was a mournful sound in every direction which made us\ntremble. We sprang towards the causeway. I was at that time in delicate\nhealth. I had been suddenly roused from sleep. The distance I had to\nwade through the cold water had a fearful effect on me. When we reached\nthe causeway, they had to carry me to St. Denis: I was incapable of\nwalking.\n\nWhile we were thus flying from danger, Louis committed a series of\ngenerous but imprudent acts which became a source of fresh difficulties\nto him. He was sitting alone in his chamber, when, about half-past ten,\nhe heard a dull crash like a discharge of artillery at a distance.\nHe hastily ran down into the court, entered the porter's lodge, and\ninquired where the noise came from that had alarmed him.\n\n\"I do not know, monsieur,\" replied the man, \"but I have an idea that\nthe lev\u00e9e has given way. At a great inundation twenty years ago, the\nLoire made a large hole in the dike, which caused a similar noise. I\nknow something about it, for I was then living near....\"\n\nThis was enough to alarm Louis, and just then a man passed with a torch\nin his hand, crying breathlessly: \"The dike has given way at St. M----!\nHelp! Quick! The village will be inundated!\"\n\nThese words redoubled Louis' terror. St. M---- would be inundated;\nperhaps it was already.... I was there ill, and knew no one!\n\n\"Is there any danger of the water's reaching us?\" asked Louis of the\nporter.\n\n\"The mill? Yes, ... but not Mr. Smithson's: that is impossible. The\nhouse stands twenty feet above the river.\"\n\nEug\u00e9nie and her parents, then, had nothing to fear. I alone was in\ndanger--in so great a danger that there was not a moment to be lost.\n\n\"Go and tell Mr. Smithson all that has happened,\" said Louis. \"I am\ngoing away. I am obliged to. I shall be back in half an hour, or as\nsoon as I can.\"\n\nOf all the sacrifices Louis ever made, this was the most heroic. In\nfact, had he remained at his post, he might have saved the machinery,\nthat was quite a loss to Mr. Smithson. Instead of that, he hurried\noff without any thought of the construction his enemies might put on\nhis departure. To complete the unfortunate complication, Mr. Smithson\nhad an attack of the gout that very day. When I afterwards alluded to\nhis imprudence in thus risking his dearest interests, as well as life\nitself, Louis replied: \"I knew Eug\u00e9nie had nothing to fear; whereas,\nyou were in danger. I had promised Victor on his death-bed to watch\nover you as he would himself. It was my duty to do as I did. If it were\nto do over again, I should do the same. Did Victor hesitate when he\nsprang into the water to save me? And he did not know who I was.\"\n\nThe house I had just left was about half a league from the mill. The\nwater was beginning to reach the highway, though slowly. Louis kept\non, regardless of all danger, and arrived at our house in feverish\nanxiety. I had been gone about fifteen minutes, and the water was\nmuch higher than when we left. Louis learned from a man who remained\nin a neighboring house that I was safe: we had all escaped by the\ncauseway before there was any danger. He added that I must be at\nSt. Denis by that time. Louis, reassured as to my fate, succeeded in\nreaching another road, more elevated, but not so direct to the mill.\nThis road passed just above the Vinceneau house. When Louis arrived\nopposite the house, he saw the water had reached it. He heard screams\nmingled with oaths that came from the father, angry with his wife and\ndaughter. Having returned home a few moments before, the drunken man\nwas resisting the efforts of both women to induce him to escape. Louis\nappeared as if sent by Providence. He at once comprehended the state\nof affairs. His look overawed the drunken man, who left the house.\nThey all four proceeded toward the mill. There was no nearer place\nof refuge. The first people they saw at their arrival were Durand,\nAlbert, and some workmen. An insolent smile passed over Albert's\nface. He evidently suspected Louis of having abandoned everything for\nthe purpose of saving Madeleine Vinceneau. But he did not dare say\nanything. Louis intimidated him much more than he could have wished.\nHe resolved, however, to make a good use of what he had seen. Louis at\nonce felt how unfortunate this combination of circumstances was, but\nthe imminent danger they were in forced him to exertion. It was feared\nthe walls of the manufactory might give way under the action of the\nwater, if it got much higher, and it was gradually rising.\n\nLouis set to work without any delay. The workmen, who had hastened\nfrom every part of the neighborhood to take refuge at Mr. Smithson's,\nbegan under his direction to remove the machinery that was still\naccessible. They afterwards propped up the walls, and, when these\nvarious arrangements were completed, Louis, who had taken charge of\neverything, occupied himself in providing temporary lodgings for the\npeople driven out by the inundation.\n\nMme. Smithson and her daughter had come down to render assistance. The\nrefugees were lodged in various buildings on a level with the house.\nLouis would have given everything he possessed for the opportunity of\nexchanging a few words with Eug\u00e9nie at once, in order to forestall\nthe odious suspicions Albert would be sure to excite in her mind.\nBut he was obliged to relinquish the hope. Mme. Smithson and Albert\nfollowed her like a shadow. Louis could not approach her without\nfinding one or the other at her side. Overcome by so fatiguing a night,\nhe went towards morning to take a little repose. He felt sure fresh\nmortifications awaited him in consequence of what had just taken place,\nand he was right.\n\nWhen he awoke after a few hours' sleep, his first care was to go and\nsee Mr. Smithson. He related what he had done, without concealing the\nfact of his abandoning the mill to go to my assistance. Mr. Smithson\nwas suffering severely from the gout. He was impatient at such a time\nto be on his feet, and was chafing with vexation.\n\n\"I cannot blame you, monsieur,\" he said. \"The life of a friend is of\nmore consequence than anything else. Whatever be the material loss\nI may have to endure at this time in consequence of your absence, I\nforbear complaining. But it was unfortunate things should happen so.\nIf I had only been able to move!... But no.... You will acknowledge,\nmonsieur, that I am the victim of misfortune.... Did you succeed, after\nall, in saving the person whose fate interested you more than anything\nelse?...\"\n\n\"She had made her escape before my arrival. I hurried back, but, on the\nway, a new incident occurred. An unfortunate family was on the point of\nperishing. I brought them with me, as there was no nearer asylum.\"\n\n\"Are these people employed at the mill?\"\n\n\"The woman works here; her husband elsewhere.\"\n\n\"What is their name?\"\n\n\"Vinceneau.\"\n\n\"I think I have heard of them. The father is a drunkard; the mother is\nan indolent woman.\"\n\n\"You may have learned these facts from Mlle. Eug\u00e9nie, who takes an\ninterest in the family, I believe. I recommended them to her.\"\n\n\"Was that proper?... I have every reason to think otherwise.... But it\nis done. We will say no more about it. And since I am so inopportunely\nconfined to my bed, I must beg you to continue to take charge in my\nplace, watch over the safety of the inundated buildings, provide for\nthe wants of the people who have taken refuge here, and, above all,\nhave everything done in order.\"\n\nLouis was uneasy and far from being satisfied. There was a certain\nstiffness and ill-humor in Mr. Smithson's manner that made him think\nAlbert had reported his return to the mill with the Vinceneau family.\nHe attempted an explanation on this delicate subject.\n\n\"_Mon Dieu!_ you seem very anxious about such a trifling affair,\"\nsaid Mr. Smithson. \"It appears to me there is something of much more\nimportance to be thought of now.... It is high time to try to remedy\nthe harm done last night....\"\n\nLouis felt that, willing or not, he must await a more propitious time.\nHe went away more depressed than ever.\n\nThe whole country around was inundated. I was obliged to send a boat\nfor news concerning my young friend, and give him information about\nmyself. The unfortunate people who had taken refuge at Mr. Smithson's\nwere at once housed and made as comfortable as possible. It happened\nthat Durand and some others were put in the same building with the\nVinceneau family. Nothing occurred the first day worth relating.\nLouis watched in vain for an opportunity of seeing and speaking to\nEug\u00e9nie. He only saw her at a distance. The next morning--O unhoped-for\nhappiness!--he met her on her way to one of the houses occupied by the\nrefugees. She looked at him so coldly that he turned pale and his limbs\nalmost gave way beneath him. But Eug\u00e9nie was not timid. She had sought\nthis interview, and was determined to attain her object.\n\n\"Whom have you put in that house?\" she asked, pointing to the one\nassigned to the Vinceneaus, which was not two steps from the small\nbuilding occupied by Louis himself.\n\n\"The Vinceneau family and some others,\" replied Louis.\n\nAt that name, Eug\u00e9nie's lips contracted. An expression of displeasure\nand contempt passed across her face. Then, looking at Louis with a\ndignity that only rendered her the more beautiful, she said: \"Then you\nstill have charge of them? I thought you gave them up to me.\"\n\n\"I have had nothing to do with them till within two days, mademoiselle.\nIt was enough to know you took an interest in their condition.\" He then\nbriefly related all that had taken place the night of the inundation,\nand ended by speaking of the letter I had written to relieve his\nanxiety. He finished by presenting the letter to Eug\u00e9nie, under the\npretext of showing her the reproaches I addressed him. I wrote him\nthat, before troubling himself about me, he ought to have been sure he\nwas not needed at Mr. Smithson's.\n\nEug\u00e9nie at first declined reading the letter. Then she took it with a\npleasure she endeavored to conceal. Before reading it, she said:\n\n\"Why did you not tell me your friend was at St. M----?\"\n\n\"I have been greatly preoccupied for some time, and I seldom see you,\nmademoiselle. It was in a manner impossible to tell you that my poor\nfriend had come here to be quiet and gain new strength in solitude.\"\n\n\"I should have been pleased to see her.\" So saying, Eug\u00e9nie, without\nappearing to attach any importance to it, read my letter from beginning\nto end.\n\nThus all Albert and Mme. Smithson's calculations were defeated. There\nis no need of my telling you the inference Louis' enemies had drawn\nfrom the interest he had manifested in the Vinceneau family.\n\n\"He left everything to save them, or rather, to save that girl,\" said\nMme. Smithson. \"He would have let us all perish rather than not save\nher.\"\n\nMy being at St. M----, and my letter, threw a very different light\non everything. Thenceforth, Louis, dismissed by her father, and\ncalumniated by her mother and Albert, was, in Eug\u00e9nie's eyes, a victim.\nAnd he had risked his own life to save that of his friend. It is said\nthat noble hearts, especially those of women, regard the _r\u00f4le_ of\nvictim as an attractive one.\n\nWhen Eug\u00e9nie left Louis, there was in the expression of her eyes, and\nin the tone of her voice, something so friendly and compassionate\nthat he felt happier than he had for a long time.... To obtain this\ninterview, Eug\u00e9nie had been obliged to evade not only her mother's\nactive vigilance, but that of her cousin and Fanny. This vigilance,\nsuspended for a moment, became more active than ever during the\nfollowing days. It was impossible to speak to Louis; but she saw him\nsometimes, and their eyes spoke intelligibly....\n\nThe water receded in the course of a week. Louis profited thereby to\ncome and see me, and make me a sharer in his joy. I was then somewhat\nbetter. I passed the night of the inundation in fearful suffering,\nbut felt relieved the following day. My dreadful attack of paralysis\ndid not occur till some weeks afterwards. I little thought then I had\nsymptoms of the seizure that has rendered my life so painful.\n\nThe refugees were still living at the manufactory, the Vinceneau family\namong them. Louis had scarcely returned to his room that night, when\nhe heard a low knock at his door, and Madeleine Vinceneau presented\nherself before him.\n\n                            TO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NAPOLEONIC IDEA AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.\n\n\n                      FROM THE CIVILTA CATTOLICA.\n\n\nI.\n\nFor several weeks past, we have heard much of Louis Napoleon\nBonaparte.[17] Nothing less than his mournful physical death, on the\n9th of January, 1873, was needed to draw him from the oblivion to\nwhich Italian liberals consigned him after his political death of\nSeptember 2, 1870. It would seem that from the imperial grave opened\nat Chiselhurst went forth a bitter reproach against the unexampled\ningratitude of those who saw the tombstone of Sedan close over his\nempire with mute impassibility and secret joy. Now to the cowardly\nsilence of two years succeeds an uproar of elegies and praises. Remorse\nfor having left the conqueror of Solferino in the mire of the Meuse\nis lulled to sleep by the wailing of hired mourners; as if the shame\nof basely forsaking him could be masked behind a block of unblushing\nmarble.\n\nNo man was ever more fatal to himself than Napoleon III. All which was\nhis by usurpation or right turned against him in the end. His worst\nhumiliations were the work of his own hands. He destroyed himself,\nand the words of the Christian Demosthenes were truer of him than of\nothers: _Nemo nisi a se ipso l\u00e6ditur_.\n\nNow, by a final mockery of fortune, he is punished after death by\nhaving bier and tomb dishonored with the apotheosis of the Italian\nparty who laud to the skies the weapon that worked his ruin--the ruling\nidea of his reign.\n\nThis idea, which necessarily failed because it was impracticable, and\nin its failure reduced him to nothing, is his sole title to compassion\nor glory in the opinion of this faction. But as the cruel irony\ncontains a historical lesson, useful for the present and the future, we\nwill study it by the light of facts, incontestable except to the blind.\n\n\nII.\n\nSuch were the contradictions, perplexities, and duplicity of Louis\nNapoleon Bonaparte upon the throne, that he was often believed to be\na prince reigning at hap-hazard. Indeed, it is said, now that he has\nleft the earth, that the history of his incomprehensible reign will be\nthe most difficult work ever undertaken. This seems to us a mistake,\nif a distinction be made between the man and the prince, his life and\nhis reign. The man and his life will always seem inextricable, for he\nused all means that suited his convenience, and in their choice gave\npreference to no moral rule or principle of honesty; following openly\nor hiddenly the mutable interest of each day. But the prince and his\nreign, in spite of apparent contradictions, are easily understood by\nthe simple study of the political end which he invariably proposed to\nhimself.\n\nThis end is not hidden. His youthful writings, and the series of\nhis imperial documents, read by the light of the actions of his\nadministration, make it plain. He aimed at reestablishing and\nconsolidating in his dynasty the power of the First Empire, and at the\nelevation of France to the headship of Europe, reorganized in its\nterritorial divisions according to the law of nationality, and in its\ninstitutions in accordance with the forms of C\u00e6sarean democracy.\n\nAn author who has read his books, and confronted them with the\nachievements of his reign, thus sums up the new _Napoleonic idea_\nconstantly pursued by Louis in his youth, middle life, and old age, in\nexile, in prison, and on the throne:\n\n\"Peoples distributed according to their needs and instincts, belonging\neach to a self-elected country, provided each with a constitution fixed\nyet democratic; devoted at their choice to works of civil industry\ndestined to transform the world; Europe, free in her various nations,\nconsolidated almost into a federated republic, with France as its\ncentre; France aggrandized and forming the clasp in the strong chain\nof free intercourse; universal exhibitions to encourage nations in the\nexchange of reciprocal visits; European congresses, where governments,\nlaying aside arms, could compose their differences; Paris, the imperial\ncity _par excellence_, wonderfully embellished, raised to the honors of\ncapital of the world, metropolis of wealth and wisdom, under the wing\nof the Napoleonic eagle, offering to the two hemispheres the rarest\ndiscoveries in science, masterpieces of art, exquisite refinements of\nluxury and civilization.\"[18]\n\n                _Divisum imperium cum Jove C\u00e6sar habet!_\n\nSuch was the intoxicating dream of the life and reign of Napoleon III.,\nthe idea which he believed himself created to carry out--a combination\nof the designs of Henry IV. and the aspirations of Augustus, mounted on\nthe frail pedestal of the principles of 1789.\n\nIn fact, proceeds our author, \"Within and without the confines of\nthe Empire, this idea was reduced to two words: reconstruction\nand reconciliation, based upon the principles of the French\nRevolution. Here was to be the general synthesis of all external and\ninternal politics in France and Europe: Reconstruction of nations\nfounded on national will within and without; effected by a single\ninstrument--_universal suffrage_--applied to the determination of\nthe nationality as well as of the sovereign and the government;\nreconciliation of nations among themselves, and of the divers classes\ncomposing them, thanks to an equal satisfaction of the rights and\ninterests of all.\"[19]\n\nThat nothing might be wanting to the enchantment of his fair dream, the\nyoung prisoner of Ham contemplated a double mission of giving peace and\nglory to France. \"War was to consolidate peace, imperial battles were\nto give repose to the world. Thus the famous device, _The Empire and\nPeace_, came to bear a sublime significance.\"[20]\n\nIn short, the Napoleonic idea had for its ultimate aim the\naggrandizement and European omnipotence of France under the dynasty of\nthe Bonapartes, through the universal means of popular suffrage with\n_pl\u00e9biscites_, forming a basis of a new national and international\nright, opposed to the old historical right of peoples. The other\nthree principles of territorial compensation, non-intervention and\naccomplished facts, were special means and passing aids to be used\naccording to opportunity for carrying out intentions.\n\n\nIII.\n\nLouis Napoleon received his political education from his uncle exiled\nin the Island of St. Helena, and from the Carbonari, among whom Ciro\nMenotti enrolled him in Tuscany, in the year 1831.[21] In these two\nschools he acquired the fundamental idea of reconstructing European\ncountries according to nationality. But he did not see that, in the\nhands of Napoleon I. and of the Carbonari, this idea was a strong\nweapon of destruction, not a practical or powerful argument for\nreconstruction. Bonaparte, gaoler of European potentates, and the\nCarbonari, persecuted by them, wished to use it to destroy the order\nof things established by the Holy Alliance in the treaty of Vienna\nof 1815, upon the right, more or less defined, of legitimacy. On the\npretext of restoring political nationality to peoples, the first\nNapoleon bequeathed to his heirs the command to excite Italy and\nHungary against Austria; Poland against Russia and Prussia; Greece and\nthe Christian principalities against Turkey; Ireland, Malta, and the\nIonian Isles against England; hoping that the changes originating in\nthis movement, and the gratitude of these nations, would make easy to\nhis heirs the extension of French boundaries and the recovery of the\nimperial crown.\n\nThe Carbonari worked with the same pretext to overthrow princes and\nsubstitute themselves, with a view of introducing into states their\nanti-Christian and anti-social systems.\n\nThe so-called principle of nationality resolved itself, then, with\nNapoleon I. and the Carbonari, into a pure engine of war--into a\nbattery which, after destroying the bulwarks of the opposite principle\nof legitimacy, should give into their hands nations and kingdoms.\nThat Louis Napoleon, in prison, a fugitive, a conspirator, should\nsupport himself with this flattering principle, and dexterously dazzle\nwith it the eyes of those who could help him to recover the sceptre\nof France, can be easily understood; but that, after obtaining this\nsceptre by a network of circumstances wholly foreign to the principle\nof nationality, he should adopt that principle as the final aim of\nhis empire and the corner-stone of his own greatness and of French\npower--this, in truth, is hard to understand.\n\nBut that it was the case is only too clear. He spent the twenty years\nof his dominion over France in coloring the design which he had puzzled\nout twenty years before, dreaming over the memories of St. Helena, and\nplotting in the collieries of the Carbonari.\n\n\nIV.\n\nTo a sagacious mind which had well weighed the true worth of the\nNapoleonic idea, even before the new emperor attempted its fulfilment,\nterrible dangers and obstacles must have presented themselves.\n\nAfter a succession of wars and successful conspiracies had led nations\nto an independent reconstruction within natural frontiers, what\nincrease of territory could have accrued to France?\n\nSuppose Italy, Poland, Hungary, and Iberia adjusted on this principle,\nwould their power have remained so equalized as to leave France secure\nof preponderance?\n\nIf Germany had been so reconstructed, to the certain advantage of\nPrussia, was there not a risk of exposing France to a shock which might\nhave proved fatal?\n\nAccording to the theory of natural limits, the aggrandizement which\nFrance could have demanded in compensation for protection and\nsuccessful warfare would have been reduced to some additions towards\nthe Alps, the Pyrenees, and in Flanders; to a few thousand square\nkilometres, and perhaps three or four millions of inhabitants. Towards\nthe Rhine, we cannot see what the Empire could have claimed without\ncontradicting the theory itself. Germany has maintained that Alsace\nand half of Lorraine, incorporated with French soil, are German, and\nhas forced them to a legal annexation to her territory. Now, were\nthese slender acquisitions, so disproportioned to the acquisitions of\nneighboring countries, worth the cost of turning Europe upside down,\nand subjecting France to a chance of political and military ruin?\n\nLouis Napoleon rejoiced in the thought of one day resuscitating the\nfair name of Italy, extinguished for many years, and restoring it\nto provinces so long deprived of it. This sounds well; but was this\nresurrection to end in a united kingdom, or in the simple emancipation\nfrom foreign rule? And granted that unity could not be prevented,\nand that it should prove equal to the imaginary union of Spain and\nPortugal, was it really advantageous to create alongside of France,\nfrom a platonic love of nationality, two new states of twenty-five\nmillions of souls each, capable of supplanting her later in the\nMediterranean.[22] And if Prussia, taking advantage of the loss\nof Italy and Hungary to her rival Austria, had united in a single\npolitical and military body the scattered members of Germany, would it\nhave been useful and hopeful for France to feel herself pressed on the\nother side by a kingdom or empire of fifty millions of inhabitants, a\nmilitary race of the first order?\n\nMoreover, what would have become of the Roman Pontiff in this\nrenovation of countries, governments, and juridical laws. The Pope is a\ngreat moral power, the greatest in the world. If his independence were\nto give way before the principle of nationality, what would become of\nhis religious liberty, so necessary to the public quiet of consciences.\nCould a pope, subject to an Italy constructed in any way soever,\nincrease the light, peace, and tranquillity of France and the rest of\nEurope? Would the palace of the Vatican, changed into a prison, have\naccorded with the imagined splendors of the Tuileries?\n\nFinally, a new international and national right, which should have\nsanctioned, in accordance with popular suffrage, the obligation of\nnon-intervention and accomplished facts, far from reconciling nations\nand various classes of citizens among themselves by superseding the\ninalienable right of nature, would have become a firebrand of civil\ndiscord, an incentive to foreign wars, and a germ of revolutions which\nwould have plunged Europe into the horrors of socialism.\n\nAn eagle eye was not needed to see and foresee these weighty dangers.\nHowever affairs might have turned, even if they had succeeded according\nto every wish, it is indubitable that the ship of Napoleonic politics,\nfollowing in its navigation the star of this idea, must eventually have\nstruck on three rocks, each one hard enough to send ship and pilot to\nthe bottom: the Papacy, Germany, and Revolution. The Papacy, oppressed\nby the Italy of the Carbonari, would have taken from France her\ngreatest moral force. Germany, in one way or another, strongly united\nin her armies, would have tried, as in 1813, to overwhelm the Empire.\nRevolution, kindled and fed from without, would have gathered strength\nin France to the ruin of the Empire.\n\nThese rocks were not only visible, but palpable to touch. Napoleon III.\nsaw them, felt them, and used all the licit and illicit arts of his\nadministration to avoid them. In vain; it was impossible. He should not\nhave followed the guidance of his enchantress, his idea; following it,\nperdition was inevitable.\n\n\nV.\n\nPerhaps history offers no other example of a man who has grasped the\nsceptre under conditions so propitious for good and so opposed to evil\nas those under which Louis Napoleon Bonaparte began his reign; or of\none who has so pertinaciously abused his advantages to his own ruin and\nthat of others.\n\nThe vote of the better and larger portion of the French nation had\nraised him to the throne, that he might save them from the hydra of\nsocialism, and stop the course of political changes in France. Europe,\njust recovering from terrible agitations, welcomed his elevation as a\npledge of order and peace. Catholics of every country rejoiced over\nit almost as the reward of the uncontested restoration in Rome of the\nprincipality of S. Peter. Interest and conscience seemed to unite in\ninducing him to take the triumphal road of justice which must lead to\ncertain glory.\n\nBut _cum in honore esset non intellexit_.[23] He seemed to wish to take\nthis path. But, in fact, he showed that he was preparing to follow\nanother by the ephemeral light of that _idea_ which he worshipped on\nthe imperial throne with the same devotion which he had professed in\nprison and in exile.\n\nThe Crimean war, to a participation in which he invited little\nPiedmont, predestined by him to enjoy the benefits of Italian\nresurrection, helped him to cut the knot of the Holy Alliance, to\nhumble Russia and set her at enmity with Austria, to create by a\n_pl\u00e9biscite_ the first of his national unities--that of the Roumanian\nPrincipalities--and to introduce at the Congress of Paris that\nsubalpine diplomacy which, endorsed by him, sowed the seeds of the\ncontemplated Italian war.\n\nMeanwhile, the daggers and bombs of the Pianori, Tibaldi, and Orsini\ncame to remind him that, before being Emperor of the French, he had\nbeen an Italian Carbonaro, and that he was expected to keep his oaths.\nIt is said that, after the explosion of Orsini's bombshell, a friend of\nthe assassin, to whom Napoleon complained confidentially of this party\npersecution, replied: \"You have forgotten that you are an Italian.\"\n\n\"What shall I do?\" asked his majesty.\n\n\"Serve your country.\"\n\n\"Very good. But I am Emperor of the French, a nation hard to govern.\nCan I sacrifice the interests of my people to accommodate those of\nItaly?\"\n\n\"No one will prevent you from studying the interests of France when\nyou have promulgated the independence and secured the unity of your\ncountry. Italy first of all.\"[24]\n\nBut he had less need of spurring than was supposed.\n\nAfter the secret negotiations of Plombi\u00e8res, he attacked Austria in\nthe plains of Lombardy, and, having subdued her, he inaugurated the\nresurrection of Italy according to his idea, which, presiding over the\nwork, showed itself unveiled, with all the magnificence of territorial\ncompensation, universal suffrage, non-intervention, and accomplished\nfacts, as we all know.\n\n\nVI.\n\nBut the Napoleonic ship got lost irreparably among the three rocks\nabove named. Between the Mincio and the Adige it met Germany in\nthreatening guise; in Rome, the betrayed pontiff rose up; and in Paris\nrevolution lifted her savage head. For eleven years Bonaparte struggled\nto save the ship from the straits into which his Italian enterprise\nhad driven it; but the more earnest his efforts, the worse became the\nentanglement, until the tempest of 1870 split the vessel in the midst\nwith awful shipwreck.\n\nHis crimes towards the Pope, the ignoble artifice of insults couched in\nreverential terms, of perfidy, lies, and hypocrisy, alienated from him\nnot only Catholics, but all those who honored human loyalty and natural\nprobity. The so-called Roman question, a compendium of the whole\nItalian question, ruined the credit of Napoleon III., unmasked him, and\nmade him appear as inexorable history will show him to posterity--a\nmonster of immorality, to use the apt expression of one of his former\nsycophants.[25]\n\nPrussia, after checking him at the Mincio in 1859, cut short in his\nhands the thread of the web woven in 1863 to regenerate Poland on the\nplan of Italy. God did not permit a good and noble cause like that of\nPoland to be contaminated by the influence of the Napoleonic idea; and\nthis seems to us an indication that he reserves to her a restoration\nworthy of herself and of her faith. Prussia also held him at bay during\nthe Danish war, into which he threw himself with closed eyes, in the\nmad hope of conquering Mexico, and making it an empire after his own\nidea. This whim cost France a lake of blood, many millions of francs,\nand an indelible stain; it cost the unfortunate Maximilian of Austria\nhis life, and his gifted wife her reason. Prussia solemnly mocked at\nhim in the other war of 1866, when, leagued with Italy by his consent,\nshe attacked the Austrian Empire.\n\nIt was the beginning of that political and military unity of Germany\nwhich was destined to make him pay dear for the work of unity\naccomplished beyond the Alps by so many crimes.[26]\n\nLastly, Prussia, choosing the occasion of the vacancy of the Spanish\nthrone, and seconded by him in the promotion of an Iberian unity like\nthat of Italy, and prepared by a subalpine marriage, drew him into the\ntoils where he left his crown and his honor.\n\nStep by step with the barriers opposed by Prussia to the foolish\npolicy of Napoleon III. in Europe went the anxieties caused in the\nempire by revolution. Losing gradually the support of the honest\nCatholic plurality of the French, he thought to reinforce himself by\nflattering his enemy, demagogism, and by unchaining gradually passions\nirreligious, anarchical, destructive to civilization. Taking all\nrestraint from the press, he removed every bar to theatrical license,\ngave unchecked liberty to villany, free course to nefarious impiety and\na Babylonish libertinism, and finished by opening the doors to public\nschools of socialism. But as outside France his duplicity and cowardly\nfrauds had drawn upon him the hatred and contempt of accomplices and\nbeneficiaries, so at home they excited discontent and distrust among\nall parties.\n\nOn the 2d and 4th of September, 1870, he reaped at Sedan and in Paris\nthe crop sowed by him in 1859. Germany broke his sword, and the\nRevolution his sceptre. The Napoleonic idea touched the apex of its\ntriumphs.\n\n\nVII.\n\nThe old Prince Theodore of Metternich, after 1849, predicted of Louis\nBonaparte, then only President of the French Republic, that he would\nrestore the Empire, and ruin himself as revolutionary emperor in Italy.\nDonoso Cort\u00e8s, Marquis of Valdegamas, predicted a little later that\nBonaparte, after becoming emperor, would work very hard, but the fruits\nof his labors would be enjoyed by another; by whom he could not say.\nBoth these shrewd statesmen knew Louis Napoleon, the secret chains\nwhich bound him to his party, and the idea which clouded his mind, and\nboth hit the mark; for Napoleon III. made every effort throughout his\nreign to play the revolutionary emperor in Italy; and, with all his\nrefined policy, he worked for no one but the King of Prussia. Thanks\nto this policy, William enjoys the vassalage of the only two national\nunities created by the Napoleonic idea: the Roumanian, whose head is a\nPrussian prince, and the Italian, whose kingdom has become a Prussian\nregiment of hussars. He enjoys the German Empire reared on the ruins of\nthat of France; and, moreover, he enjoys European supremacy, taken from\nFrance with the keys of Paris, and five _milliards_ poured by her into\nthe Prussian treasury, to pay expenses. In his own good time we shall\nsee for whom Bismarck has made and still makes the King of Prussia work.\n\nSuch are the weighty consequences of that idea whose execution\nBonaparte believed was to make the world over again, and raise his race\nand France to the summit of power--a political calamity, military ruin,\nand a dynastic downfall the most terrible which history has to record.\n\nIn conclusion, the dogma of nationality for which French liberalism\nplayed the fool with Napoleon has caused the loss to France of two\nprovinces as opulent as those which Bonaparte took from Italy in homage\nto the same dogma. The principle of non-intervention, so carefully\nguarded by Bonaparte at the cost of the Roman Pontiff, and so loudly\napplauded by French liberalism, has borne fruit to France in her hour\nof sorest need, in the desertion of all those states, and especially of\nItaly, who owed their existence to French blood, and gold, and honor.\n\nThe new right of 1789, perfected by Napoleonic Carbonarism, of which\nBonaparte, with the approval of French liberalism, made himself the\napostle in Europe to the disturbance of the best-ordered countries,\nhas sprung up for France in the joys of Sept. 4, 1870, in the delights\nof the Commune of 1871, and in the comfort of her present peace and\nsecurity.\n\nThus has Bonaparte's idea crushed him and reduced him to nothing.\nThe unhappy man has had not only the anguish of suffering historical\ndishonor while yet alive, but also that sharpest pang of seeing all\nthe most celebrated works of his reign destroyed. The destruction,\nmilitary, moral, political, and in part material, of France, which\nhe hoped to raise to the summit of greatness; the destruction of the\npalaces of Saint Cloud and the Tuileries, embellished by him with\nAsiatic magnificence; the destruction of popular votes, those wings\nwhich bore him from exile to the throne; of the treaty of Paris, that\ncrowned his Crimean victories; of the glory of the French name in\nMexico with the empire founded by him; of the treaty of Prague, for\nwhich he well-nigh sweated blood in opposing the union of Germany under\nPrussia: in short, all his enterprises have resulted in smoke. Only\none remains--the subalpine kingdom of Italy, for whose formation and\nsupport the wretched man staked crown and honor. But before closing his\neyes for ever, he tasted the sweetness of his last treachery in seeing\nthat kingdom pass from his bondage to that of the conqueror of France.\nIf God still allows it to his soul, he may now see his beloved Italy,\nwith a Prussian helmet on her head, bend over his tomb, and shed two\ncrocodile's tears--the only kind of tears which he deserved. Let us\nsee what the Napoleonic idea has lavished upon her blind idolater--the\ndefeat at Sedan, the burning of Paris, the lonely tomb at Chiselhurst.\nIt was an idea conceived without God and his Christ, and against them,\nand therefore unable to bring forth anything but ruin and death. And\ncertain ruin and death it will bring on him who shall hope to live and\ngrow great under its influence.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[17] This was written soon after the death of Louis Napoleon.\n\n[18] \"La politique du second empire, essai d'histoire contemporaine,\nd'apr\u00e8s les documents, par M. Anatole Leroy-Beaulieu\"--_Revue des Deux\nMondes_, April 1, 1872, pp. 552-53.\n\n[19] _Revue des Deux Mondes_, p. 554.\n\n[20] Ibid. p. 552.\n\n[21] _La Reine Hortense en Italie, en France, en Angleterre, pendant\nl'ann\u00e9e 1831; fragments extraits de ses m\u00e9moires in\u00e9dits, \u00e9crits par\nelle m\u00eame_, pp. 55-56. Paris, 1834.\n\n[22] _Id\u00e9es Napol\u00e9oniennes_, p. 143.\n\n[23] Psalm xlviii. 21.\n\n[24] _Univers_, Jan. 21, 1873.\n\n[25] He was in science a phenomenon, in history an adventurer, in\nmorality a monster (_Le Si\u00e8cle_, Jan. 12, 1873). Amid the labyrinth of\ncontradictions in which Bonaparte enveloped his thoughts concerning\nthe political condition in which he meant to place the Roman Pontiff,\nit is impossible to decide what was his true conception, or whether he\nhad formed any fixed and definite plan. In 1859, when he dreamed of\nthree kingdoms in Italy, one subalpine, a second for his cousin Jerome,\nand a third for his cousin Murat, Napoleon III. traced upon the map\nof the Peninsula with his own hand a small circlet enclosing the new\nPontifical state, including Rome, and five provinces. At the end of\nthat year, the dream vanished through the opposition of Lord Palmerston\nin the famous _opuscule, The Pope and the Congress_, where he showed\na wish to restrict the dominion of the Holy Father to Rome, converted\ninto something like a Hanseatic city. In Sept., 1863, according to\nthe revelations of Marquis Carlo Alfieri (_L'Italia Liberale_, p.\n83), who declares himself well informed, Bonaparte consented to the\n\"gradual withdrawal of French troops from Rome, so arranged that, on\nthe departure of the last French battalion, the territorial dominion\nof the Pontiff should be reduced to the city of Rome, the suburban\ncampagna, and the road and port of Civit\u00e0 Vecchia.\" So the Pope would\nhave remained king of a city, a road, and a port. In 1867, when the\nnation obliged Bonaparte to go to the aid of the Pontiff, assailed\nby the _irregolari_ of Italy, he wished the state to remain as it\nwas left after the dismemberment of 1860, and commanded the Italian\nregulars to withdraw from Viterbo and Frosinone, which they did with\nmilitary punctuality. In that year, and during the perplexities (says\n_l'Armonia_ of Jan. 12, 1873), there came to visit him in Paris an\nillustrious Italian who enjoyed his confidence, and had been decorated\nby his imperial hand with the cross of the Legion of Honor. This\ngentleman, engrossed with the position of the Pope, was lamenting it\nwith Napoleon III., and remarked that, unless reparation were made, the\nRevolution would enter Rome. The ex-emperor replied: \"So long as Pius\nIX. lives, I shall never permit it. After the death of Pius IX., I will\nadjust the affairs of the church.\" If we question whether after his\ndethronement the unhappy man approved the accomplished fact of Sept.\n20, 1870, _l'Opinione_ of Jan. 18, 1873, removes all doubt. It tells\nus that an individual (generally supposed to be Count Arese, a great\nfriend of his), visited him at Chiselhurst, and, when the conversation\nturned to Rome, where the Italian government was established, Napoleon\nIII. said with entire frankness that he had personal engagements with\nthe Pope, to which as emperor he could never have proved faithless; but\nthat, since his dethronement, Italian politics had passed beyond his\naction. And he added: \"This was to be foreseen as being in the order\nof facts, and it is not an occasion for turning back.\" From which we\nmay infer that he wished the temporal power of the popes to cease with\nPius IX., without caring to substitute for their necessary liberty any\nother guarantee than that of chance. This will be enough to convince\nposterity that Napoleon III. was not a statesman of the first order.\n\n[26] A partisan or well-wisher has tried to represent Napoleon as an\nedifying Catholic. The _Univers_ of January 25, 1873, has a curious\npanegyric, in which it is affirmed that he loved our Lord Jesus Christ.\nIn the Gospels, our Lord has taught us a rule for judging those who\nlove him and do not love him: _By their fruits you shall know them_\n(Matt. vii. 16). Now, the long and crafty war of Bonaparte against\nChrist in his vicar, and the unbridled license given to Renan and to\nirreligious papers to blaspheme at will the divine majesty of Jesus\nChrist, while he severely punished those who offended his own imperial\nmajesty, give the true measure of his love for Jesus Christ. By the\nargument of facts constant, public, and notorious, Napoleon III. is\njudged. He has been for the church and for Christian society a great\nscourge of God, one of the worst precursors of Antichrist. We shall\nbelieve in his pretended conversion when we have seen a single action\nwhich shall disclaim and make amends for the immense scandal of his\nJulianic persecution of Catholicity. His repentance at the hour of\ndeath, of which we have no solid proof, we leave to the infinite mercy\nof God, who certainly could inspire him with it. But it is not out of\nplace to remember the words of S. Augustine about similar conversions:\nOf certain examples we have but one--the good thief on Calvary. _Unus\nest ne desperes_, but _solus est ne pr\u00e6sumas_.\n\n\n\n\nMY FRIEND AND HIS STORY.\n\n\nI had been spending the winter with a friend in poor health in the\nSouth of France. I will not name the place, but it was one of the\nloveliest spots on the northern Mediterranean coast. Perhaps I shall\nhave something to tell of it at another time.\n\nAfter prolonging our stay till we began to feel that a change would be\nbeneficial, we travelled on along the glorious old Cornice road into\nItaly, and sat ourselves down among the palms and olives of a region\nthat, on account of its eastern vegetation and general likeness to\nthe Holy Land, is often called \"the Jericho of the Riviera.\"[27] For,\nin truth, when the traveller climbs the steep slopes and staircases\nof that old town, pierced by narrow, winding troughs of streets, tied\ntogether, as it were, by old crumbling bridges and arches, built as a\nprotection against continual earthquakes; and after groping through\nwhat is more like a labyrinth of subterranean caves than a town of\ncivilized build, he gains the crest of the hill, and looks down from\nthe sanctuary of the Blessed Virgin which is its crown, the actual\nHoly Land itself seems spread below his feet. There are the very\noutlines of Palestine: The stony slabs and tilted strata of crag and\nridge; the aromatic shrubs; the wealth of sad olives, fruit-bearing\nto an extraordinary degree; the vast tanks, haunted by bright-green,\npersistently serenading frogs; the lizards darting in the hot glare;\nthe flat-topped, low houses, and the women carrying jars of the\nidentical Eastern forms on their heads. The very dark-skinned men and\nwomen themselves have the like sad, sweet, mournful Eastern eyes; for\nthroughout the Riviera there is a large admixture of Arab blood, as\nmany Arab words are crystallized in the strange, rough _patois_ of the\nspeech.\n\nIn this wild, bright, solemn country, I found and made the friend whose\nstory I am going to tell; and, if it is disappointing at first to the\nexpectant, I shall ask them to wait till they near the end.\n\nWe lived in a not very comfortable boarding-house outside the town,\nchosen on account of its position, and being quite removed from the\nnoise of the sea, which those acquainted with the Mediterranean will\nthoroughly understand; for there is no noisier or more aggravating\nsea-shore than that which is poetically the tideless, waveless,\nsapphire-like mirror of the old Tyrrhenian. In this house I soon made\nout my friend--a white dog with black points, shaven to the shoulders,\nand of Spitz breed, as his tail, put on very high up, and twisted with\na jaunty, self-asserting _swirl_ over his back, denoted, but with an\nundoubted bar sinister in his shield--some English spaniel or terrier\n\"drop,\" which, strange to say, gave him a power of persistence, a\ndauntless courage, and loving faithfulness, such as I never saw in any\ndog before; and yet I know about dogs and dog ways, too.\n\nThe first thing my friend did--his name was Cicarello, abbreviated to\nCico, and anglicized to Chick--was to lift himself up very high on his\ntoes, erect every hair into a wire, and growl so as to show all his\nbeautiful young white teeth at my approach and outstretched hand.\n\n\"Chick! how dare you, sir? Come along, be a good little dog, and let me\nscratch your back; you don't know how nice it is, dear!\"\n\nBut the growling and defiant looks continued, as Chick lay down on his\nown chosen step of the stairs. I pushed him with my foot, and said\nemphatically:\n\n\"Chick! you're a _nasty_ little dog!\" At which candid opinion, Chick,\nsulkier and crosser than ever, settled himself to sleep.\n\nIt was not long, however, before Chick, like all other dogs, succumbed\nto the dog mesmerism of that hearty good-will and affection in which\ndogs are apt to trust with a much more generous confidence than men. He\nbegan by licking my hand, then came to my room for water, and at last\nwas won from his disreputable habits of straying from one wine-shop\nto another about the town, into which he had fallen from not being\nmade happy and comfortable at home. One day, he condescended to offer\nhimself for a walk, and we went through sundry tortuous lanes to some\nolive-terraces above the town. Once there, the dog's unbounded delight\nwas pretty to see. He rolled among the fresh grass and hop-clover,\nthickly sprinkled with lovely red _gladioli_; he careered in and out\nof the olive-trees, as if weaving some mystic, invisible witch-web;\nand then, rushing back to me, barking sharply in a high falsetto, he\nsprawled at full length on the ground, wagging his bushy plume over his\nback, and saying, in the clearest speech of his wonderful brown eyes,\n\"I am not a nasty little dog _now_. Thank you for making me so happy!\"\n\nMy friend, whom I had long loved with all my heart, was easily made\nhappy. The one thing necessary to him was some sort of master whom he\ncould love. With any such, his queer, sullen temper brightened, his\nthoroughly obstinate will grew docile, his eyes watched every motion\nand indication showing his master's wishes, and, if anything were\ngiven into his charge, no amount of tempting or frightening could win\nor scare him from his trust. His chiefest delight was running after a\nstone or cork, in which also his ways were special to himself. When the\nstone was found or dug up--that very stone and no other--Chick would\nstand with one paw placed upon it, looking down at it with crest and\ntippet erect, and exactly as if it were some sort of live game. If no\nnotice were taken of his dumb appeal, he would snatch up the stone,\nand carry it on, but always with appealing looks to have it thrown\nagain. On the olive-terraces, among the grass and wild flowers, where\nhe always became intensely excited, he would run round the stone,\ngrowling, roll upon it in a kind of frenzy, and snap at every one who\ncame near. When I gravely called or spoke to him, he would relinquish\nthis _Berserk_ mood, and, wagging his brush, lick my hand as if to\nbeg pardon for such childishness, and return to the decent sobrieties\nof ordinary life. I need scarcely say that it was only because the\nover-excitement was bad for himself that he was ever controlled in his\nfancies and conceits; for dogs, even more than children, should be\nallowed to express their own character and make their own happiness, in\nunimportant things, in their own way.\n\nChick attached himself to me in the most persistent way. He took walks\nwith me, scratched at the room doors to be where I was, ran up and down\nstairs after me on every errand, used my room, like the dogs at home,\nas the \"United Dogs' Service,\" and slept on a chair at the foot of my\nbed. Even when left at the church door during daily Mass, when I vainly\nthought him securely pent within gates and rails, the padded door would\nbe shoved open, and Chick, with his ears and twisted tail\n\n\"Cocked fu' sprush,\"\n\nand his whole bearing that of \"the right man in the right place,\" would\nscuttle over the stone pavement, scent me out, and ensconce himself\nbeside my chair. At meals he took his seat beside me, in which he would\nrear himself up unbidden in the drollest way, lolling back with perfect\nease, and gracefully holding one forepaw higher than the other, as if\naddressing the party. Sometimes he would even emphasize his remarks by\nbringing one paw down on the table, and, amid the shouts of laughter\nhe occasioned, would look us steadily in the face, as if enjoying the\njoke as well as the rest. He learnt to sit up with a shawl round him, a\nnapkin-ring on his nose, and one crowning his head; to hold biscuit on\nhis nose untouched till bidden to eat, and even to stand quite upright\nin the corner, watching with the gravest intelligence till he was told\nto come out. In short, as I said before, if the one motive-power of\nlove were found, Chick's genius seemed to know no limit.\n\nBut, meanwhile, the day was drawing near when the deep and most real\ngrief must be suffered of leaving my friend. Our temporary rest was\nover, and our faces were bound to be turned towards home. Chick, also,\ntook good note of the preparations for departure, and I read in his\neyes that he guessed their import, and knew that our separation was\ndrawing near. Never for an instant would he let me move out of his\nsight, except for Mass, when I locked him up in my room. His exceeding\njoy at my return was one of the most touching things I ever felt. When\nevery other demonstration had been made, he would get up on his hind\nlegs, and gently lick my face, not as a dog usually does, but just\nputting out his tongue, and touching my cheek. This special act always\nseemed to say, \"_Can_ you go away and leave me behind? Why not take me\nwith you?\"\n\nThe consciousness of this feeling wrought so strongly that the question\nwas seriously mooted between my friend and me of buying Chick and\ncarrying him with us to England. But there were great difficulties in\nthe way. The expense was no small addition, besides the anxiety and\nadded fatigue of another fresh thing to lead about and struggle for in\nstations and waiting-rooms, being, as we were, only a party of women,\nneither strong nor well, and already burdened with a superfluity of\nluggage and _impedimenta_. So the mournful decision was come to that\nit could not be. Our last walks were taken, our last gambols on the\nolive-terraces played out, and it seemed to me as if every hour Chick's\neyes became more tenderly loving and more devotedly faithful. And\nsoon I should be far out of reach and ken, while he must be left in\nthe careless, indifferent, _dog-ignorant_ hands to which he belonged.\nDoubtless the many well-read and cultivated people who are in the habit\nof reading this periodical have already set me down as a remarkably\nfoolish person; but what will they say when I confess there were\nmoments when the very thought of leaving Chick without certain bed and\nboard, water at will, and sympathy in his ways and love, made me weep\nreal, scalding tears, and not a few?\n\nOut of the very abundance of thoughts and pain some light appeared; and\none fine day, when the heat was fierce, I put on my hat, Chick took up\na stone, and we both made our way to a large villa in the neighborhood,\noccupied by a family from Wales, whose acquaintance we had happily\nmade: what sort of people they were the story of my friend will show,\nat least to those, in my eyes, the truest aristocracy of the world--the\npeople who have an inbred love of dogs! On this visit, I remarked that\nChick, instead of walking on his toes and wiring his hair as he usually\ndid with strangers, accepted the whole party as friends, and showed off\nall his stock of accomplishments with as much docility as if we had\nbeen at home by ourselves. On the other side, Mr. and Mrs. Griffith--as\nI shall call them--thoroughly appreciated the dog, and, seeing this,\nI made my proposition--an unblushing one, considering that they had\nalready rescued two other dogs from ill usage--that they should also\npossess themselves of Chick. Having once broken the ice, I launched\ninto a moving description of his wretched plight, and greater misery\nwhen we should have gone, as well as the reward they would reap from\nChick's delightful ways. They laughingly took it all in good part, and\nsaid, if they had not already an Italian Spitz which they had sent\nhome, and a dancing dog just brought on their hands, they might have\nthought of Chick. I took poor Chickie home, therefore, with a heavy\nheart, though I did not yet give up all hope; and, because I did not,\nI put him under S. Anthony's care, and asked _him_ to suggest to these\ndear people to buy Chick and give him a happy home.\n\nThe eve of our departure was a few days after this, and, when Chick\nfollowed me up-stairs to bed as usual, I took him in my arms, and told\nhim I was going away; that nothing on earth should ever have made me\nleave him but the being obliged to do so; that I had put him under S.\nAnthony's care, who I was sure would find him a friend; and that he\nmust be a good, brave little dog, and hold on for the present without\nrunning away. Chick licked away my tears, looking at me with his brave\nbrown eyes full of trust, as I kissed him over and over again before\ngoing to bed. But afterwards I could never tell how many more tears I\nshed at leaving Chick friendless and alone.\n\nThe next morning very early, I wrote a last appeal to Mrs. Griffith,\nwhich I carried out to the post myself, that it might be sure to reach\nher; and then the carriage came to the door, and we drove away, seeing\nChick to the last on the door-step, sorrowfully looking after us with\nhis steady brown eyes.\n\nIt was a long time before I myself learnt the second chapter of my\ndear friend's story. Mrs. Griffith duly got the note, and, being\nmuch touched by it, she went to the boarding-house to call on me,\nthinking that I had been left behind for a week, not yet recovered\nfrom an illness, and also wishing to get another view of Chick.\nNeither of these objects being gained, she returned home with a strong\nfeeling \"borne in\" upon her mind that Chick must be rescued at any\ninconvenience to themselves. Not long afterwards, she and her husband\nwere asked by the owner of the boarding-house to go and look at it,\nas she wished to sell or let it on lease. They both accordingly went,\nchiefly with a view to seeing Chick. After a long visit and much\nconversation, Mrs. Griffith did at length see the poor little dog lying\npanting in the sun in the garden, where there was not an atom of shade.\nShe called the attention of the owner to him, and told her that the\ndog was suffering and in great want of water. His mistress made some\ncareless reply as usual, and passed on, still talking, down the stairs,\nwhen, at the front door, Mrs. Griffith chanced to look down into the\ncourt, and there saw poor little Chick stretched on his back in the\nviolent convulsions of a fit. She hastily summoned her husband, who,\nafter one glance, vanished into the lower regions, instinctively found\na pump and a large pan, and reappeared to drench the poor little dog\nwith a cold-water bath, strongly remonstrating with his owner the while\nthat any one with eyes or ears could have seen how suffering the animal\nhad been from heat and thirst.\n\nAh! Chickie! Chickie! did any thought cross your dog's mind then of\nthe \"United Dogs' Service\" of my room? Alas! when I heard of it, how\ndid I not feel for my dear little friend, proclaiming by every mute\nappeal his urgent need, and bravely suffering on in silence near to\ndeath, while not a hand was lifted to give him even the cup of cold\nwater which brings with the gift its reward! By dint of much bathing\nand rubbing for nearly an hour from Mr. and Mrs. Griffith, while his\nowner looked on in stupid amazement at this waste of time and trouble\non \"only a dog,\" Chick recovered breath and life and was able to take\nsome physic administered by the same kind hands. And then, at last,\nan agreement was entered into that he should be made over to these\ngenerous friends on certain conditions, one of which was that he should\nbe left to guard the house where he was for the present; for though\nmuch was not given to my poor little friend, much was required from him\nby his wretched masters.\n\nA few days afterwards, Mrs. Griffith felt restless and uneasy, and\ntold her husband she should like to have Chick in their possession\nbefore the time stipulated; for she felt afraid he might come under the\nfresh police regulations for putting an end to all stray dogs during\nthe raging heat. Mr. Griffith laughed at her \"fidgets,\" but went to\nthe boarding-house, nevertheless, to comply with her wishes. He was\nmet at the door with the announcement that Chick had run away, and\nhad not been heard of for two days! Grieved and completely disgusted\nat the heartless neglect which had again driven the poor dog from his\nso-called home, Mr. Griffith hurried back to his wife with the news,\nand she, like the true woman and mother she is, sat down and burst into\ntears. Mr. Griffith caught up his hat, and hurried out to the police,\nset several Italian boys whom he taught, and who loved him well, to\nsearch everywhere for the missing Chick, and did not return to his own\nhouse till late, completely worn out with the heat and worry.\n\nSome time later, he was told that one of his Italian boys had come, and\nwas asking to see him; and, as soon as he was ordered in, the boy, who\nknew what pain he was giving, sorrowfully told his news that the police\nhad seized upon the \"bravo Cico\"--the half-shaven dog whom everybody\nknew and loved--\"and....\"\n\n\"Well, and where is he?\" cried Mrs. Griffith, her husband, and the\nchild in one breath.\n\n\"Ah! signora, Cico \u00e8 morto!\" (Cico is dead).\n\n\"Dead! How do you know? Where?\"\n\n\"Signora, the police take the dogs they find to the Mola (breakwater),\nand, if they are not claimed before the next night, they make away with\nthem. Ah! Cico was a bravo, bravo canino!\" (a brave little dog).\n\nLooking at his wife's face, Mr. Griffith quickly despatched the boy,\nand, once more taking up his hat, this brave and good man again sought\nthe police office, where the news was confirmed that Chick was dead.\nStill hoping against hope, Mr. Griffith said, \"There are many white and\nblack dogs; I should like to see his dead body.\"\n\nThis, backed by other _arguments_, admitted of no demur. The foreign\nEnglish lord must be humored in his whim, and he should be conducted to\nthe poor dead Chickie's dungeon. On the way, Mr. Griffith amazed his\nwife by rushing into their house like a \"fire-flaught,\" calling out for\na piece of cold meat and a roll and butter \"as quick as possible!\"\n\n\"But Chickie's dead--the poor dog's dead!\" she began. But he waved his\nhand and vanished, running down the street with his coat flying in\nthe wind. He, too, almost flew across the reach of sand and driftwood\nto the Mola, and up to the prison door of the dark, airless, filthy\nhole into which poor little Chick had been thrust, like a two-legged\ncriminal guilty of some horrible crime, from the last Saturday\nafternoon till this present Monday night. Not a single drop of water\nhad been vouchsafed him; but the fiendish cruelty which characterizes\npeople ignorant of the habits and sufferings of animals, while denying\nthe dog this one necessary, had instigated the police to leave him a\nlarge piece of poisoned meat.\n\n\"Signore,\" said a magisterial voice from among the idle crowd which\nhad gathered to see what miracles the English lord was going to\nwork--\"signore, if the dog will not eat, he is mad, and you must not\ntake him away!\" And a lump of hard, mouldy black bread was thrown down\nbefore the seemingly lifeless body of poor little Chick, who of course\nmade no sign.\n\n\"E matto! E matto!\" (he is mad) cried many voices.\n\n\"Chickie! Chickie! dear little doggie, come and speak to me!\" cried\nMr. Griffith, who was nearly beside himself at the bare sight of what\nthe bright, happy little creature had become, and the thought of what\nhis sufferings had been. Chickie heard the voice, recognized his kind\nhelper, opened his eyes, and, feebly dragging himself up from the\nground, came forward a step or two towards the door, which caused a\ngeneral stir of dread and horror among the spectators, and made the\npolice half close the door, lest the terrible monster should break\nloose upon them. Mr. Griffith forced himself into the opening, and\nthrew his bit of cold meat to Chick; but he had suffered too much to\nbe able to eat it, and turned from it with disgust, though he feebly\nwagged his brush in acknowledgment to his kind friend. Almost in\ndespair, but calling the dog by every coaxing, caressing name he could\nthink of, Mr. Griffith then held out to him a morsel of well-buttered\nroll, and, again wagging his brush, Chick smelt at it, took it, and ate\nthe whole of it in the presence of the august crowd.\n\nMr. Griffith felt that he could throw up his hat, or dance for joy, or\nmisbehave in any other way which was most unbecoming to a staid country\ngentleman; but all he actually did was to pull a piece of cord quickly\nout of his pocket, and say, \"I can take the dog home with me now,\ncan't I?\"\n\n\"You can take him to the owner, signore. And on payment of ten francs\nto the police\" (for the poisoned meat?), \"and with the owner's consent,\nthe dog will be yours.\"\n\nThe prison door was then opened a little wider for the cord to be\ntied round Chick's neck, when, behold! he spied the moment of escape,\nand, refreshed with his morsel of roll, and not knowing what more the\ncruelty of man would devise, the plucky little dog rushed through\nthe crowd, and raced along the shore to the town as hard as he could\ngo, Mr. Griffith after him at the top of his speed, to a certain\nlow wine-shop, where also Chick had a true friend. And there Mr.\nGriffith found him, after drinking nearly a bucketful of water, in\nthe convulsions of another and most terrible fit! His generous friend\ncarried him home in his arms, tucked up his sleeves and gave him a warm\nbath, physicked him, nursed him, washed and combed the vermin of his\nloathsome prison-hole from him, and, with untiring pains and a love\nthat never wearied, brought the brave little doggie back to life and\nhealth.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe story of my friend is told. Chick's last appearance in his native\ntown was when making a triumphal progress through it in a carriage\nwith his master and mistress; he sitting up on his hind legs in his\nold fashion, lolling back against the carriage-cushion with one paw\nraised, while every man and boy they met saluted the English lord and\nlady with lifted hats and delighted cries of \"Cico! Cicarello! Bravo!\nbravo canino!\" Chick was eventually brought home to England by that\nbest of masters whom S. Anthony had found for him, to whom he has\nattached himself so devotedly that nothing but force will induce him to\nleave him by night or day. And that master and I are of one mind--that\na braver, cleverer, more loving, or more faithful dog could never be\nfound.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[27] The Riviera \"di Ponente\" and \"di Levante\" is the Mediterranean\ncoast from Nice to Genoa and beyond.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LOVE OF GOD.\n\n\nThe chief thing that is to be regarded in him that doth anything, is\nthe will and love wherewithal he doeth it. O Redeemer of the world!\nalthough thou has done much for us, and given us great gifts, and hast\ndelivered us from many mischiefs, and hast promised us thy eternal and\neverlasting bliss, yet is all this, being so much that it maketh one\nastonished and afraid, far less than the love that thou bearest us.\nFor love thou gavest thyself unto us: thou camest down from heaven,\nthou tookest flesh, and diest; and through the unspeakable love that\nthou borest us, thou hast created and redeemed us, and gavest thyself\nunto us in the Blessed Sacrament of the Eucharist, and deliveredst\nus from so many evils, and promisest us so great goods. Thy love is\nof such force towards us, that the least favors that thou doest us,\ncoming polished with such singular fine love, we are never able to be\nsufficiently thankful for it, nor to requite, although we should thrust\nourselves into flaming furnaces for love of thee.--_Southwell._\n\n\n\n\nA FRENCH POET.[28]\n\n\nIt is often said among those who assert much and investigate little\nthat the control of science, of literature, and of art has passed\nbeyond the domain of the ancient church, that her children have given\nup the contest, and that she no longer produces distinguished men.\nIt seems to be an understood thing that sound Catholicism is not\nconsistent with proficiency in any branch of the higher pursuits,\nand that every artist, scientist, and _litt\u00e9rateur_ ceases to be a\ngood Christian in proportion as he is successful in his profession.\nThere has been some apparent excuse for such an impression gaining\nground, but it is none the less an erroneous impression. Especially\nof late years has it been triumphantly refuted, and nowhere with\nmore _\u00e9clat_ than in the very stronghold, the _sanctum sanctorum_\nof free thought and private judgment--England. There has arisen in\nthat land of successful and jubilant materialism, that citadel of\nrationalism in matters of religion, a knot of men formidable for\ntheir learning, their eloquence, their taste, and their wit. But if\neven in England, under the shadow that was yet left hanging over the\nchurch from the effects of three hundred years of repression, the\nvitality of the old \"olive-tree\"[29] was amply proved by the grafting\nin and prosperous growth of so many new branches, still more was the\nfruitfulness of the ancient mother and mistress of all knowledge\nshown forth in Catholic France. That country has suffered sorely; it\nhas been the experimental plaything of the world, it has been torn\nby unchristian politicians, gagged by C\u00e6sarism, drenched in blood by\ndemagogism; it has been deluged with a literature as shameless as it\nwas attractive, until the name of France has become identified in\nthe minds of many with deliberate and organized immorality. It is\nasserted that the names of her most famous novelists are synonymes\nof licentiousness; that her philosophers openly preach the grossest\nmaterialism; and that those of her _litt\u00e9rateurs_ who are not absolute\nlibertines are undisguised Sybarites. Never was country so thoroughly\nand deplorably misrepresented as this Catholic land, whence have come\nthree-fourths of the missionaries of the world, armies of Sisters of\nCharity, the most impetuous and the bravest of the Pope's defenders,\nthe most indefatigable scientific explorers, the purest of political\nreformers. If France must be judged by her literature, she can point\nto Montalembert, Ozanam, Albert de Broglie, Eug\u00e9nie de Gu\u00e9rin, Louis\nVeuillot, Dupanloup, Rio, Lacordaire, Mme. Craven, Pontmartin, La\nMorvonnais, as well as to Balzac, Dumas, Eug\u00e8ne Sue, George Sand, and\nAlfred de Musset. If by her art, De la Roche, Ary Scheffer, Hippolyte\nFlandrin, vindicate her old Catholic historical pre-eminence; if by her\nscience and her philosophy, there are Amp\u00e8re, Berryer, Villemain, even\nCousin. Everywhere the old sap is coursing freely, and in the ranks of\nall professions are champions ready to do battle for the old faith\nthat made France a \"_grande nation_.\" But those we have mentioned,\nespecially the distinguished and brilliant cluster, Montalembert, de\nBroglie, Lacordaire, and Dupanloup, had eschewed the old legitimist\ntraditions, and, without detracting from their fame, we may say that\nthey were eminently men of the XIXth century. The charm and poetry\nof chivalry, fidelity to an exiled race, the spell of the white flag\nand the golden _fleur-de-lis_, were in their minds things of the\npast; noble and beautiful weapons, it is true, but useless for the\npresent emergency, like the enamelled armor and jewelled daggers which\nwe reverently admire in our national museums. The old monarchical\ntraditions needed a champion in the field of literature where their\nconscientious and respectful opponents were so brilliantly represented,\nand this they found in Jean Reboul, the subject of this memoir.\n\nOne would have thought that the legitimist poet would have arisen from\nsome lonely castle of Brittany, and have borne a name which twenty\ngenerations of medi\u00e6val heroes had made famous in song. One would have\npictured him as the melancholy, high-spirited descendant of Crusaders,\norphaned by the Vendean war, inspired by the influence of the ocean and\nthe majestic solitude of the _landes_.[30]\n\nHe would be likely to be a Christian Byron, a modern Ossian, far\nremoved from contact with the world, almost a prophet as well as\na poet. But as if to render his personality more marked, and his\npartisanship more striking, the champion of legitimacy was none of\nthese things. Instead of being a noble, he was a baker; instead of\na solitary, a busy man of the world--even a deputy in the French\nAssembly in 1840. Who would have dreamt this? Yet when God chose a king\nfor Israel, he did not call a man of exalted family to the throne,\nbut \"a son of Jemini of the least tribe of Israel, and his kindred\nthe last among all the families of the tribe of Benjamin.\"[31] So it\nfell out with the representative who, among the constellation of more\nthan ordinary brilliancy which marked the beginning of this century in\nFrance, was to uphold the old political faith of the land. There was\ndoubtless some wise reason for this singular and unexpected choice.\nReboul was a man of the people, a worker for his bread, that it might\nbe known what the people could do when led by faith and loyalty; he was\nfrom N\u00eemes, in the south of France, not far from Lyons and Marseilles,\nthat his attitude might be a perpetual protest against the wave of\ncommunism and revolution which had its source in the south; he was,\nso to speak, a descendant of the Romans--for N\u00eemes was a flourishing\nRoman colony and its people are said to retain much of the massiveness\nof the Roman character--that he might rebuke the mistaken notion of\nthose who make of the old republic a type of modern anarchy, and\ndesecrate the names of Lucretia and Cornelia by bestowing them on\nthe _tricoteuses_[32] of 1793, or the _p\u00e9troleuses_ of 1870. It must\nhave been a special consolation to the exiled representative of the\nBourbons, the object of such devoted and romantic loyalty, to follow\nthe successes and receive the outspoken sympathy of so unexpected and\nso staunch an adherent. Uncompromising in his championship of the\n\"_drapeau blanc_,\" Reboul was politically a host in himself, and,\nuntrammelled as he was by the traditions and prejudices that hedged in\nthe nobles of the party, he was able to mingle with all classes, speak\nto all men, treat with all parties, and yet to carry his allegiance\nthrough all obstacles, unimpaired and even unsuspected.\n\nJean Reboul was born at N\u00eemes on the 23d of January, 1796. His father\nwas a locksmith and in very modest circumstances. His mother was early\nleft a widow, with four young children to provide for. Jean, who was\nthe eldest, and of an equally thoughtful and energetic character,\nsoon contrived to relieve her of the anxieties of her position, by\nestablishing himself in business as a baker. Whatever ambitious and\nvague longings he might have had even at that early period we do not\nknow, but can easily guess at, and his sacrifice of them already\nendears the future poet to our hearts. How he ever after preferred\nthe claims of his family to his own convenience, and refused to take\nfrom them the security which his lowly trade gave them, and which the\nprecarious success of a literary career might have taken away, we shall\nsee later on. But Reboul did not forego his poetical aspirations; he\npublished various detached pieces in the local journals of N\u00eemes, he\ncirculated MS. poems among his friends, and his name began to be well\nknown at least in his native town. It was not till 1820, however, that\nthe outside world and the literary assemblies of Paris knew him. He\ngave half his day to the labor of his trade and half to intellectual\nwork and hard study, and the activity of his character, as well as\nthe rigorous measurement of his time, so arranged as never to waste\na moment, made this division of labor prejudicial to neither one\nemployment nor the other.\n\nIn physique he was tall, athletic, and stately enough for a Roman\nsenator. His features were cast in a large and massive mould, his dark,\nbrilliant eyes were full of meridional fire, and his abundant black\nhair seemed a fitting frame for his manly, fearless countenance. Even\nin old age and when dying, a friend and admirer recorded that \"his face\nhas suffered no contraction, but has wholly kept the purity of those\nsculptural lineaments so nobly reproduced by the chisel of Pradier; it\neven seemed to have borrowed a new and graver majesty from the dread\napproach of death; ... even death appeared, as it were, to hesitate to\ntouch his form, and seemed to draw near its victim with the deepest\nrespect.\" His vigorous life, his active intelligence, his inflexible\nuprightness of character--everything seemed to point him out as a man\nbeyond the common run of even good men. We shall see his character as\ndeveloped in the admirable letters which form the basis of this sketch.\nType of a Christian patriot, he towers above his contemporaries by\nsheer nobility of soul, and is an example of that moral stature to\nwhich no worldly honors, no political position, no hereditary rank can\nadd \"one cubit.\" _Pro Deo, Patria et Rege_ was his lifelong motto, and\nit may safely be said that if France had many such sons, no one in the\npast or in the future could have rivalled or could hope to rival \"la\ngrande nation.\"\n\nHis first volume of collected poems was published in 1836, and one\nby one eminent men of letters, struck by the beauty, severity, and\nfreshness of his diction, sought out the new light and entered into\nbrotherhood with him. His lifelong friendship with M. de Fresne,\nhowever, dated from 1829, when he had already published _The Angel\nand the Child_,[33] in a Paris magazine, and other pieces at various\nintervals in local periodicals. A traveller from the capital knocked at\nthe unknown poet's door, and the tie knit by the first external homage\nthat had yet come to Reboul, was never dissolved. The letters from\nwhich we draw his portrait, as traced by himself, were all addressed\nto this first friend. In 1838, another and more illustrious visitor\ncame to the baker's home at N\u00eemes, the patriarch of revived Christian\nliterature in France, the immortal Ch\u00e2teaubriand. He tells the story of\nhis visit himself:\n\n\"I found him in his bakery, and spoke to him without knowing to whom I\nwas speaking, not distinguishing him from his companions in the trade\nof Ceres; he took my name, and said he would see if the person I wanted\nwas at home. He came back presently and smilingly made himself known to\nme. He took me through his shop, where we groped about in a labyrinth\nof flour-sacks, and at last climbed by a sort of ladder into a little\nretreat (_r\u00e9duit_) something like the chamber of a windmill. There we\nsat down and talked. I was as happy as in my barn in London,[34] and\nmuch happier than in my minister's chair in Paris.\"\n\nReboul was an ardent Catholic, an uncompromising \"ultramontane,\" as\ntheir enemies designate those who refuse to render unto C\u00e6sar the\nthings that are God's. He took a keen and sensitive interest in the\nstruggles of religion against infidelity, the prototypes, or rather\nthe counterparts, of those we see now waging in Italy and Germany. On\nthe occasion of one of these attacks on the church in 1844, he writes\nthese trenchant words:\n\n\"The sword is drawn between the religious and the political power: if I\nwere not a Frenchman before being a royalist, and a Catholic before a\nFrenchman, I should find much to rejoice at in this check to the hopes\nof a certain part of the episcopate who honestly believed in the reign\nof religious freedom, on the word of the revolutionists. But, good\npeople! if revolution were not despotism, it would not be revolution.\"\n\nThe unity of the church struck him as immeasurably grand. Speaking of\nthe great Spanish convert Donoso-Cortes and his religious works, he\nsays:\n\n\"What a marvellous faith it is which makes men situated at such\ndistances of time and place think exactly alike on the most difficult\nand deepest subjects!\"\n\nA most striking passage in his writings is the following opinion on the\nReformation:\n\n\"Forgive my outspokenness,\" he writes to his friend M. de Fresne,\n\"if my opinion differs totally from yours. No, the Reformation was\n_not_ an outburst of holy and generous indignation against abuses and\ninfamies. This indignation possessed all the eminent and virtuous men\n_in_ the church, but it was not to be found among the reformers. The\nReformation, on the contrary, came to legalize corruption and bend\nthe precepts of the Gospel to the exigencies of the flesh. Luther was\nliterally the Mahomet of the West. Both acted through the sword: the\none established polygamy, the other divorce, a species of polygamy far\nmore fatal to morals than polygamy proper. If you would know what the\nReformation really was, look at its founders and abettors, and see if\nchastity was dear to them. Henry VIII. married six wives, of whom he\ndivorced two and executed two more; Zwinglius took a wife, Beza took a\nwife, Calvin took a wife, Luther took a wife, the landgrave of Hesse\nwished to take a second wife during the lifetime of his first, and\nLuther authorized him to do so. The caustic Erasmus, whose Catholicism\nwas not very strict, could not help saying that the Reformation was a\ncomedy like many others, where everything ended with marriages. The\nreal reformers of the church, those who reformed her not according to\nthe gospel of passion, but the Gospel of Jesus Christ, were S. Charles\nBorromeo, S. John of the Cross, S. Teresa, S. Ignatius Loyola, and\nthousands of holy priests and bishops.\"\n\nNot to weary the reader by constant comments on the text which reveals\nthis great Christian thinker's mind, we will append the following\nsignificant quotations from his letters with as few breaks as possible.\nThey are gathered from a collection extending over a period of more\nthan thirty years:\n\n\"The secrets of the church are ruled by a divine order, and to judge\nof them according to merely human fears or prudence, is to mistake the\nnature of the church, and to ignore her past. Time takes upon itself\nthe vindication of decisions arrived at by a legitimate authority,\neven though it be a temporal one; ... truth will come to the surface,\nand is often manifested by the very men apparently most earnest in\ncombating it.... I believe this work (a religious publication of M. de\nBroglie) is an event, as much because of the author's character and the\nprinciples which his name is understood to represent, as because of the\nepoch of its publication. This frank confession in the belief of the\nsupernatural in the teeth of the public rationalistic teaching of the\nday--ever striving to wrap Christ in its own shroud of philosophical\nverbiage and to bury him in the grave from which he had risen--makes\nus pray to God and praise him, ... that _his kingdom may come_....\nThe struggle nowadays is between God made man, and man making himself\nGod.... I wonder that you take the trouble to break your head thinking\nabout these German dreamers (atheists); for my part, I gave orders long\nago to the door-keeper of my brain, if any of these gentleman should\nask for me, to say that I was '_not at home_.' These old errors served\nup with the new sauce of a worse darkness than before seem to me very\nindigestible.\n\n\"Genius which devotes itself to evil, far from being a glory, is but a\ngigantic infamy. Plato is right when he calls it a fatal industry.\n\n\"The French Revolution has done in the political world what the\nReformation did in the religious world; it has taken from reason her\nleaning staff, and reason, trying to stand alone, has caused the things\nwe have seen--and so, alas! at this moment, the Revolution cries out\nfor a principle, but is itself the negation of all principle.\"\n\nIn politics, as we have seen, Reboul was a staunch legitimist, but a\nshrewd observer. He was no dreamer, though his belief in the ancient\nBourbons was with him a perfect _cultus_. He never swerved from the\nroad which he had traced for himself. As a poet, his native city was\nproud of him, France held out every honor to him, fellow-_litt\u00e9rateurs_\nof all shades of opinion welcomed him as a brother, governments\nflattered him, the people looked up to him. Had he been ambitious,\ncivic and parliamentary honors were ready for him; had he been venal,\nhis career might have been brilliant, lucrative, and idle. In 1844,\nthe mayor of N\u00eemes, M. Girard, proposed to him a change of occupation,\noffering him the position of town-librarian, as more suited to his\ntastes than the trade he followed. He was assured that this appointment\nwould entail no political obligation, that perfect independence\nof speech and action would be guaranteed to him, but, says M. de\nPoujoulat: \"Reboul, intent above all on the services he could render\nthe cause among his own surroundings, and solicitous of hedging in\nthe dignity of his life with the most spotless integrity, refused the\nmayor's offer. He did not even seek to make a merit of his refusal;\nhis friends knew nothing of it; M. de Fresne alone was in the secret,\nand it was not divulged till years after.\" The Cross of the Legion of\nHonor was twice offered him: once by the government of Louis Philippe,\nthrough the agency of the minister M. de Salvandy, who was fond of\nseeking out honest and independent talent, but the loyal poet answered\nbriefly: \"He who alone has the right to decorate me is not in France\";\nand again by the empire, when it was urged that the decoration was a\nhomage such as might have been respectfully offered in _les Ar\u00e8nes_\n(the Roman amphitheatre at N\u00eemes). Reboul proudly yet playfully\nreplied that \"he had not yet quite reached the state of a monument,\"\nand feeling plenty of vitality left in him, did not need the red\nribbon. He explains to his friend M. de Fresne that he asked the God\nof S. Louis to enlighten his perplexities, to lift his soul above all\nsmall vanities, to deliver him from political rancor, if he harbored\nany, and to guide him to a decision which would leave him at peace\nwith himself. \"I have not the presumption,\" he adds, \"to think that I\nreceived an inspiration from above, but I believe in the efficacy of\nprayer. I know not if I was heard, but at any rate I did my best.\"\n\nThere is a grand Christian simplicity in this, which marks Reboul as a\nman far beyond the average. Nothing dazzles him, because he always has\nthe glory of God before his eyes. His friend M. de Poujoulat says of\nhim:\n\n\"I find in Reboul a penetrating and serious good sense, broad views,\nas it were luminous sheaves of thought; I see in him an unprejudiced\nand discriminating observer of the affairs of his day. The noise of\npopularity is not glory, and the stature our contemporaries make for us\nis not our true one, but one raised by artifice and conventionality.\nHere was a man who looked down from the height of his solitude, said\nwhat he thought, and in his judgment forestalled the verdict of\nposterity. Reboul was interested in the individual works of his day,\nbut he had only scant admiration for the age that produced them. His\nconscience was the measure of his appreciation both of men and events,\nand it was a measure hardly advantageous to them.\"\n\nIn 1836, a few of his friends clubbed together to offer him at least\na pension, in the name of \"an exile\" (the Comte de Chambord), but he\nrefused even this with touching disinterestedness, saying: \"There is\nbut one hand on earth from which I should not blush to accept a gift:\nthe representative of Providence on earth. The gifts of this hand\nincrease the honor and independence of the recipient, and bind him to\nnothing save the public weal, but adverse circumstance having sealed\nthis fount of honor, I could not dream of drawing aught from it, for\n_l'exil a besoin de ses miettes_,[35] and it is rather our duty to\ncontribute to its needs than to draw on it for our own.\" Later, when\npressing necessity made it incumbent upon him to accept help from\nhis friends and his sovereign, as he loyally called the exiled Comte\nde Chambord, it was so great a sorrow to him that he could scarcely\nenjoy the material benefit of such help. The poor and faithful poet\nhad \"dreamed of leaving earth with the memory of a devotion wholly\ngratuitous,\" and was sincerely grieved because it could not be so.\nHe received several letters from the Comte de Chambord and his wife,\nsome written in their own hand, others by their secretary, and he\naddressed himself several times to these objects of his _cultus_ in\nterms of impassioned yet dignified loyalty. Henri V. fully appreciated\nhis homage, and treated him as a friend rather than a stranger. Reboul\nvisited the royal family at Frohsdorf, their Austrian retreat, and\nreceived the most flattering marks of attention. To him it was not\na visit so much as a pilgrimage; his devotion to the person of his\nsovereign was but the embodiment of his principle of fealty towards\nhereditary monarchy. Speaking of the Requiem Mass celebrated at\nN\u00eemes, in October, 1851, on the occasion of the death of the Duchesse\nd'Angoul\u00eame, daughter of Louis XVI., he says:\n\n\"She had made a deep impression, and left durable memories among the\nworking classes of our town, on her passage through N\u00eemes some years\nago.... The people, my dear friend, the Christian people, recognizes\nbetter than _les beaux-esprits_ what true greatness is, and is ever\nready to bow before the majesty of a nobly-borne sorrow. No orator\ncould adequately describe the appearance of our church to-day. This\ngreat gathering _en blouse ou en veste_,[36] these faces browned\nby toil and want, bore an expression of nobility and gravity fully\nsuitable to such an occasion.... When one still has such courtiers, is\nexile a reality?\"\n\nReboul would never allow that the irregularities of its representatives\nwere enough of themselves to condemn a system. We have seen how, while\nrecognizing the degeneracy of many churchmen in the XVIth century,\nhe yet denounced the pretended reformers who sought this pretext for\nattacking the church, and in politics his judgments were equally clear\nand impartial. \"If,\" he says, \"it is still possible to be a republican\ndespite the Reign of Terror, it is not impossible to be a royalist\ndespite a few moral deviations which have disgraced some of our kings.\nWas the _Directoire_ (a genuine republican product) an assembly of\nJosephs? And the houses of our day--are they not of glass? It is not\nwise, therefore, to be incessantly throwing stones.... After all, I\nreturn to my original argument: notwithstanding the shadows which\ndarken the great qualities and high virtues of many of our kings, can\nyou find anything better?\"\n\nReboul's political faith is traced at length in the following\nparagraph, which may be called statesmanlike, since it contains a\ntheory of government: \"The sovereign is by all means a _responsible_\nagent, but I add to this, that the people also, when it makes itself\nsovereign, is equally responsible. The habit of thought which separates\nthe one from the other is one of the misfortunes of our times. Without\n_sovereignty_ there can be no nation, nor even a people. There remains\nbut an agglomeration of individuals. When I say _sovereign_ you know,\nif you understand the language of politics, that I mean any legitimate\nform of government. This is applicable to all governments. Be sure\nthat it is nonsense to talk of a nation as making its own sovereign.\nA \"nation\" which as yet has no sovereignty is no more a nation than a\nbody without its head is a real body.\"\n\nReboul not only believed in sovereignty, but in an aristocracy as a\nnecessary part of a sound national system. Commenting upon a political\narticle by M. de Villemain, he gives his ideas thus: \"He is mistaken\nif he believes, as he says he does, that a people can enjoy freedom\nwithout an _aristocracy_, or, if this word is too much of a bugbear\nin the ears of our age, without an intermediate class between the\nsovereign and the people. Equality is a fine thing, but revolutionary\njournalists must make up their minds that equality can only be arrived\nat by the raising of one man and the lowering of all the rest. It is\nalmost a truism to say so, but these truisms are not bad things in\npolitics, being so often borne out by experience, and, alas! by the\nconvulsions of empires.\"\n\nOur poet and politician could be witty when he liked, and, had he\nnot been so earnest a Christian, his satirical humor would have been\nmore often exercised on those from whom he differed so widely in\nopinion. This humor crops out sometimes, as when, on the occasion of\nan agricultural show (no very congenial f\u00eate to a man of his stamp),\nhe quaintly says: \"I do not demur to any rational encouragement given\nto agriculture, but I fancy Sully, to whom it owes so much, would not\nhave been quite so extravagant in the choice of honors such as are\nnow heaped upon it. A public and gratuitous show, convocation of the\nAcademy, the municipal council, the prefect of the department, all that\nfuss for the coronation of a few dumb animals! Do you not see in this a\nprovidential sarcasm--a people allowed to crown swine after uncrowning\nits kings!\"\n\nA significant prophecy is contained in the last words of the following\nparagraph: \"I begin to doubt the efficacy of all these intellectual\nstruggles; our times need a stronger logic than that of pamphlets, and\nI fear (God forgive me for the despairing thought)--I fear that some\ngreat misfortune alone is capable of curing France.\" How terrible the\ncure was when it came we all know, but we have yet to see whether it\nhas been efficient.\n\nHis brief career as deputy to the Constituent Assembly in 1848\nderives a peculiar interest for the reader by reason of the seeming\ncontradiction it presents to his settled political creed. But Reboul\njudged things by a higher standard than that of party prejudice. \"A\nFrenchman before a royalist,\" he vindicated his patriotism by active\nmeasures in those stormy days when more voices were needed to speak for\nthe right in the councils of the nation. No doubt, with his unfailing\ndiscernment, he saw the incongruity of his actual position as a man of\nthe people with that refusal of office which was in a certain sense\nbecoming--nay, required--in a legitimist of noble birth. He says of\nhis nomination: \"I had firmly refused before, being certain of my\nown incompetency, but our population would not hear reason. These\ngood people imagine that, because one can scribble verses, one can\ntherefore represent a borough. I was not able to disabuse them; it was\nmade a question of honor and patriotism, and how could I refuse any\nlonger? Here am I, therefore, who have always lived far from political\ngatherings, I a man of retirement and study, thrown into your whirlpool\nwithout well knowing what will happen to me there.\"\n\nHe was not happy as a deputy. M. de Poujoulat says that Reboul's\ncountenance in those days was that of a man bored to death. When, the\nfollowing year, he retired from these unwonted honors, he thanked God\nfor \"having rescued him from the storm,\" and wrote to a friend: \"I am\nquite happy again, and do not at all regret the honors I have left.\nI wonder what interest there can be in such heated disputes about\nvulgarized issues! I never felt more at home than I do now, and nothing\nwhispers to me that I have had any loss.\"\n\nOf a young and unfortunate colleague in the Assembly, a man who had\nmistaken an irrepressible momentary exaltation for a genuine vocation,\nand from a porter had vaulted to the position of a deputy, while he\nfurther aspired to that of a poet, Reboul says with grave sympathy and\nsterling sense: \"His blind ambition often astounded me, but it was so\ncandid and so genuine that I had not the heart to condemn it. I have\noften grieved over this frank nature, this child who, in his gambols,\n_would_ handle as a whip which he could use the serpent that was to\nbite him. The best thing for him would be to go back to his trade in\nthe teeth of the world, and to make use of his strength and youth; he\nwould find in that a truer happiness than in the shadow of an official\ndesk, or in the corruptions of the literary 'Bohemia,' but such an\neffort, I fear, is beyond his strength of mind.\" With what special\nright Reboul could give this sound, if stern, advice, we shall see\npresently.\n\nIn poetry Reboul's inspiration was purely Christian, austere in its\nmorality, and trusting rather to the matter than the form. He believed\nthat the times required a poetic censorship, incisive, rapid, and\nrelentless; poetry was \"the mould that God had given him in which to\ncast his thoughts,\" and he felt bound to use it in season for God's\ncause, without stopping to elaborate its form and perhaps weaken its\neffect. Thus it came about that he was essentially a poet of action,\nmingling with his fellow-men, following the vicissitudes of the day\nand bearing his part valiantly in the battle of life. He was not of\nthe contemplative, subjective order of poets, nor was he among the\nsensualists of literature. His art was to him neither a personal\nconsolation, occupying all his time and plunging him into a selfish yet\nnot unholy oblivion of the world, nor yet an instrument of gain and a\npander to the evil passions of others. It was a mission, not simply a\ngift; a \"talent\" to be used and to bring in five-fold in the interests\nof his heavenly Master. Many of his friends objected to the crudity of\nform which sometimes resulted from this earnest conviction, and later\nin life he did set himself to polish his style a little more. All his\nverses bear this imprint of passionate earnestness; he speaks to all,\nkings and people; he tells them of their duties in times of revolution,\nhe urges men to martyrdom, if need be, that the truth may triumph;\nhe exalts patriotism, fidelity, and disinterestedness, and loses no\nopportunity to wrap wholesome precepts in poetic form. His style is\nvigorous and impetuous, yet domestic affections are no strangers to\nhis pen. The world knows him as the author of \"The Angel and the\nChild,\" which has been translated into all languages from English to\nPersian[37] and inspired a Dresden painter with a beautiful rendering\nof the song on canvas. He says of himself: \"With me, poetry is but the\nveil of philosophy,\" and in this he has unconsciously followed the\ndictum of a great man of the XVth century, Savonarola, who, in his work\non the _Division and Utility of all Sciences_, records the same truth:\n\"The essence of poetry is to be found in philosophy; the object of\npoetry being to persuade by means of that syllogism called an example\nexposed with elegance of language, so as to _convince_ and at the same\ntime to _delight_ us.\"[38]\n\nCorneille was his favorite French poet, and his admiration for the\nChristian tragedy of \"Polyeucte\" prompted him to write a drama in the\nsame style, called the \"Martyrdom of Vivia.\" The scene was placed in\nhis own N\u00eemes, in the time of the Roman Empire. The piece was full\nof beauties, and above all of enthusiasm, but, as might have been\nexpected, it was hardly a theatrical success. He says himself: \"The\nglorification of the martyrs of old is not a sentiment of our day\"; but\nwhen \"Vivia\" was performed under his own auspices in his native town\nthe result was far different. It created a _furor_, and everything,\neven the accessories, was perfect. Every one vied with each other to\nmake it not only a success in itself, but an ovation to the author.\nReboul, when he once saw it acted in Paris, was so genuinely overcome\nby it that, leaning across the box toward his friend M. de Fresne, he\nwhispered na\u00efvely with tears in his eyes: \"I had no idea that it was so\nbeautiful.\"\n\nAs a poet, he utterly despised mere popularity, and has recorded\nthis feeling both in verse and in prose. In his poem \"Consolation\nin Forgetfulness\" he asks whether the nightingale, hidden among the\ntrees, seeks out first some attentive human ear into which to pour its\nravishing strains? Nay, he answers, but the songster gives all he has\nto the night, the desert, and its silence, and if night, desert, and\nsilence are alike insensible, its own great Maker is ever at hand to\nlisten. But it is useless to translate winged verse into lame prose;\nthe next verse we will quote in the original:\n\n    \"Un grand nom co\u00fbte cher dans les temps o\u00f9 nous sommes,\n    Il fant rompre avec Dieu pour captiver les hommes.\"\n\nThe same idea is reproduced in his correspondence:\n\n\"The revolution has for a long time usurped, all over Europe, the\ndisposal of popularity and renown, and, alas! how many Esaus there\nare who have sold their birthright for a mess of celebrity!... Our\nexcellent friend M. Le Roy had a quality of soul capable of harmonizing\nwith the sad memories of fallen greatness! Our _si\u00e8cle de grosse\ncaisse_[39] has lost the secret of those high and sublime feelings\nwhich the reserve of a simple-minded man may cover.\"\n\nWhen, in 1851, his friends wished to nominate him as a candidate\nfor the French Academy, the highest literary honor possible, Reboul\nanswered M. de Fresne thus: \"Your kind friendship has led you astray.\nWhat on earth would you have me do in such a body? Though I may, in\nthe intimacy of private life, have spoken to you of whatever poetic\nmerits I have, I am far from wishing to declare myself seriously the\nrival of the best talent of the capital. Such pretension never entered\nmy head. Nay, in these days I might have written _Athalie_ and yet\ndeem myself unfit for the Academy. In revolutionary times, things\ninvade and overflow each other, and nothing is more futile than the\nlamentations of literary men over the nomination of politicians to the\nvacancies of the French Academy. The revolution has always jealously\nguarded her approaches; the _Institut_ is her council.\" Ten years\nlater he congratulates himself that things have so far mended among\nacademicians as that \"one may pronounce God's holy name in the halls of\nthe academy\"; but he steadily refused to be nominated for a _fauteuil_.\n\nReboul's relations with the great men of his day were active and\ncordial. No party feeling separated him from any on whom the stamp of\ngenius was set equally with himself. He corresponded with distinguished\npersonages of all countries, English, French, Italian, etc., admired\nand appreciated the literature of foreign lands, followed the\nintellectual movement of Europe in every branch of learning, and\nsupplied by copious reading of the best translations his want of\nclassical knowledge. The Holy Scriptures and the patristic literature\nof the church were familiar and favorite studies with him; in every\nsense of the word, he was a polished and appreciative scholar.\nThe accident of his birth and circumstances of his life in no way\ninterfered with this scholarship, and it would be a great mistake to\nsuppose that he was but a phenomenon, a freak of nature, a working-man\nturned suddenly poet, but having beyond the gift of ready versification\nno further knowledge of his art or grasp of its possibilities. In 1834,\nhaving addressed to Lamennais a poetical warning and remonstrance, he\nsays that, receiving no answer, \"he is appalled by the silence of\nthis man. Heaven forefend that the pillar which once was the firmest\nsupport of the sanctuary should be turned into a battering-ram!...\" The\nChristian world knows that this prophecy came true, but there are those\nwho believe that on his death-bed the erring son was drawn back to the\nbosom of his mother.\n\nIn 1844, Reboul was chosen as spokesman by the deputation of N\u00eemes to\nthe reception awarded M. Berryer by the town of Avignon. He says: \"The\nillustrious orator said so many flattering things to me that I was\nquite confounded. He called me his _friend_.... Then, addressing us\nall, his words seemed so fraught with magic that the immense audience\nhung breathless on his lips, but when he began to speak of France his\nvoice, trembling with love of our country, took our very souls by\nstorm, and you should have seen those southern faces all bathed in\ntears of admiration. We had need of a respite before applauding--but\nwhat an explosion it was!\" At another time he writes: \"Where has\nBerryer lived that he should be able to escape the influence of the\nhazy phraseology of our age and keep intact that eloquence of his, at\nonce so clear and so trenchant?\"\n\nManzoni's genius seemed to make the two poets, though not personally\nacquainted, companions in spirit. M. de Fresne, who knew the Milanese\n_litt\u00e9rateur_, was charged with Reboul's homage to him in verse, and\nReboul himself speaks thus of the impression made on a friend of his by\nManzoni's _Inni Sacri_:\n\n\"We read and admired everything in the book. The hymn for the 5th of\nMay particularly struck Gazay; he was quite beside himself, as I knew\nhe would be. This nature, rugged and trenchant (_osseuse et br\u00e8ve_),\nwhich is so impatient of the milk-and-water[40] style of literature,\nfound here a subject of enthusiasm; he rose from his chair, walked up\nand down the room with gigantic strides, and barely escaped breaking\nthrough the floor.\"\n\nHis judgment of Victor Hugo is both interesting and striking. In 1862,\nwhen _Les Mis\u00e9rables_ was published, he comments thus on the great\nherald and apologist of revolution:\n\n\"It is always the same glorification of the convict-prison and the\nhouse of prostitution, a theme which has for many years been dragged\nover our literature and our drama. I do not like Hugo's _bishop_ any\nmore than B\u00e9ranger's _cur\u00e9_; the former is a fool and the latter a\ndrunkard. The author of _Les Mis\u00e9rables_ is vigorous in his style,\nno doubt, but he carries the defects of this quality to the last\npitch of absurdity. The style is vigorous and rugged, true--but\n_c'est du 'casse-poitrine' et du 'sacr\u00e9 chien,' de l'eau-de-vie de\npommes-de-terre_.[41] I do not know what to expect from the next two\nvolumes, but up to this it all seems to me to breathe the air of a\nlow public-house (_buvette de faubourg_). The ostentatious praise of\nthe socialist organs confirms this opinion. The multitude, as well\nas kings, has its flatterers. I think that honest poverty, lacking\neverything, and yet shutting its eyes and ears to temptation, would\nhave been a type worthier of the author's reputation, if it were only\nfor a change!\"\n\nA year later, in 1863, we see Reboul reading with interest a criticism\nof Lamartine on this same work, and recording his satisfaction at the\nimplied condemnation. \"But,\" says our poet, \"it is only, alas! the\nblind leading the blind. One is astonished to see the devastation\ncreated in these two great intellects by the forsaking of principle.\"\n\nHis relations with Lamartine were close and affectionate, but his\nadmiration for the poet yet left him a severe measure for the man. In\n1864, he wrote him an address in verse on dogma, or rather, as he calls\nit, divine reason, as the foundation of all legislation, and from his\nreasons drew consequences not over-favorable to the \"historian-poet.\"\n\"But,\" he says, \"I tried to be respectful without ceasing to be frank.\"\nLamartine answered him a few months later, and promised him a visit.\nReboul then says of him: \"I found him as amiable, as much a friend as\never; there must be something great in the depths of that man's heart.\nMay Providence realize one day my secret hopes for his soul's welfare.\"\nWhen seven years before Lamartine came to see him at N\u00eemes, Reboul was\nhis _cicerone_ to the ruins and sights of the Roman colony, and the\nexquisitely graceful compliment of the world-known poet to his brother\nartist was thus worded: \"This is worth more than all I saw during my\nEastern journey.\" Of Lamartine's poetical genius, and Victor Hugo's\nclaims to the renown of posterity, Reboul has no doubt, for he says\nthat the former's _Lac_ and the latter's lyrics \"will never die.\"\n\nThe reader may like to know the opinion of Lamartine himself on Reboul.\nWe find it in his _Harmonies Po\u00e9tiques_, where he dedicates a piece to\nhim entitled \"Genius in obscurity,\" and appends the following anecdote,\nwhich will remind us of Ch\u00e2teaubriand's earlier visit. This was the\nfirst time the two poets met, and, like most of Reboul's friendships,\nit was sought by the greater man--or rather, should we not say the\nhigher-placed rather than _greater_?\n\n\"Every one knows the poetical genius, so antique in form, so noble\nin feeling, of M. Reboul, poet and workman. Work does not degrade.\nHis life is less known; I was ignorant of it myself. One day, passing\nthrough N\u00eemes, I wished, before going to the Roman ruins, to see my\nbrother-poet. A poor man whom I met in the street led me to a little,\nblackened house, on the threshold of which I was saluted by that\ndelicious perfume of hot bread just from the oven. I went in; a young\nman in his shirt sleeves, his black hair slightly powdered with flour,\nstood behind the counter, selling bread to a few poor women. I gave my\nname; he neither blushed nor changed countenance, but quietly slipped\non his waistcoat, and led me up-stairs by a wooden staircase to his\nworking room, above the shop. There was a bed, and a writing-table,\nwith a few books and some loose sheets of paper covered with verses. We\nspoke of our common occupation. He read me some admirable verses, and\na few scenes of ancient tragedy, breathing the true masculine severity\nof the Roman spirit. One felt that this man had spent his life among\nthe living mementos of ancient Rome, and that his soul was, as it were,\na stone taken from those monuments, at whose feet his genius had grown\nlike the wild laurel at the foot of the Roman bridge over the Gard.\n\n\"I saw Reboul again in the Constituent Assembly. His was a free soul,\nborn for a republic; a heart simple and pure, and whose like the people\nneeds sorely to make it keep and honor the liberty it has won, but will\nlose again unless it be tempered by justice and hallowed by virtue.\"\n\nIt will be seen that Reboul himself did not agree with Lamartine's\nestimate of him, nor indeed with many of the great poet's religious\nand political views; but the tribute to our hero is only rendered more\nhonorable by this dissidence of opinion.\n\nMany other names might be added to the list of Reboul's literary\nacquaintances. Montalembert, at whose request he paraphrased in verse\nthe famous article published in the _Correspondant_, \"Une Nation en\ndeuil,\" a plea for Poland written by the author of _The Monks of the\nWest_; P\u00e8re Lacordaire, Mgr. Dupanloup, M. de Falloux, Mme. R\u00e9camier,\nMme. de Beaumont, a graceful poetess, Canonge, his fellow-poet of\nN\u00eemes, Charles Lenormand, and hosts of others. Artists too he held\nin great honor: Sigalon, a painter full of promise, of a poor family\nin N\u00eemes, and whom Reboul characterizes as one who, had he lived,\nwould have been a modern Michael Angelo; Orsel, of whom he speaks\nin these enthusiastic terms: \"I showed my friends some of Orsel's\nsketches, which they found more _true_ and more _holy_ than Raphael's\nstyle. I will not go so far, for the judgment of ages and of so many\nconnoisseurs unanimously proclaiming the supremacy of the great\nItalian is a stronger authority in my eyes than the exclamation of a\nfew men in a given moment of enthusiasm. Still I was astounded. Some\nvague remorse seized me when I reflected that I had regarded this man\nwith indifference, not yet knowing his works! But when I think that\nI actually read so many of my bad verses to one who had before his\nmind's eye such holy and beautiful types, and that he was good enough\nto listen patiently, it is not admiration, but veneration that I feel\ntowards him.\"\n\nReber, the musician, who in 1853 was deservedly elected member of the\n_Institut de France_, and Rose, a young sculptor, whose Christian\ngenius was worthy of being placed in contrast (in his admirable\n_bassi-relievi_ of the Stations of the Cross in the church of S. Paul,\nat N\u00eemes) with the perfection of Hippolyte Flandrin's magnificent\nfrescos, were also among Reboul's artistic friends. In a comparison\ninstituted by our poet between popular and high art, we find the\nfollowing pungent comment: \"M. Courbet has painted women fitted, by the\nrotundity of their dimensions, to be exhibited at a fair, and his name\nis incessantly in the papers. On the other hand, M. Ingres is seldom if\never mentioned!\"\n\nReboul's voluminous letters to M. de Fresne trace unconsciously a most\nnoble moral portrait of the writer. Here are a few characteristic\ntouches, putting in relief his manliness and freedom from petty\nvanities or weak susceptibilities. There was not the shadow of a\nmeanness in Reboul's mind; his soul was simplicity itself, and was\nrather like those dark, deep waters of some of the American lakes, at\nwhose bottom every pebble is distinctly visible.\n\n\"One of the advantages of the position in which it has pleased God to\nplace me,\" he says, \"is that I hear the truth told me point-blank and\nwithout any circumlocution whatever, and, thank God, I am inured to\nthis. I have found out since that what once galled my pride has had\nother and important results, so that both friend and foe have served\nme.... I bow to nothing save that which is _beautiful everywhere and at\nall times_, and progress to my mind signifies only the fashioning of\nmy works more and more according to this eternal standard. If I do not\nsucceed, therefore, be sure that it is through human helplessness and\nnot intentional profanation.\"\n\nHe thus distinctly recognizes his art as a mission, a sacred thing\nto be reverently handled, and not _profaned_ by compromises with\nthe local and accidental spirit of the age. And again: \"If the poet\ncondescends to these intrigues behind the scenes, he loses what should\nbe his greatest treasure: the consciousness of his own dignity.[42]\nTheatrical plaudits, success, all that is outside ourselves: the poet\nshould seek to live at peace with his own soul, for alas! man cannot\nfly from himself, and woe to him if he has need to blush for his deeds\nbefore the tribunal of his own conscience.... There is too much water\nin the wine of success to inebriate me.... Time, which is God's mode\nof action, deprives us little by little of everything which can be\nsalutary guardianship, until that supreme moment when it leaves us\nface to face with itself alone. Let us strive to prepare ourselves for\nthis awful _t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate_.\" Reboul possessed the true pride of a noble\nheart which consisted in doing simply every duty required of him alike\nby his poor condition and his admirable talent. Of the former he never\nshowed himself ashamed and repeatedly refused to change it; yet this\nrefusal was perfectly honest. If he was in no ways ashamed of his lowly\norigin, at the same time he was equally far from making it a boast. On\nthe publication of his _Traditionelles_ (a volume of detached poems)\nM. Lenormand devoted to it a laudatory and appreciative article in the\n_Correspondant_. Reboul noticed this in the following words: \"I have\nonly one observation to make, however: I would rather they had left\nthe 'baker' out of the question, certainly not because the allusion\nhumiliates me, but because I fear that it points towards making an\nexception of my verses, as a moral _lusus natur\u00e6_, and it is my ardent\nwish, on the contrary, to be judged quite outside such circumstances.\nI can say this the more frankly, because I have never, in my\n_Traditionelles_, disguised my origin, and indeed, did I not fear to\nbe suspected of that hateful plebeian pride, I should even say that I\nwould not exchange my family for any other. This is between ourselves.\"\n\nAnd again, when the question of his nomination to the French Academy\nwas under discussion, he wrote a very similar sentence: \"I can hardly\ntell you why I would not accept this candidature. This, perhaps, will\nbest render my idea: I am not of the stuff of which academicians are\nmade. This is no outburst of plebeian pride--the most insolent pride\nof any; it is merely my true estimate of my own position.\" At another\ntime he said, excusing himself for not having asked a person of high\nposition and a friend of his to the funeral of his mother: \"Whatever\nignorance and enviousness may say to the contrary, there are barriers\nbetween the different classes of society which cannot be disregarded\nwithout unseemliness. My 'neglect' was but the consequence of this\nconviction.\"\n\nHe has left carelessly here and there embedded in the text of an\neveryday letter some phrase which seems like a proverb, so beautiful\nand comprehensive is it. For instance, speaking of the costliness\nof the Paris _salons_, he says: \"The most beautiful abodes, my dear\nfriend, are those where the devil finds nothing to look upon.\" Of the\ndegeneracy of modern thought he speaks thus: \"These noble convictions\nare passing away, and every thing is subjected to the feeble equations\nof reason; all things are discussed, calculated, weighed, and the\nheart would appear to be a superfluity of creation, so little are its\nholy inspirations followed!\"\n\nAnd of books and their readers he says: \"We do not all read a book\nalike, but each takes from it only what his individual nature is\ncapable of appropriating. The prejudices of divers schools of\nliterature, the rivalry of various political, philosophical, and\nreligious opinions, are all so many spectacles through which we judge\nthe beauties or defects of any work.\"\n\nReboul's domestic life was a calm and simple one; his mind craved\nno pleasures beyond its silent circle, save those which he found in\nbooks; and his attachment to his native city and his humble home was as\ntouching as it was sincere. His trade gave him enough for a modest and\nassured way of life, and he coveted no more. It was a less precarious\nsource of gain than literature alone would have been; it supported his\nfamily in comfort, and, above all, left his own mind at ease; and it\nwas only towards the end of his life that, having generously assisted\na relation in financial difficulties, he found himself in real want.\nThen only, and not till then, did he accept, with touching sadness and\nhumility, the help his friends and his heart's sovereign, the Comte de\nChambord, had repeatedly pressed upon him in happier days. His greatest\nrelaxation was an hour spent with his family or a few chosen literary\nfriends in his _mazet_, an enclosed garden with a little dwelling\nattached, in which were a sitting-room and a kitchen, but no bed-rooms.\nWe do not know if this is a peculiar institution of N\u00eemes alone or of\nthe whole south of France. It is constantly mentioned by Reboul, and\nhis letters are often dated from it--nay, his verses were sometimes\ncomposed there. It was a luxury of his later days, not of the time when\nhe received Ch\u00e2teaubriand and Lamartine in the \"windmill chamber.\"\n\nReboul suffered for ten years before his death from a constitutional\nmelancholy, which the distraction of several interesting journeys in\nItaly, Switzerland, and Austria only temporarily relieved; his general\nhealth gave way by degrees, and he died on the 29th of May, 1864. He\nwho had vowed his life to the glory of God and his church was called\naway from earth on the feast of Corpus Christi, having been completely\nparalyzed on the left side three days before. He recovered neither\nspeech nor--to all appearance--consciousness, and his death was as\npeaceful as a child's. His native town celebrated his funeral with all\nthe pomp of civic and religious honors; the Bishop, Mgr. Plantier,\nmade a funeral oration over his grave, and a monument was soon raised\nto his memory by his grateful and admiring fellow-citizens. More than\nthat, the city of N\u00eemes took charge of his family and assured their\nfuture, as a fitting homage to the man whose life had been so nobly\nindependent, so proudly self-supporting. The Roman colony could not\nbear to see Reboul's helpless relatives the pensionaries of a stranger,\nand the care it extended to them was delicately offered not as a boon\nbut a right. People of all classes, all religions, all political\nopinions united in mourning their great compatriot. We can end with\nno tribute of our own more fitting than M. de Poujoulat's warm and\neloquent words: \"Noble triumph of honest genius, of sublime and modest\nvirtue! many things will have fallen, many footsteps have been effaced,\nwhile yet Reboul will be remembered. The only lasting glory is that in\nwhich there is no untruth. Reboul has left like a Christian a world\nand an epoch which often grieved his faith. He has gone to that heaven\nwhich he had seen in his poetic visions, and in which his imagination\nhad placed so many noble types. He himself has now become a type such\nas the Christian muse would fain see placed in the immortal fatherland\nof the elect.\"\n\nThe recording angel may well have sung over his tomb these triumphant\nwords of the Gospel:\n\n\"Well done, thou good and faithful servant; because thou hast been\nfaithful in a few things, I will set thee over great things: enter thou\ninto the joy of thy Lord.\"\n\nWe have thus endeavored to present a portrait of a character not often\nmet with in our literature. This man of the people, and yet a royalist;\nthis delicately-toned poet, and yet a man of sturdy common sense,\naffords a curious and interesting study. What has won our especial\nadmiration is his inflexible adherence to principle in all that\nconcerns faith and the rights of the Holy See.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[28] _Lettres de Jean Reboul de N\u00eemes, avec une Introduction par M. de\nPoujoulat._ Michel L\u00e9vy Fr\u00e8res. Paris, 1866.\n\n[29] Romans xi. 24.\n\n[30] Uncultivated tracts of land bordering the sea-shore of Brittany.\n\n[31] 1 Kings ix. 21.\n\n[32] This name was given to the market-women who had their regular\nseats around the guillotine, and _knitted_ diligently, at the same time\ninsulting the victims while the executioner did his bloody work.\n\n[33] See a translation of this poem in THE CATHOLIC WORLD for July.\n\n[34] Alluding to his own vicissitudes during the French emigration.\n\n[35] Literally, \"Exile needs even its very crumbs.\"\n\n[36] Smock-frock, or working-clothes.\n\n[37] By Monchharem, a young Persian attached to the staff of Marshal\nPaskievicz.\n\n[38] See the second article on Jerome Savonarola, CATHOLIC WORLD, July,\n1873.\n\n[39] Literally \"big-drum century.\"\n\n[40] More expressive in the original, _le blanc d'\u0153uf battu_--literally\n\"white of eggs beaten up.\"\n\n[41] Untranslatable: the meaning is, that the vigor is that of a\nprize-fighter, the ruggedness not of a philosopher, but of a low\nruffian.\n\n[42] Simpler and more forcible in the original: _le sentiment de\nlui-m\u00eame_--\"the consciousness of himself.\"\n\n\n\n\nMARY.\n\n\n    Dear honored name, beloved for human ties,\n      But loved and honored first that One was given\n    In living proof to erring mortal eyes\n      That our poor flesh is near akin to heaven.\n\n    Sweet word of dual meaning: one of grace,\n      And born of our kind Advocate above;\n    And one by memory linked to that dear face\n      That blessed my childhood with its mother-love,\n\n    And taught me first the simple prayer, \"To thee,\n      Poor banished sons of Eve, we send our cries.\"\n    Through mist of years, those words recall to me\n      A childish face upturned to loving eyes.\n\n    And yet to some the name of Mary bears\n      No special meaning, or no gracious power;\n    In that dear word they seek for hidden snares,\n      As wasps find poison in the sweetest flower.\n\n    But faithful hearts can see, o'er doubts and fears,\n      The Virgin link that binds the Lord to earth;\n    Which to the upturned, trusting face appears\n      Greater than angel, though of human birth.\n\n    The sweet-faced moon reflects on cheerless night\n      The rays of hidden sun to rise to-morrow;\n    So unseen God still lets his promised light,\n      Through holy Mary, shine upon our sorrow.\n\n\n\n\nMORE ABOUT BRITTANY: ITS CUSTOMS, ITS PEOPLE, AND ITS POEMS.\n\n\nAll great national gatherings dating from an early period have a\nreligious origin. The assemblies of the Welsh, Bretons, and Gauls were\nconvoked by the Druids, and in the laws of Mo\u00eblmud are designated\n\"the privileged synods of fraternity and union which are presided\nover by the bards.\" These, in losing their pagan character under\nthe influence of Christianity, nevertheless retained many of their\nforms and regulations, together with the customary place and time of\nmeeting. True to her prudent mode of action among the peoples she was\nconverting, the church, instead of destroying the temples, purified\nthem, and, instead of overthrowing the menhir and dolmen, raised the\ncross above them.\n\nIt was almost invariably at the solstices that the Christian assemblies\nof the Celtic nations were accustomed to take place, as the pagan ones\nhad done before them, when, in the presence of immense multitudes, the\nbards held their solemn sittings, and vied with each other in poetry\nand song, while athletes ran, wrestled, and performed various feats\nof agility and strength. In Wales, the sectaries who divided the land\namongst them have deprived these assemblies of all religious character\nand association whatsoever, and the manners, language, and traditions\nare all that remain unchanged. In Brittany, on the contrary, the\nreligious element is the dominant one, and impresses its character\nnot only upon the antique observances, but also upon the rustic\nliterature--that is to say, the poesy--with which the land abounds.\n\nThe most favorable opportunities for hearing these popular\nballads occur at weddings and agricultural festivities, such as\nthe gathering-in of the harvest and vintage, the _linadek_, or\nflax-gathering--for it is believed that the flax would become mere\ntow or oakum unless it were gathered with singing--the fairs, the\nwatch-nights, when, around the bed of death, the relatives and\nneighbors take their turn to watch and pray, while those who are\nwaiting pass much of the time in singing or listening to religious\nballad-poems of interminable length, or ditties like the following,\n_Kimiad ann Ene_--\"The Departure of the Soul\"--which chiefly consists\nof a dialogue between the soul and its earthly tenement:\n\n                       THE DEPARTURE OF THE SOUL.\n\n  Come listen to the song of the happy Soul's departure, at the\n    moment when she quits her dwelling.\n\n  She looks down a little towards the earth, and speaks to the poor\n    body which is lying on its bed of death.\n\n                                 SOUL.\n\n  \"Alas, my body! Behold, the last hour is come; I must quit thee and\n    this world also.\n\n  \"I hear the rapping of the death-watch. Thy head swims; thy lips\n    are cold as ice; thy visage is all changed. Alas, poor body! I\n    must leave thee!\"\n\n                                 BODY.\n\n  \"If my visage is changed and horrible, it is too true that you must\n    leave me.\n\n  \"You are, then, unmindful of the past; despising your poor friend,\n    who is, alas! so disfigured. Likeness is the mother of love:\n    since you have no longer any left to me, lay me aside.\"\n\n                                 SOUL.\n\n  \"No, dearest friend, I despise you not. Of all the Commandments,\n    you have not broken one.\n\n  \"But it is the will of God (let us bless his goodness) to put\n    an end to my authority and your subjection. Behold us parted\n    asunder by pitiless death. Behold me all alone between heaven and\n    earth, like the little blue dove who flew from the ark to see if\n    the storm was over.\"\n\n                                 BODY.\n\n  \"The little blue dove came back to the ark, but you will never\n    return to me.\"\n\n                                 SOUL.\n\n  \"Nay, truly, but I will return to thee, and solemnly promise so to\n    do; we shall meet again at the Day of Judgment.\n\n  \"As truly shall I return to thee as I now go forth to the\n    particular judgment, the thought of which, alas! makes me tremble.\n\n  \"Have confidence, my friend. After the northwest wind there falls a\n    calm on the sea.\n\n  \"I will come again and take thee by the hand; and wert thou heavy\n    as iron, when I shall have been in heaven, I will draw thee to me\n    like a loadstone.\"\n\n                                 BODY.\n\n  \"When I shall be, dear Soul, stretched in the tomb, and destroyed\n    in the earth by corruption;\n\n  \"When I shall have neither finger nor hand, nor foot nor arm, in\n    vain will you try to raise me to you.\"\n\n                                 SOUL.\n\n  \"He who created the world without model or matter has power to\n    restore thee to thy first form.\n\n  \"He who knew thee when thou wast not shall find thee where thou\n    wilt not be!\n\n  \"As truly shall we meet again as that I now go before the terrible\n    tribunal, at the thought whereof I tremble,\n\n  \"Feeble and frail as a leaf in the autumn wind.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  God hears the Soul, and hastens to answer it saying, Courage, poor\n    Soul, thou shalt not be long in pain. Because thou hast served me\n    in the world, thou shalt have part in my felicities.\n\n  And the soul, always rising, casts again a glance below, and\n    beholds her body lying on the funeral bier.\n\n  \"Farewell, my poor body, farewell! I look back yet once more, out\n    of my great pity for thee.\"\n\n                                 BODY.\n\n  \"Cease, then, dear Soul, cease to address me with golden words.\n    Dust and corruption are unworthy of pity.\"\n\n                                 SOUL.\n\n  \"Saving thy favor, O my body! thou art truly worthy, even as the\n    earthen vessel that has held sweet perfumes.\"\n\n                                 BODY.\n\n  \"Adieu, then, O my life! since thus it must be. May God lead you to\n    the place where you desire to be.\n\n  \"You will be ever awake and I sleeping in the grave. Keep me in\n    mind, and hasten your return.\n\n  \"But tell me, why is it thus that you are so gay and glad at\n    leaving me, and yet I am so sad?\"\n\n                                 SOUL.\n\n  \"I have so exchanged thorns for roses, and gall for sweetest\n    honey.\"\n\n  Then, joyous as a lark, the soul mounts, mounts, mounts, ever\n    upwards towards heaven. When she reaches heaven, she knocks at\n    the gate, and humbly asks my lord S. Peter to let her enter in.\n\n  \"O you, my lord S. Peter! who are so kind, will you not receive me\n    into the Paradise of Jesus?\"\n\n                               S. PETER.\n\n  \"Truly thou shalt enter into the Paradise of Jesus, who, when thou\n    wast on earth, didst receive him into thy dwelling.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  The soul, at the moment of entering, once more turns her head, and\n    sees her poor body like a little mole-hill.\n\n  \"Till we meet again, my body--and thanks--till we meet again, till\n    we meet again in the valley of Jehosaphat.\n\n  \"I hear sweet harmonies I never heard before. The day breaks, and\n    the shadows are fled away.\n\n  \"Behold, I am like a rose-tree planted by the waters of the river\n    of life.\"\n\nThis dialogue bears a remarkable resemblance to at least three similar\ncompositions by S. Ephrem Syrus, Deacon of Edessa, who died A.D.\n372. With the Breton poem it may not be uninteresting to compare the\nfollowing wild Northern dirge, which may be unknown to some amongst our\nreaders:\n\n                       SCOTTISH LYKE-WAKE DIRGE.\n\n    \"This ae nighte, this ae nighte,\n      Every nighte an' alle,\n    Fire, an' sleet, an' candle-light,\n      An' Christe receive thy saule.\n\n    \"When thou from hence away art paste,\n      Every nighte an' alle,\n    To whinny-muir thou comest at laste,\n      An' Christe receive thy saule.\n\n    \"If ever thou gavest hosen or shoon,\n      Every nighte an' alle,\n    Sit thee down an' put them on,\n      An' Christe receive thy saule.\n\n    \"If hosen an' shoon thou never gavest nane,\n      Every nighte an' alle,\n    The whinnes shal prick thee to the bare bane,\n      An' Christe receive thy saule.\n\n    \"From whinny-muir when thou mayest passe,\n      Every night an' alle,\n    To Brig o' Dread[43] thou comest at laste,\n      An' Christe receive thy saule.\n\n    \"If ever thou gavest meate or drinke,\n      Every nighte an' alle,\n    The fire shall never make thee shrinke,\n      An' Christe receive thy saule.\n\n    \"From Brig o' Dread when thou mayest passe,\n      Every night an' alle,\n    To Purgatory fire thou comest at laste,\n      An' Christe receive thy saule.\n\n    \"If meat or drink thou never gavest nane,\n      Every nighte an' alle,\n    The fire will burn thee to the bare bane,\n      An' Christe receive thy saule.\n\n    \"This ae nighte, this ae nighte,\n      Every nighte an' alle,\n    Fire, an' sleet, an' candle-light,\n      An' Christe receive thy saule.\"\n\nNot in Brittany alone, but also in most of the country parts of France,\nthe villagers have a custom during the winter of assembling in each\nother's cottages--or in a barn, if no other room of convenient size\nshould offer--for the _fileries du soir_, when, by the light of a\nsingle candle, or the blazing logs upon the hearth, round which all sit\nin a circle, the women sew or spin, while some of the company take it\nin turn to sing or tell stories, or occasionally to read aloud for the\namusement or instruction of the rest. Besides singing ballads which are\nalready known, it not unfrequently happens that the villagers compose\na new one amongst themselves during one of these _veill\u00e9es_. Some one\narrives, it may be a pilgrim, a beggar, or a neighbor, and relates\nsomething which has just happened; while the hearers are talking\nit over, probably another person comes in, bringing fresh details;\ninterest becomes more and more excited, and all at once there is a\ngeneral cry, \"Let us make a song about it.\" The poet most in renown\namongst the company is called upon to make a beginning, to which he\naccedes, after the customary amount of entreaty has been gone through.\nHe improvises a strophe, which every one repeats after him; a neighbor\ncontinues the song, which is again repeated by all; a third adds his\nshare, and so on, every new verse being taken up by all present, and\nrepeated with the rest; and thus a new ballad, the composition of all,\nrepeated and learned by all, flies on the following day from parish to\nparish, on the wings of its _refrain_, from _veill\u00e9e_ to _veill\u00e9e_,\nand speedily finds its place among the poetry of the land. Most of the\nBreton ballads are composed thus by collaboration, and this manner of\nproducing them has its name in the language; it is called _diskan_\n(repetition), and the singers are _diskanerien_.\n\nBut it is especially at the _Pardons_, or feasts of the patron saints,\nthat are to be heard in their greatest perfection historical ballads,\nlove-ditties, and songs on sacred subjects; and we turn again to the\ninteresting pages of M. de Villemarqu\u00e9, from which we have already\ndrawn so largely, for a description of these festive occasions.\n\nEvery great _Pardon_ lasts at least three days. On the eve, all the\nbells are set ringing, and the people busy themselves in decorating\nthe church. The altars are adorned with garlands and vases of flowers,\nthe statues of the saints clothed in the national costume, the patron\nor patroness being distinguished by the habiliments of a bridegroom\nor a bride. The former has a large bouquet, tied with long and\nbright-colored ribbons; the white head-dress of the latter glitters\nwith a hundred little mirrors. As the day declines, the church is\nswept and the dust scattered to the winds, that it may be favorable\nto those who are coming to the morrow's festival. After this, every\none places in the nave the offering he has brought the patron saint.\nThese offerings generally consist of sacks of corn, bundles of flax,\nsoft white fleeces, cakes of wax, or other agricultural productions,\njust as in the days of Gregory of Tours, who mentions the \"multitudo\nrusticorum, ... exhibens lanas, vellera, formas cer\u00e6, etc.\"[44]\n\nDancing then begins, to the sound of the national _biniou_, the\nbombardo, and tambourine, in front of the church, or by the fountain\nof the patron saint, or it may be near some ancient dolmen, which\nserves as a seat for the fiddlers: it is even stated that not more than\na century ago dancing took place in the church itself--a profanity\nwhich the clergy invariably set themselves against, the bishops\nexcommunicating obstinate offenders.\n\nIn some places, bonfires are lighted at night upon the eminence on\nwhich the church is built, and on the neighboring hills. As soon as the\nflame leaps up the pyramid of dry leaves and broom, the crowd walks in\nprocession twelve times round it, reciting prayers or singing. The old\nmen surround it with a circle of stones, and place a cauldron in the\ncentre, in which, in ancient times, meat was cooked for the priests,\nbut in the present day it is filled with water, into which children\nthrow pieces of metal, while a circle of beggars, kneeling around it\nbare-headed, and leaning on their sticks, sing in chorus the legends\nof the patron saint. It was exactly thus that the old bards sang hymns\nin honor of their divinities, by the light of the moon, and round the\nmagic basin encircled with stones, in which was prepared the \"repast of\nthe brave.\"\n\nOn the following morning, at break of day, arrive from L\u00e9on, Tr\u00e9guier,\nG\u00f6elo, Cornouailles, Vannes, and all parts of Basse Bretagne, bands\nof pilgrims, singing as they proceed on their way. As soon as they\ndescry from afar the church-spire, they take off their large hats,\nand kneel down, making the sign of the cross. The sea is covered with\na thousand little barks, from whence the wind brings the sound of\nhymns, whose solemn cadence keeps time with the stroke of the oars.\nWhole cantons arrive, with the banners of their respective parishes,\nand led by their rectors. As they approach their destination, the\nclergy of the _Pardon_ advance to receive them, and, at the moment of\ntheir meeting, the crosses, banners, and images of the saints are bent\ntowards each other by way of mutual salutation, as the two processions\nform themselves into one, while the church-bells make the air resound\nwith their joyous clamor. When Vespers are ended, the procession comes\nforth, the pilgrims arranging themselves according to their different\ndialects. The peasants of L\u00e9on may be recognized by their green, brown,\nor black habiliments, and bare, muscular limbs; the Tr\u00e9gorrois, whose\ngray garb has about it nothing particularly original, are remarkable\namong the rest for their full and melodious voices; the Cornouaillais\nfor the costliness and elegance of their richly embroidered blue or\nviolet coats, their puffed-out pantaloons and floating hair; while\nthe men of Vannes, on the contrary, are distinguishable by the sombre\ncolor of their apparel. The cold, calm aspect of their countenances and\nbearing would scarcely lead one to suspect the determination of this\nenergetic race, of whom neither C\u00e6sar nor the Republican armies could\nbreak the will, and whom Napoleon designated as \"frames of iron, hearts\nof steel.\"\n\nAs the procession pours forth from the church, nothing can be more\ncurious than to observe these close ranks of peasants, in costumes\nso varied and at times so strange, with their heads uncovered, their\neyes cast down, and the rosary in their hands; nor anything more\ntouching than the hands of weather-beaten mariners in their blue shirts\nand barefoot, who are come to pay the vow that has saved them from\nshipwreck and death, bearing on their shoulders the fragments of their\nshattered vessel; nothing more impressive than the sight of this\ncountless multitude, preceded by the cross, traversing the sandy or\nrock-scattered beach, while the sound of its litanies mingles with the\nmurmurs of the ocean.\n\nCertain parishes, before entering the church, halt first at the\ncemetery. There, among the graves of their forefathers, the most\nvenerable peasant with the lord of the canton, and the most exemplary\nvillage-maiden with one of the young ladies of the manor, stand on the\ntopmost step of the churchyard cross, and, with their hands placed on\nthe Holy Gospel, solemnly renew their baptismal vows in their own names\nand on behalf of the prostrate multitude.\n\nThe pilgrims pass the night in tents erected on the plain, and do not\nretire to repose until a late hour, remaining to listen to the long\nnarrative poems on sacred subjects which the popular bards wander\nsinging from tent to tent.\n\nThis first day is wholly consecrated to religion, but secular pleasures\nawake with the sound of the hautboy on the following morn.\n\nThe lists are opened at noon. The tree of the prizes, laden with its\nstrange variety of fruits, rises in the centre, while at its foot lows\nthe chief prize of all--the heifer--with its horns gaily decked with\nribbons. Numberless competitors present themselves. Trials of strength\nor skill, wrestling, racing, and dancing, continue without intermission\nuntil the evening is far advanced.\n\nThe first two nights of the _Pardon_ are devoted to wandering singers\nof every description, such as the millers, the tailors, the ragmen,\nbeggars, and _barz_; but the last is exclusively the right of the\n_kloer_ or _kler_, of whom, as well as of the first-named personages,\nwe will mention a few particulars. The chief difference between the\nmiller and the other popular minstrels is that he returns every evening\nto his mill; but, like them, he makes the round of the country, passing\nthrough the cities, towns, and villages, entering the farm-house and\nthe manor, going to fairs and markets, and hearing news, which he\nputs into rhyme as he goes on his way; and his songs, repeated by the\nbeggars, who are rarely the composers of ballads themselves, soon find\ntheir way from one end of Brittany to the other.\n\nThe tailor's special characteristic is caustic wit and raillery. \"His\near is long,\" says the Breton proverb, \"his eye open day and night,\nand his tongue as sharp as his needle.\" Nothing escapes him. He makes\na song upon everybody without distinction, saying in verse that which,\nhe would not dare to say in prose, and yet often so disguising his\nsatire that it is keenest where at first sight least evident. All the\nvalue of his songs depends upon their actuality. He is learned in\nall the gossip of the place, and if perchance on his homeward way he\nlights upon a couple of lovers, happy in the seclusion of a wood, they\nfind themselves next day the subjects of his malicious muse, and their\nmutual appreciation proclaimed to all the neighborhood. Of the miller\nand the ragman much the same may be said; and yet it is but just to add\nthat, with all the pleasure they find in laughing at their neighbor,\nthey are never guilty of calumny against him.\n\nThe _barz_ occupies a higher place in the order of singers than\nany other, the _kloer_ only excepted. He represents the wandering\nminstrels, shades of the primitive bards, who were reproved by\nTaliessin for their degeneracy even in his day, and for living without\nregular occupation or fixed dwelling-place, serving as echoes of\npopular gossip, and spending their days in wandering from one assembly\nto another. The self-same reproaches one hears at this present day,\naddressed to the same class of people by the Breton priests.\n\nAnd yet some few rays of their former glory linger around the race.\nLike their ancestors, they celebrate noble and worthy deeds, dispensing\npraise or blame impartially to small and great. Those of the ancient\nbards who were blind made use of a sort of tally-stick, of which the\narrangement of the notches served to fix certain songs in their memory.\nThis species of mnemonics, which is known in Wales as _Coelbren y\nBeirdd_--the Alphabet of the Bards--is still in use among the _barz_ of\nBrittany. They also invariably observe the old bardic law which forbade\nthem to enter any house without previously asking permission by singing\nthe customary salutation at the door: \"God's blessing be upon you,\npeople of this house: God's blessing be upon you, small and great!\"\nand never entering unless they receive the answer: \"God's blessing be\nalso upon you, wayfarer, whoever you may be.\" If they do not hear this\nspeedily, they pass on their way.\n\nLike the ancient Cambrian bards, they are, by virtue of their\nprofession, a necessity at every popular festival. They betroth the\nfuture husband and wife, according to antique and unvarying rites,\nprevious to the performance of the religious ceremony; they enjoy great\nliberty of speech, and exercise a certain amount of moral authority\nover the minds of the people; they are loved, sought for, and honored\nalmost as much as were their bardic ancestors, though moving in a less\nelevated sphere.\n\nThe name of _kloer_ (_kloarek_ in the singular) is given to the youths\nwho are studying with a prospect of entering the ecclesiastical state.\nThey are identical with the Welsh _kler_, or school-clerk, and in the\ntime of Taliessin occupied, as they still occupy, the place of bards,\nforming a class by themselves of scholar-poets.\n\nThe Breton _kloer_ generally belong to the peasantry or to the\ntrades-people of the country towns. The ancient episcopal sees of\nTr\u00e9guier and L\u00e9on, Quimper and Vannes, attract them in the largest\nnumbers. They arrive there in bands from the depths of the country, in\nthe national costume, with their long hair, and their rustic simplicity\nand language; most of them being from about eighteen to twenty years\nold. They live together in the faubourgs; the same garret serves for\nbed-room, kitchen, dining-room, and study. This is a far different\nexistence from that which they led among the woods and fields, and\nit is not long before a complete change has come over them. With the\nlessening of muscular strength, their intellect and imagination develop\nthemselves. The summer vacation takes them back to their village homes\nat the season in which, says a Breton poet, \"young hearts expand with\nthe flowers,\" and when temptations abound; thus it not unseldom happens\nthat the _kloarek_ returns to his studies with the thorn of a first\nlove in his heart. Then there arises a tempest in his soul--a struggle\nbetween the love of the creature and the Creator. Sometimes the former\nis the stronger; isolation, homesickness, leisure, contribute to\ndevelop a sentiment of which the germ only exists. A remembrance, a\nword, a melody, or the sound of some wild instrument which breaks on\nhis ear and recalls his home, makes it suddenly burst forth. Then he\nthrows his class-books into the fire, renounces the ecclesiastical\nstate, and returns to his native village.\n\nBut it is far oftener that the higher devotion wins the day. In either\ncase, however, the scholar-poet must, according to his own expression,\n\"comfort his heart\" by making his confidences to the muse.\n\nBy an instinct natural to all but truly popular poets, the _kloer_\nnever write their compositions. They are wise in this. \"The memory of\nhearing,\" as it was called by the ancient bards, is much more tenacious\nthan the \"memory of letters.\" To write and print their songs would be\nto give up having them learnt by heart, and repeated by generation\nafter generation.\n\nOnce become priests, the _kloer_ burn that which they have worshipped;\nthus Gildas declaims against the bards, forgetting, in his monk's\nhabit, that in his youth he had made one of their number. As _kloer_,\nthese scholar-poets disdain the songs of the wandering minstrels; as\npriests, they equally disdain the lays of the _kloer_. And yet, as\npriests, they do not cease to sing; but that which lingered on the\nearth now finds its wings and takes a heavenward flight, and the sacred\nsongs and canticles which express the warm devotion of their hearts\nimprint themselves on the memory of the people, and are, like prayers,\ntransmitted from age to age. It is thus impossible to know the date of\ntheir compositions, except by knowing the exact period at which their\nauthors lived.\n\nWith regard to the religious events which are the theme of the\n_legends_, it is different. These compositions belong to the domain of\nhistorical songs and ballads, and owe their popularity to their being\nthe expression of traditions already widely known among the people.\n\nWe close our notice with the translation of a little poem by a young\n_kloarek_ of L\u00e9on. It is his farewell to earthly love--a farewell which\nis apparently made more easy by outward accidentals than can always be\nthe case under similar circumstances. It is entitled\n\n                    ANN DROUK-RANS; OR, THE RUPTURE.\n\n    Ah! knew I how to read and write as I know how to rhyme,\n    A song all new I would indite, and in the shortest time!\n\n    Behold my little friend, who comes! towards our house comes she,\n    And, if the chance befals, she'll may-be speak awhile with me.\n\n    \"Sweet little friend, but you are changed since last I saw your face;\n    'Twas in the month of June, when you the _pardon_ went to grace.\"\n\n    \"And if, young man, so changed I am, what wonder can there be?\n    When, since the _pardon_ of the Folgo\u00e4t, death has stood by me;\n    For 'twas a raging fever that has made the change you see.\"\n\n    \"Sweet friend, come with me to the garden; there a little rose\n    First opened out its dewy bud when Thursday morning rose.\n    Upon her stalk, so fair and gay, her new-born beauty shone;\n    The morrow came--her beauty and her freshness all were gone.\n\n    \"Sweet friend, the door of your young heart I bade you well to close,\n    That naught might enter to disturb that garden's still repose;\n    But, ah! you did not listen, and you left ajar the door,\n    And now the flower is withered up that showed so fair before.\n\n    \"For fairer things than love and youth this world has not to give,\n    But in this world nor love nor youth have oft-times long to live;\n    Our love was like a summer cloud that melts into the sky,\n    And passing as a breath of wind that dies with scarce a sigh.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[43] In some versions, \"To _Razar Brig_ thou comest at laste.\"\n\n[44] \"Multitude of peasants, ... exhibiting wool, fleeces, forms of\nwax, etc.\"\n\n\n\n\nA VISIT TO THE GRANDE CHARTREUSE.\n\n\nIt was a glorious September morning; the freshness of the night was\nstill perceptible, although the rays of the sun were filling the air\nwith a genial warmth, when, issuing from the fortified gates of the\nbeautifully situated town of Grenoble, I turned my steps towards the\ncelebrated monastery of the Grande Chartreuse.\n\nI made an early start, as the road before me was long, consisting of\nan uninterrupted series of steep ascents, with the exception of the\nfirst few miles that lay along the banks of the Is\u00e8re. This level and\ncomparatively uninteresting country is soon passed, and the traveller,\nquitting the high-road at the village of Voreppe, strikes into the\nmountains. On reaching the brow of the hill that rises above that\nvillage, a most beautiful panorama presents itself to the view. The\nfertile and far-famed valley of Gr\u00easivaudan spreads far away to the\nleft and right, shut in on either side by rocky mountains, capped by\ndark pine forests. The snowy crests of the Alps are conspicuous, while,\nthrough the centre of the valley, the Is\u00e8re, in its sinuous course,\ngleams in the sun like a silver thread, contrasting with the dark,\nluxuriant green of the hemp and the gay autumnal tints of the vine.\n\nCommanding a like enchanting view, and nestled in the hills a few miles\nfrom Voreppe, is the Convent of Chalais. Founded as a Benedictine abbey\nin the XIth century, it became later on a dependence of the Grande\nChartreuse. At the Revolution, it was sold as national property, but it\nwas destined once again to revert to its pious use; for in 1844 it was\nbought by the P\u00e8re Lacordaire for the sons of S. Dominic, whose order\nhe had just restored in France. Often in after-years did he seek there,\nin the presence of nature's loveliest aspects, some slight repose for\nhis overworked body and ardently active mind.\n\nThe road from Voreppe to St. Laurent du Pont appeared to me exceedingly\ndreary and monotonous, more so, perhaps, than it really was, from the\ncontrast its bare and rugged hills presented to the luxuriant and\nrichly varied scene on which I had just been gazing. So pleasant,\nhowever, were the anticipations that filled my mind that the distance\nwas accomplished in a very short time; and a few minutes sufficed for\nrefreshment at St. Laurent.\n\nThe village is poor; its church, which is a new building, was built,\nlike most of those in the neighborhood, by the charity of the monks\nof the Chartreuse; indeed, the village itself has been several times\nrebuilt by their generosity, having frequently, owing to the quantity\nof wood used in the construction of its houses, been burnt almost to\nthe ground.\n\nThe most beautiful part of the whole journey is now at hand. Within\na mile of St. Laurent is the entrance to the famous gorge that bears\nthe name of Desert of S. Bruno. My expectations were raised to the\nhighest pitch; for I had always heard that the scenery of this gorge\nwould alone repay the traveller his journey thither, even if the\nmonastery and its surroundings were entirely devoid of interest. I was\nnot, however, free from misgivings; for how often does that which in\nitself is really beautiful disappoint us when compared to the bright\nvisions that had charmed our imagination! Such at least was the lesson\nexperience had taught _me_; but to-day I was to learn something new,\nfor the reality far surpassed my most sanguine expectations. Never\nshall I forget the majestic grandeur of the scenery that continued to\nunfold itself to my view at every turn of the road until I reached\nthe monastery. The most striking scene of the whole journey, and the\none to which the memory loves best to revert, is without doubt the\nentrance to the Desert de S. Bruno; here both nature and man seem to\nhave combined to render the features of the landscape picturesque and\nsublime. The mind is totally unprepared for what is coming. During the\nfirst mile after leaving the village, the road has been pleasantly\nwinding along the banks of the Guiers Mort, among wooded hills, and\nthrough rich mountain pastures--nature in its softer rather than in its\ngrander aspects--and it is at a sudden turn of the road, at a point\nwhere the valley seems shut in on all sides, that the entrance to the\ngorge bursts upon the sight, seemingly as if the rocks had been rent\nin two to form a passage just sufficient to admit the foaming torrent,\nwhile the road is carried along the face of the mountain, now rising\nperpendicularly from the water's edge to an immense height. A ruined\narchway, on which is still visible the arms of the Carthusian order,\nhere marks the limits of the former domain of the monastery, and,\nwith the bold, single-arched bridge which carries the road across the\nstream, and the rustic iron forge that crouches under the opposite\nrocks, adds a picturesque beauty to the grandeur of the spot.\n\nUntil you reach the convent--that is to say, for about eight\nmiles--the beauty of the scenery never for a moment diminishes; the\nroad, which shows great engineering skill, follows the course of the\ntorrent, which it crosses several times. At each turn the view varies;\nsometimes distant glimpses of the snowy peaks of the Alps are obtained;\nat other times you are so completely shut in by the mountains that\nnothing is visible save the magnificent forests that cover their sides.\nThe size of some of the pines in these forests is very remarkable; one\ncould almost imagine that they dated back as far as S. Bruno. I could\nnot refrain from thinking, as I gazed on them, what scenes they must\nhave witnessed, and what strange tales they could unfold were they able\nto speak; of how many could they tell who passed along that road after\nbidding the world an eternal farewell--men who had seen life in all its\ngayest moods, and, having tasted its unsatisfying honors and delights,\nsought peace and happiness in repentance and self-denial; youths who\nwore still unsullied their baptismal robes, and fled hither to preserve\nthat innocence that fears even the contact of a sinful world. They\ncould tell how the great S. Hugh had returned sorrowfully along that\nroad from the calm home of his dear Chartreuse, to accept, for God's\ngreater glory, the far distant see of Lincoln, and the dreary task of\nstruggling against an unprincipled king and a corrupt court; they could\ntell of many others who, like him, had humbly trod that path, thinking\nto hide themselves from dignities and honors, but had been recalled\nby the all-penetrating wisdom of the church to wear the mitre or the\npurple.\n\nAbout midway between St. Laurent and the monastery there rises by the\nside of the road a most singular pinnacle-shaped rock, ascending\nperpendicularly to a considerable height, and called the Pic de\nL'\u0152illette. In connection with this rock an amusing story is told of\nan Englishman, who, having heard that no one had ever reached its\nsummit, determined to secure that honor for his country. Accordingly,\nhe commenced the task with a thorough good-will, and, after much\nlabor, succeeded in accomplishing it to his satisfaction. As soon\nas his enthusiasm, which showed itself in the form of three genuine\nBritish cheers, had in some measure subsided, he began to think of\ndescending; to his dismay, he discovered that to descend would be more\nthan difficult--indeed, to all appearance, impossible; and it was not\nuntil he had passed several hours in his very uncomfortable position,\nmeditating, let us hope, on the vanity of human greatness, that he was\nable to let himself down in most inglorious fashion by the aid of ropes\nbrought to him by some peasants.\n\nOwing to the height of the surrounding mountains and narrowness of\nthe gorge, no distant views of the monastery are obtained; and the\ntraveller comes very suddenly on the imposing pile, which, from\nits extent, resembles a small village. Without being remarkable in\narchitecture, it is decidedly picturesque; the high pitch of the roofs,\nrendered necessary by the heavy falls of snow which occur during seven\nmonths of the year, and its six belfries rising to various heights,\ngive it a striking and quaint appearance.\n\nBefore entering its solemn portals, a few words on the origin and\nhistory of the monastery may not be out of place. S. Bruno, after\nquitting the world, selected this spot, at the invitation of S. Hugh,\nthe holy Bishop of Grenoble, as a suitable place where, in imitation of\nthe fathers of the desert, he, with six disciples, might lead a life\nof solitude and prayer. At first each recluse built himself a separate\ncell; but in time, as their number increased, the rude huts grew into\na large and regular monastery. The site of this early settlement,\nnow marked by the Chapel of S. Bruno and Notre Dame de Cassalibus,\nwas higher than that of the present structure, which was chosen some\nthirty years after the death of the holy founder, when the original\nbuildings were destroyed by an avalanche. During its long existence,\nmany have been the vicissitudes the convent has experienced; frequently\nburnt almost to the ground, pillaged by ruthless nobles or fanatical\nheretics, it has always risen again from its ruins; and in riches or in\npoverty, in prosperity or in adversity, its inhabitants have given the\nsame noble example of austere virtue, unbounded charity, and generous\nhospitality.\n\nThe Revolution of 1789 found the Carthusian order at the height of its\nprosperity; in France alone it counted no less than seventy houses,\nwith immense possessions in lands and revenues. These, of course, were\nseized by revolutionary greed, and the poor monks driven forth into\nthe world, even from the uninviting solitudes of S. Bruno's desert.\nWith 1815 came the restoration of religion in France, and the return of\nthe scattered members of the religious orders. The Grande Chartreuse\nonce more afforded shelter to the children of S. Bruno, but bereft\nof all its lands and forests, which had been either expropriated by\nthe state or sold as national property. In July, 1816, possession was\ntaken in the name of the order by Dom Moissonnier, superior-general. A\nhappy day it was for the inhabitants of the surrounding country, who\nhad not forgotten the kind and generous friends of whom they had been\ndeprived for twenty-four years; and the welcome they gave the returning\nfathers proves that then, as to-day, the cry against religious orders\nproceeded, not from the people, but from that class, more noisy than\nnumerous, whose sole aim is the destruction of Christianity and the\ngratification of their own evil passions.\n\nThe part of the building reserved for the reception of strangers forms\none side of the spacious courtyard, into which you enter through the\nprincipal gateway; it contains four large dining-halls and a great\nnumber of bed-rooms, often, however, insufficient for the visitors who\nin the summer crowd to view this lovely spot, and to see something of\nthat wondrous, and in our days unfamiliar, institution--monastic life.\n\nDuring one's stay at the monastery, which, unless by special\npermission, is limited to three days, one must be content with\nCarthusian fare--a curious mixture of vegetable soups, omelettes,\ncarp--of which there seems to be a never-failing supply--and wild\nfruits from the mountains. Meat is never allowed within the precincts\nof the convent; not even in case of serious illness is the rule relaxed\nfor the monks.\n\nThe long walk and the invigorating purity of the mountain air had\nsharpened my appetite, and I did ample justice to the viands placed\nbefore me, meagre in quality certainly, but not in quantity, finishing\nwith a glass of the famous _liqueur_. I contented myself with a short\nstroll after dinner, as at so high an altitude the air is cool after\nsunset; indeed, few are the evenings here, even at midsummer, that\npeople are not glad to assemble for a short time around the glowing\nlogs before retiring to rest.\n\nAt midnight, the great bell tolls forth for matins, at which the\nvisitor is permitted to assist in a small gallery looking into the\nchurch. A solitary lamp lights but dimly the large and naturally sombre\ninterior. It is an impressive sight to behold in that solemn gloom\nthe white-robed monks entering one by one, and, after prostrating\nthemselves before the altar, noiselessly take their places in the\nchoir. The office lasts until two in the morning. The chant is low and\nmonotonous, unaccompanied by any musical instrument.\n\nEvery morning at ten, a father whose special duty it is to entertain\nvisitors shows you over the monastery, explaining everything with the\nmost genial courtesy, answering with perfect affability the oftentimes\nfoolish and ignorant questions that are addressed to him. The visit\nlasts about an hour and a half.\n\nThe chapel is spacious and lofty but exceedingly plain, and contains\nnothing to interest the antiquarian. The largest room in the building\nis the chapter-hall, which is finely proportioned, and is decorated\nwith portraits of the first fifty generals of the order, and copies of\nthe celebrated paintings by Lesueur representing the life of S. Bruno.\n\nBy far the most interesting part of the whole convent is the cloister,\nin shape a very long parallelogram, the two side galleries being 721\nfeet in length; into them open the cells of the monks. In the centre of\nthe cloister is their burial-ground; and thus their abode in life is\nseparated by but a few steps from their final resting-place. The graves\nof the generals of the order are alone marked by stone crosses; all\nothers lie beneath the greensward unmarked, unnamed. The cells are now\nbut rarely shown. They are all alike, consisting of two rooms one above\nthe other; each has a small garden. Food is passed to the inmates\nthrough a wicket opening into the corridor of the cloister; for it is\nonly on Sundays and certain feast-days that the monks dine in common in\nthe refectory; even then the strictest silence is observed.\n\nThe library is not extensive; the most valuable books and manuscripts\nwere given, at the Revolution, to different public libraries. The\n_liqueur_ for which the Grande Chartreuse is so renowned, and which now\nforms the principal source of income for the convent, is manufactured\nin a house quite apart from the main buildings. The process is, of\ncourse, not shown to visitors, for the recipe used--aromatic herbs of\nvarious kinds--is kept a secret; and hitherto all attempts to imitate\nthis _liqueur_ have been failures. The manufacture occupies a large\nstaff of lay brothers. The fathers take no part in it; their lives are\npurely contemplative. It takes fully two days to explore the environs,\nand more time may profitably be spent in doing so should the tourist\nhappen to be either an artist or a botanist. The former will find\nnumberless points of view worthy to adorn his album, while the latter\nwill revel in the luxuriance of the wondrous flora which clothes the\nneighboring hills. The lover of mountain-climbing will find a pleasant\nand easy day's work in the ascent of the Grand Som, and on a fine day\nwill be amply repaid by the extensive prospect the summit commands.\nThe less enterprising will probably be satisfied with the many pleasant\nwalks through the woods and sloping pastures that surround the\nmonastery, of which varied and striking views may be obtained at every\nturn.\n\nIt was not without a feeling of sincere regret that, on the last\nevening of my stay, I ascended one of those slopes to take a farewell\nview of the venerable pile. The last rays of the setting sun lit up the\nhigh-pitched roofs and cross-topped belfries; a solemn silence reigned\nin cloister and courtyard, in chapel and cell. It was a scene on which\none could gaze with unmixed pleasure, awakening as it did in the mind\nfeelings so calm and peaceful--a scene so full of all that spoke of\nfuture hopes, so empty of all that recalled the fleeting joys of the\npresent!\n\nBut the sun had sunk behind the horizon, and the shades of evening,\nfast closing around, warned me that it was time to cease my musings,\nand seek, for the last time, the shelter of the hospitable convent-roof.\n\nEarly next morning, I was back again to the noisy world, with its\ncrowded streets, bustling hotels, and busy railways; but I shall\never bear in my memory the pleasant recollections of that wonderful\ncombination of the austere charms of monastic life with the most varied\nbeauties of nature, which I have endeavored to describe in these few\npages on La Grande Chartreuse.\n\n\n\n\nTO NATURE.\n\n\n    Nature, to me thy face has ever been\n      Familiar as a mother's; yet it grows\n      But younger with the wearing years, and shows\n    Fresher--unlike all others I have seen.\n\n    The \"beings of the mind,\" though \"not of clay\"--\n      \"Essentially immortal,\"[45] and \"a joy\n      For ever\"[46]--even these may pall and cloy,\n    For all that poets gloriously say.\n\n    Yea, and thy own charms, Nature, when portrayed\n      By hand of man, become the spoil of time.\n      The seasons mar, not change, them: in sublime\n    Repose they reign--but evermore to fade.\n\n    Whence comes, then, thy perennial youth renewed?\n      Thy freshness as of everlasting morn?\n      God's breath is on thee. Of it thou wast born,\n    And with its fragrance is thy life bedewed.\n\n    Nor can I need aught sterner than thy face\n      To wean me from the things that pass away.\n      _Not_ by autumnal lesson of decay,\n    Or vernal hymn of renovating grace,\n\n    But by this fragrance of the Infinite;\n      For here my soul catches her native air,\n      And tastes the ever fresh, the ever fair,\n    That wait her in the Gardens of Delight.\n\n  LAKE GEORGE, August, 1873.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[45]\n\n    \"The beings of the mind are not of clay:\n      Essentially immortal, they create\n    And multiply in us a brighter ray\n      And more belov'd existence.\"\n\n                                  --_Byron._\n\n[46]\n\n    \"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever.\"\n\n                                          --_Keats._\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPARIS HOSPITALS\n\n\n                FROM THE FRENCH OF M. L'ABBE O. DELARC.\n\nHospitals convey two very different impressions. If gone over on\nthe day specified for public admittance, everything will be found\nin perfect order, every article used, every place, will shine with\ncleanliness; the patients will be seen lying under white coverlets\nbehind the folds of neatly drawn curtains, and the men in attendance\nwill be attired in their best uniforms. Every repulsive object has\nbeen put out of sight. But should the visitor command sufficient\ninfluence to obtain admission when he is not expected, when no\npreparations have been made for the public, he will acquire a more\ncorrect idea of human infirmity. The atmosphere is thick and heavy,\nthe flickering night-lamp scarcely sheds its pale light around. Here\nlies one whose groans disturb his fellow-sufferers; there shrieks the\nvictim of fever, endeavoring in his delirium to tear away from the\n_infirmier_ who is holding him down; further on, half-closed curtains\ninsufficiently conceal the mortal remains of such or such a \"Number,\"\nwho expired a few hours ago. Other details, too harrowing to retrace,\nshall be omitted, but their fearful reality may not be lost sight of\nin a faithful account of what scenes do occur in a hospital. A heavy\ncoffin is from time to time viewed at the foot of one of the beds. It\nawaits the corpse of the sufferer, with whom his nearest survivor may\nhave exchanged converse on the preceding day. These, in short, are\nsome of the sights witnessed without the delusive cover of science or\npreparations for a public exhibition.\n\nThe aversion of the poor for benevolent institutions of this kind is\nhereby explained, although incessant efforts are being made in France\nto improve the condition of hospitals in a material point of view;\nand all the objections now made are to be attributed to mismanagement\nin the past rather than to shortcomings in the present. In spite of\nprogress, nevertheless, the word \"hospice\" and the thing itself have\nretained a signification which is replete with mournful forebodings. On\nthe other hand, repugnance for hospitals is perfectly legitimate when\ngrounded on serious motives, and especially when inspired by a feeling\nof family love. That man would be worthless indeed who could abandon\nhis relatives to public charity without experiencing some kind of\nsorrow at being unable to keep them, through a trying illness, in his\nown home. Examples of moral desertions are nevertheless too frequent\nin Paris. Physicians are well acquainted with those sham patients who\nprefer hospital bread to any other, because they have not to earn it.\nThere are, however, certain adversities here below which defy all human\nforesight, which destroy old-established positions, and render the\nefforts of a whole laborious lifetime unprofitable. A large portion\nof some lives is spent in contending with unforeseen, unsuspected\nvicissitudes. Many may therefore die in a hospital who deserved better;\nbut, as a general rule, this end is brought on by a long course of\ndissipation, and by oblivion of the most sacred duties. A hospital is\nnot unfrequently the last _stage_ on which retribution is played out.\n\nWhen families are averse to trust their sick to public charity for\nreasons given above, it is wise not to argue with natural pride,\nfounded, after all, on a praiseworthy motive; yet all who are anxious\nto relieve the suffering members of Jesus Christ are none the less\nbound to improve the present condition of hospitals, as far as they\nhave it in their power so to do.\n\nThe following pages are published for the purpose of showing how much\nthere is to be done. Not all the good-will nor all the experiments\ntried by physicians, managers, and almoners for the alleviation of\nbitter suffering, will ever be superfluous. Objections ever will be\nmade to hospital treatment that cannot be remedied; and, do what we\nmay, the most active Christian charity will never replace the tender\ncare of a mother, daughter, or sister.\n\nAfter a careful examination of the question, the first lesson acquired\nis that home relief is the best solution to the problem of misery and\nillness in needy families; it encourages the lower classes, besides, to\nperform their domestic duties.\n\nIn one case out of ten, it is highly prejudicial to remove a patient\nfrom his surroundings; moreover, it loosens the family tie, and in\nParis especially, where these bonds are so slight and so incessantly\nundermined by false theories, it is a more damaging course than\nelsewhere.\n\nStatistics are very justly resorted to for the solution of many of our\nproblems, but their conclusions cannot be blindly adopted in medical\ncases; physicians themselves often warn us against glancing them over\nwithout investigation. Figures do, however, undeniably prove that\nmortality in hospitals is much larger than in private dwellings. A\nconsiderable number of patients, to whom fresh air is a boon, cannot\nbreathe a vitiated atmosphere with impunity. Crowding is particularly\nprejudicial to the wounded and in lying-in hospitals. \"In 1861,\" says\nDr. Brochin, in his _Encyclop\u00e6dia of Medical Sciences_, \"the proportion\nof patients cured by home relief was 49 to 100, while the proportion\nof deaths in private dwellings was 9 to 100. During this same period,\ndeaths in the hospitals were 13 to 100. The average space of time\nrequired for the treatment of each patient in his own home is from 14\nto 39 days; in the hospitals, from 25 to 83. The average cost of a\npatient per day is 1 fr. 19 c.; the entire treatment of each, 16 frs.\n90 c.; whereas, in the hospitals, a patient costs 2 frs. 25 c. per day,\nand 61 frs. 45 c. for an entire cure. These figures plead in favor of\nhome relief.\"\n\nA great deal has been said in these latter times of those immense\nedifices pompously called \"Model Hospitals.\" There is Lariboisi\u00e8re,\nfor instance, and the new H\u00f4tel Dieu. It would have been wiser had the\ngovernment spent less in one instance, and been more lavish in another;\nfor, while these magnificent buildings were being erected, palaces were\nalso in course of construction all over the capital, and the laboring\nclasses, thus driven from their workshops, were compelled to seek\nlodgings up in attics or in out-of-the-way localities. If some trouble\nhad been taken to cleanse and widen the poor man's tenement, or had\nsomething been done towards putting him in the way of getting food at\nlittle cost, we should boast fewer fa\u00e7ades, fewer sumptuous edifices,\nbut the work would be more meritorious.\n\nPhysicians have energetically opposed the idea of accumulating so large\na number of patients in the H\u00f4tel Dieu as it was originally intended\nit should contain. Let us trust the observations of experienced men\nwill be taken into consideration, and that the number of beds will be\ndiminished before final arrangements are completed.\n\n\nHOSPITAL BEDS.\n\nOur beds are too close; and another thing which strikes a foreigner\non visiting our hospitals is that the divisions which are supposed\nto seclude one patient from his neighbor, are perfectly useless for\nthat purpose. In many cases, they are done away with altogether. The\nproximity of beds varies, however, according to the different asylums.\nSome of the buildings were not intended for hospitals, and their\nmanagers have had to turn rooms into wards in the best way they could,\nin spite of defective architecture. It is difficult to specify the\nexact distance kept between the beds; but an idea can be conveyed when\nI state that any patient, by stretching his arm out, without any great\nexertion could easily touch his neighbor's hand.\n\nIn many hospitals, the beds have been coupled by two and two, so that,\nif two patients are thus closer to each other on one side, the distance\nis larger from other patients on the opposite side.\n\nThere is, however, always space enough left for a night-table between\nevery two beds. In most hospitals, beds are hung round with white\ncalico curtains; but in some asylums they are omitted, and in these\nthere is literally nothing to hide patients from view. Such a system\nof total exposure is perfectly inhuman. I should say it originates in\na spirit of _medical socialism_; for it compels sufferers to exhibit\ntheir wounds to each other during the doctor's visit. Some men and all\nwomen cannot endure this ordeal without a struggle. Why not sympathize\nwith that which can be alleviated, if not entirely cured? What would\nbe our feelings if, when brought low by fever and diet, we had to lie\nnear a man who is breathing his last, and to remain in full view of\nhis corpse for long hours after he had expired? But, as before said,\nthe larger number of hospital beds are hung round with curtains,\nmaintained in opposition to our Paris doctors, who have repeatedly\nprotested against them, insisting that all hangings draw unwholesome\nmiasms, and are therefore receptacles of contagion. This objection is\nnot unfounded; eminent practitioners experience great uneasiness on the\nsubject, and the curtain difficulty has often been debated by managers\nof sanitary institutions.\n\nEndeavors have been made to obviate the evil by a renewal of hangings\nevery six months; in spite of the great expense, the difficulty exists.\nIt is next to impossible to ventilate a ward encumbered to excess\nwith beds and hangings; and, if the principals of hospitals do still\nadvocate curtains, it is because they are actuated by motives of a\n_moral_ order. In M. Husson's _Study of Hospitals_ we find: \"These\ncalico divisions are a great comfort to female patients; it is a great\nrelief to them to be able to conceal their diseases from the public\ngaze, and thus to isolate themselves from surrounding wretchedness.\nThis feeling of modesty, or shyness in other cases, will long resist\nthe most eloquent exhortations of our doctors on general salubrity.\"\n\nOur present hospital regulations do not carry out the purpose for which\ncurtains are intended. It is usual to draw them all back at eight A.M.,\nand they are left open until the doctor's visit is over and the wards\nhave been swept. This lasts till about mid-day. The consequence of\nthis arrangement is that, during the most delicate operations, such as\nthe dressing of wounds, the doctor's examination, and the change of a\npatient's linen, there is no sort of privacy around the sufferer, no\nmore consideration shown for women and young girls than for others.\nIn the day-time, another regulation prevails. Inspectors forbid\nconcealment behind the curtains on account of the difficulty they would\nexperience on surveying proceedings in the wards. For these reasons,\nthe curtains are elegantly looped aside, and contribute more to the\ndecoration of the beds than to use.\n\nEvery ward contains two rows of beds, placed along the lateral walls in\nsuch wise that the patient's head is near the wall, and his feet turn\ntowards the centre of the ward. Why could not a low partition, covered\nover with stucco, be raised between each bed? This separation need not\nexceed 1 metre 50 centimetres in height, nor 1 metre 50 centimetres\nin width. It would part the beds, and not obstruct ventilation in the\nupper regions or down the central passage. If the ward were lighted by\na sufficient number of windows to allow of one being opened in each\nof these \"cells,\" the circulation of so much fresh air would greatly\nbenefit the sick.\n\nThe front of each cell being open, surveyors would find their task\nrendered easy, neither would their inspection be hindered by a small\niron rod being affixed to the outer side of each partition, on which\ntwo light curtains might be drawn in case of a death, or when it were\nabsolutely necessary that a patient should enjoy privacy. The slight\nscreens would not entail the same inconvenience as those which are in\nuse at present, as they are mounted on a very complicated plan all\naround the beds. Whenever a decease occurs, the stucco coating of the\nlow divisions should be washed with a sponge. It is well known that\nstucco is not a receptacle for contagion in the same degree as drapery.\n\nSuch is the kind of cabinet each patient should have to himself, and\nit should be wide enough for a chair and night-table to find place by\nhis bedside. These and a crucifix are the indispensable articles every\npatient has a right to. This system would greatly simplify our hospital\nbeds, now consisting of so many and such cumbersome pieces.\n\nA little space might possibly be lost; a ward now containing\ntwenty-five patients would only hold eighteen; but, on the other hand,\nwhat an improvement, and how much healthier an arrangement in a medical\npoint of view!\n\nPatients have certain communications to make to their friends on the\ndays set aside for public admission which are not intended for the\nhearing of strangers; and, when the hour of death is nigh, it is but\nnatural they should be allowed to hold converse with their relatives\nwithout any witnesses. Even this semi-retirement is denied them\nunder the present system; whereas the plan proposed would secure the\npreservation of family secrets. It will, perhaps, be alleged that the\npatient would thus be isolated from his fellow-sufferers. By no means.\nAs above remarked, the cells would be open down the central passage,\nand each patient could see his opposite neighbor. This, added to\nthe going to and fro of _infirmiers_, doctors, sisters, and regular\nvisitors, affords quite enough excitement for an invalid.\n\nNeither is this an innovation. It was once tried at Munich, and, if but\nimperfectly carried out, no hygienic objection was made to it. We find\nthis organization existed in one of the oldest hospitals in France,\nthe Tonnerre H\u00f4tel Dieu--a monument described by M. Viollet Leduc in\nhis work, _Dictionnaire Raisonn\u00e9 de l'Architecture Fran\u00e7aise du XI.\nau XVI. Si\u00e8cle_. The learned writer says this institution can bear\ncomparison with the most boasted foundations of the present day. In\nthe archives of the Tonnerre Hospital we find the following document.\nI quote because it forcibly reminds us of S. Vincent de Paul: \"The\npoor are provided for in this institution, and the convalescent are\nkept a whole week after their cure, when they are sent away with a\ncoat, a shirt, and a pair of boots. A chapel will be added having four\naltars. The brothers and sisters in charge are twenty in number; they\nare bound to provide food and drink for the wayfarer; to board pilgrims\nand strangers, clothe the poor, visit the sick, comfort the prisoner,\nand bury the dead. The brothers and sisters will not take their meals\nbefore the sick have been attended to....\"\n\nOn closing this paragraph, a question arises whether people in the\ndark, middle ages were not more solicitous for the poor than in the\nXVIIIth century. A glance down a report written for Louis XV. on the\nH\u00f4tel Dieu will corroborate this.\n\nWe shall doubtless hear it objected that partitions between hospital\nbeds will inconvenience the doctors and medical students; that it will\nbe difficult to approach patients; and young physicians will declare\nthey cannot follow the _chef's_ instructions near enough. It will be\nsaid, further, that, when any operation is going on, the limited space\nallowed by a narrow cell must exclude the use of surgical instruments.\n\nThe following considerations clear the first of these objections;\nbut, in a strict sense of the word, the only essential thing is\nthat the physician should not be impeded in his movements round the\nsufferer. He, his assistants, and about seven or eight more are all the\nspectators necessary, and these form a sufficiently large audience. The\ncentral passage down all wards affords room for more. Even as the beds\nare now placed, it is not easy for a larger number to get nearer.\n\nAs to operations, they are carried on in a special hall, to which the\npatient is carried; patients never are operated on in the wards.\n\n\nTHE DOCTOR'S VISIT.\n\nThe great everyday occurrence in a hospital is the doctor's visit.\nIt begins at about eight A.M., and lasts till eleven. The _chef_, a\nterm designating the head-physician, examines each sufferer in turn,\ninquires into his or her state, and dictates prescriptions, which\nare taken down by an outdoor student. He is also attended by indoor\nstudents, other outdoor students, postulants, and auditors. The two\nlatter must have gone through a course of two years' study before they\nare privileged to walk the hospitals. The postulant is not admitted\nbefore he has gone through a special examination, and then becomes an\noutdoor student. The highest degree under doctor is that of an indoor\nstudent; all are, therefore, familiar with medical science excepting\nthe auditor, who, though he may have studied two years in the schools,\nis but a dilettante--a kind of amateur authorized by the _chef_ to\nfollow him on his rounds with the students. Many even call themselves\nauditors who slip in unperceived with the crowd. When the head-doctor\nis followed by all these young men, his _cort\u00e9ge_ is very numerous.\nThere are often as many as fifty in our principal hospitals, seldom\nless than thirty in the minor ones. Thus, without any amplification\nof a known fact, a patient has to see about forty strangers round his\nbed every day. He is operated on in public. Not a line of his features\ncontracted by pain escapes the notice of indifferent spectators; not a\nmotion of his muscles is unheeded. The professor meanwhile develops his\nmedical theories on the living body, studying the \"case\" with care.\n\nLet us for a moment imagine that your own daughter is lying at the\nhospital. She is twenty; you have brought her up with all the care\nand solicitude parents owe to their children; you have often said in\nher hearing that modesty is the loveliest adornment; that it replaces\nwhatever else is wanting, and can be replaced by nothing. For twenty\nyears, you have watched the growth of her budding virtues; her\nChristian advancement has been your daily care. Her state now requires\nshe should see an eminent physician once every day. Look into your\nheart. What is the sensation you feel there at the idea of her being\nexamined by forty or fifty medical students besides?\n\nIt is an indignant protest against their attendance.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is the mission of a priest to be made the confidant of many sorrows;\nhe has to suffer with the sufferer, to mourn with the mourner; and\nhe can state that, of all trials which attend medical treatment in\nhospitals, there is not one more distasteful than the doctor's visit,\nespecially to women. I appeal to any who have heard patients converse\ntogether; I appeal to any brother in the ministry. Is this not the\ngreat cause of repugnance for hospitals?\n\nOn the other hand, medical science has certain rights; doctors have\nto go through an apprenticeship, practitioners must follow a course\nof practice on living beings before they are qualified for operations;\nit is therefore indispensable that the head-doctor should be followed\nby disciples, and the height of absurdity to require he should go\nround the wards alone. It is necessary, likewise, that postulants and\nstudents should be present; for it frequently occurs that they are\ncalled on to dress wounds during the doctor's absence.\n\nTheir attendance is consequently unavoidable; but, this being the case,\nit is all the more desirable, in the name of female modesty, and in the\nname of common respect for a needy suffering female, that the presence\nof noisy _auditors_ should be done away with. They crowd the wards,\nand learn very little. It should be with medical science as with every\nother: students ought to have become familiar with the rudiments and\ntheories of their profession before they practice; and a few years\nin the private schools should be gone through before beginners walk\nthe hospitals. The crowd is perfectly intolerable at the hour of the\ndoctor's visit in our best hospitals, especially at the _Cliniques_\nand _Charit\u00e9_. This might be remedied by each medical student being\nbound to keep to one asylum for an allotted space of time, let us say\none year, after which he could be removed to another. One of the good\neffects instantly resulting from this would be that our central city\nhospitals, instead of being crowded to the neglect of others, would\nfind the number of spectators greatly thinned for the benefit of minor\nhospitals now forsaken. The great thing in all questions relating\nto benevolent asylums is to examine whence the stand-point is taken\nfor their consideration. Two principles present themselves: common\nsense and humanity say that physicians and surgeons are intended\nfor hospitals, not hospitals for physicians and surgeons. Medical\nscience--and here we allude to the materialistic and unsound branch of\nthat science--replies: \"By no means. Inconvenience must be tolerated,\nscience and progress go foremost.\"\n\nLet us manfully, though sadly, give up a share for scientific progress\n(which is not an imaginary thing); and, on looking into it, let us\nreflect on the bitterness of that irony which so often leaves us to\nutter the word _equality_, coupled with that other word, _fraternity_,\nwhich is just as little understood. Hospitals will not answer the end\nfor which they were instituted until the smallest of those who flee\nhither to hide their misery and sufferings obtain the same respect,\ndeference, and care lavished on the man who owns a yearly income.\n\nSome time ago, a woman afflicted with an internal disease was carried\nto a hospital. The head-doctor examined her on the following morning,\nand immediately concluded that her case was too grave to be remedied.\n\nHe declared any attempt made to operate on her would prove fatal and\nhasten death; the only thing he could do was to prescribe lenients,\nin order to alleviate intense agony so long as life held out. The\nyoung students around him urgently insisted on the operation being\nperformed; whereupon the physician, turning towards them, and finding\nexpostulation unprofitable, said: \"If this patient were my wife,\ngentlemen, I should not attempt what you suggest, I should leave her\nin peace; you must, therefore, not expect me to do otherwise by this\nwoman....\"\n\nSuch words as these should be engraved in letters of gold on the hearts\nof all practitioners.\n\n\nTHE POOR MAN'S DEATH.\n\nA fact that has often been set forth by Christianity is that the\nsecrets of man are revealed on his death-bed. Then it is that\nevery syllable he utters, every motion of his spirit, are full of\nsignificance. The smallest sign is a ray of light by which a whole\nlifetime can be read; and, if the amount of faith in a man is thus\ndisclosed, how easy it is to compute the amount of faith in a nation\nfrom what is supplied by observation in so many single cases!\n\n_O mors! bonum est judicium tuum!_--O death! thy judgments are\nequitable!\n\nNo man is better qualified than the priest to look into this matter. A\nlarge portion of his time is spent by the dying, and my own personal\nexperience has confirmed me in the following observations.\n\nThe most striking features as regards faith in the dying are moral\ndejection and an almost total absence of hope. These are the inevitable\nconsequences of the efforts which have for some time been made to\nuproot religious principle from the hearts of the people. It is no\nwonder that hope fled with her divine sister, faith. Can any thinker\nform a notion of the state of a man who has been down-trodden all his\nlife, who has been looked on as a bearer of burdens and a _mis\u00e9rable_,\nand who has nothing to hope for in a future state?\n\nWe read in Holy Writ that, when the waters of the deluge began to\ndecrease, and Noe looked out of his ark after his arduous struggle\nwith the elements, he saw a dove, bearing an olive-branch, fly towards\nhim; the bird was the herald of good news, the harbinger of future\ndeliverance.\n\nOur poor, when exhausted by long adversity, look out in vain for the\ndove, and that hope which carries peace and help seldom brightens their\nlast moments. Death to such as these is nothing but acquiescence in\nblind fate. What can a priest do in such cases? Teach and enlighten.\nVery true; but the patient's physical condition does not give him much\ntime to do this thoroughly, nor can the sufferer always attend to the\nlittle the priest can do. The thing left to be tried is the awakening\nof the dying man's memory. The priest therefore recalls the scenes of\nboyhood, talks of a mother's teachings, of the village church, the\nlong-forgotten first communion, etc., etc. If the poor man come from\nthe South or from Alsace, the _patois_ of his native place rouses\nwonderful reminiscences; but it is useless to attempt reasoning. A\nplain-spoken statement of fact that is neither commonplace nor trivial\noften creates a great impression. It is a mistake to use unrefined\nphraseology in the hope of redeeming the illiterate by descending to\nthe level of their intelligence; the lower classes prefer plain but\nelevated language, and value the price of the liquid according to\nthe cost of the vase in which it is contained. Returns to God in the\nlast day are very scarce and always leave much room for the mercy\nof the Almighty; but it is something to have brought about a desire\nfor the last sacraments, and to have been able to set forth, though\nimperfectly, one or two of the great truths of Christianity.\n\nThree dissolving elements have greatly hastened the degenerate\ncondition of Paris workmen, and, in general, of the lower classes in\nthis capital. They are the wine-shop, the club, and the journal.\n\nThe enormous rate at which wine was taxed under the Empire forced the\nheads of small families to give up keeping a provision of _ordinaire_\nin their cellars; and, as wine could not be kept at home, it had to\nbe fetched from the nearest wine-shop. There was also an additional\nreason why the usual barrel could not be kept. Houses no longer afford\nthe luxury of a cellar to each flat, and those who could have afforded\nto pay the duties had no room for a cask of wine from the provinces.\nBut there was the wine-shop; and alcoholic mixtures, colored with\ndyeing tinctures or logwood, were resorted to instead of the wholesome\ndraught of thin but unadulterated wine which every Frenchman, a few\nyears ago, was so accustomed to. When once the habit is acquired of\nturning in at a wine-shop, many are the baneful results which ensue;\nfirst drunkenness, then extravagance, bad associates, low talk and\ndiscussions round the counter, broils--all of which soon get the better\nof an originally upright conscience unsupported by firm principle.\n\nThe evil effects of drink were never known to breed in France such\na cankerous wound as that which has spread among us since the siege\nand the _Commune_. Prior to these melancholy events, alcoholic\npatients were only now and then brought to our hospitals, but they\nhave increased out of all proportion within the last few years.\nThere can be no mistaking such cases with the following symptoms:\ndelirium, inflammation of the lungs, extraordinary irritability, then\nlanguor and that sudden debility which is the forerunner of death. No\nsooner did a _Communist_ suffer amputation than he expired; for it is\nalmost impossible to operate on men who are in a continual state of\nintoxication.\n\nParis clubs were first heard of towards the end of the Empire. M. Emile\nOllivier thought a good deal of these gatherings; but they have, in\nreality, proved to be a most disastrous institution. The only good\nthey accomplished was to propagate a correct idea of the _intellectual\nand moral degeneracy_ of our people. The lower classes met for no\nother purpose than that of uniting all their ignorance and hates.\nWhat errors, what curses, fell from those short-lived tribunes! What\nfrantic applause welcomed false theories! No European nation could\nhave resisted this trial, much less than any other the French, who are\nso credulous, so fickle, so sensitive to all outward impressions. The\nseeds which bore such noxious fruit under the _Commune_ were first sown\nwithin Paris clubs.\n\nAs to the public press, it would be loss of time and space to\ndemonstrate how that has contributed to general demoralization. The\n_Si\u00e8cle_, the _Opinion Nationale_, etc., are read at all wine-shops.\nThe smallest fault or misdemeanor committed by any one connected\nwith the clergy is exposed by these journals to general scandal,\naggravated by spiteful comment, exaggerated, then thrown as a rare\nmorsel to open-mouthed multitudes. Such man\u0153uvres are very hurtful\nwith an unenlightened populace, who never discriminate between\nreligion and those who profess it. To them the priest and the faith\nare synonymous. If the former is immoral, the latter can be good for\nnothing. A certain amount of logic is wanting by which the contrary\ncould be demonstrated; but the larger proportion are incapacitated for\nso intellectual an effort. It would lead too far were I to analyze\nmore closely the workings of the three causes which have destroyed our\nreligious and moral convictions. Suffice it that the wine-shop, the\nclub, and the journal have exercised a pernicious influence, and that\nour working-classes have not the means in their power wherewith to\navert it so long as their education is considered complete at the age\nof _twelve_. From the day a mechanic commences an apprenticeship, he\nnever hears the name of God, unless it is coupled with some curse on\nthe lips of his elders. The church, Jesus Christ, the sacraments, soon\nbecome objects of derision.\n\nIn short, the end of such an educational system and of such a life is\nthat the poor man who is carried to a Paris hospital, there to die,\nknows that he will no sooner have breathed his last than his body will\nbelong to medical students; and as to his soul, that better part which,\nhad it been cultured, would have been a glorious harvest for eternity,\nhe cannot comprehend any discourse concerning it; if compelled to\nlisten because he cannot help himself, he falls back on his pillow in\nmorose indifference.\n\nWhen a nation, once so devout, has come to this, some anxiety is felt\nfor its future; and the words addressed to Ezechiel the prophet rise to\nour lips: \"Lord, can a new life ever animate these scattered bones?\"\n\n\nTHE POOR MAN'S BURIAL.\n\nThe deeper we dive into the subject of Paris hospitals, the more are\nwe impressed by the melancholy spectacle of extreme misery presented.\nIt is as if we stepped into Dante's circles, and saw nothing before us\nbut horror; only here we look stern facts in the face, and have nothing\nto do with grand poetic conceptions. It is life, it is reality, it is\nanguish in a most poignant form; for I have now to speak of the mortal\nremains of Christians, of brothers, of men like ourselves. When a death\noccurs in the Paris hospitals, the corpse of the departed remains\nfor one or two hours in the ward, after which space of time it is\nenveloped in a sheet and carried out on a litter by two _infirmiers_.\n\nNone who have ever seen this abandoned _cort\u00e9ge_ will forget it. The\ncorpse is instantly conveyed to an amphitheatre, where it is left,\nafter being stripped of every thread of linen which covered it. Here\nit lies for forty-eight hours or more, according to the arrangements\nmade by relatives, or to orders received from the authorities. When no\nobjections are made by relatives, indoor and outdoor students proceed\nto the autopsy of the body.\n\nLaws and regulations have been laid down, by which a certain number\nonly of dead bodies are allowed for medical science; but these rules\nare frequently infringed, and too much precipitation has often been the\ncause of needless distress in poor families.\n\nWhen the necessary formalities have been gone through, the corpses\nin the amphitheatre are divided into two series: those claimed by\nrelatives, and those which are left to public charity.\n\nWe shall see what becomes of both, after a few preliminary\nconsiderations.\n\nThe mortal remains of all Christians are sacred in the eyes of\nCatholics. We never erect a temple, or build an altar, without\nconsecrating a spot therein for the relics of a saint, which lie thus\nhonored, like the corner-stone of an edifice.\n\nNeither does the church authorize Mass to be said in any place not\nhaving a consecrated place for relics; and on such alone may the body\nand blood of Christ rest during the holy sacrifice.\n\nOur belief in the resurrection of the body; our assurance that\nChristians will, on a future judgment day, either rise in glory or\nstand to hear their eternal condemnation, renders it impossible for us\nto look on the mortal remains of Christians as do materialists and the\nprofessors of unbelief. What to the latter is nothing but a dead body,\na fit object for study, is to us a sacred deposit whence immortality\nwill germinate. It is, therefore, no wonder if Catholics are so\nsolicitous to obtain proper burial for such remains. In this instance,\nas in all others, Christianity is in perfect harmony with the tenderest\naspirations of our kindred.\n\nWhen it so happens that relatives of the deceased can afford to pay\ndown the sum of fourteen francs (eight for a coffin, and six for the\nmunicipal tax), a bier is provided, and the body is buried; if the\ndeceased leaves behind enough money to cover the above expenses, he is\nburied in like manner, and, if any sum remains over, it is employed\naccording to the will expressed by the deceased. In some cases,\nsurvivors are willing to incur more expense than that which is included\nin an outlay of fourteen francs; for, although this insignificant sum\nis sufficient for a coffin, it does not suffice for a shroud nor for\nany body-linen.[47] Moreover, if the family cannot afford to pay fifty\nfrancs over and above the fourteen required, the body is interred in\nthe common grave.\n\nThe common grave! What a train of sad thought this lugubrious idea\ngives rise to! It is no longer, thank God! what it was; the bodies\nare not now thrown, as before, pell-mell in a deep grave. A coffin is\nprovided for each, according to the rule given above; but even in our\ndays, the burial of a poor man is not what it should be.\n\nFancy a long ditch, in which the coffins are sunk as close as possible,\nand in juxtaposition; the spaces between are filled up with children's\ncoffins, so as to leave no intervening space. When the soil is covered\nover this vast grave, it is not possible for each to have a cross\nabove, and it is impossible, likewise, for relatives to know the exact\nspot occupied by the remains of a beloved parent. Grave-diggers have,\nof late, had orders to allow more room for the coffins; but until\na radical rule is enforced, and until each corpse is authorized to\nhave a separate grave, relatives of the departed are at the mercy of\ngrave-diggers.\n\nHowever narrow and confined the space thus left for each coffin in\nthe common grave, that small share is only allowed for five years.\nAfter that short length of time, the bodies are exhumed, and the bones\ngathered to the catacombs. The big ditch, now vacated, again yawns for\nwhat the diggers call \"a fresh set,\" and soon the work of decomposition\nagain silently commences for another term of five years, and so on for\nall time.\n\nLeaving every other consideration aside, does it not strike every\nreader that the period allowed for rest in the common grave is much too\nshort? Many bodies are dug up in good preservation when thus brutally\ndisturbed, and there are persons who can testify to the horror they\nhave experienced when called on, by some untoward circumstance, to be\npresent at these impious exhumations.\n\nI shall not add to it by overdrawing this sufficiently painful picture;\nit does not become the pen of a priest to color with such ghastly\nelements. My object is simply to state plain facts--to be exact, and\nnot leave room for the slightest contradiction.\n\nArguments have been advanced in favor of the good influence of this\nsupreme misery of the common grave. It is hoped that such an end\nwill be avoided, and that it will carry a lesson with it--a horror\nfor relying on public charity; but it nevertheless deals a direct\nblow at every feeling of respect for kith and kin. Is not the grief\ncaused by eternal partings deep enough, without being increased by our\nacquiescence in the total abandonment of the tomb?\n\nAny one in authority who could suppress the common grave, and give\nevery poor man separate burial--any one who, having done this, could\nrender such a tomb inviolable for a reasonable term of years, would\nconfer an immense blessing on Parisians.\n\nWhen M. Haussmann gave out the project of a large burial-ground at\nM\u00e9ry-sur-Oise, it met with opposition in all quarters. It was alleged\nthat to send corpses out of Paris by special railway conveyances would\nbe considered disrespectful to the dead. But, we would inquire, is the\npresent system of interment in the common grave calculated to inspire\nrespect? The distance of a few miles, of even a few leagues, would be\nnothing compared with the privilege of a separate tombstone over a\nseparate grave; and it would be much wiser to have remote cemeteries,\nprovided they were hospitable. This question of the common grave not\nonly interests those who die within the hospitals; it is also of\nimportance to the indigent wherever they die in misery--a state many\nhave fallen into since the war and the _Commune_.\n\nThe above disclosures are certainly very melancholy, and yet I have\nonly described the case of the more fortunate among the poor--of those\nwho have, after all, a hallowed spot to rest in after death. There are\nsome to whom even this boon is denied.\n\nThe interests of science and those of families being here antagonistic,\nit is necessary to quote a few figures:\n\nOn the 1st January, 1867, the number of sick in the Paris hospitals was\n6,243. In the course of that year, the number was increased by 90,375;\ntotal, 96,618. Out of this total, 79,897 left the hospitals cured;\n10,045 had died. There remained, therefore, on the 1st January of the\nfollowing year, 6,676 sick persons. In 1869, the number of invalids in\nthe hospitals was 93,355, out of which 82,283 left cured; 10,429 had\ndied on the 31st December of the same year.\n\nWe have, in short, an average of 10,000 deaths every year; and the\nresult shown by the above furthermore is that the proportion of deaths\nto invalids is about that of 1 to 8\u00bd. I will not dwell on this latter\nconclusion, which, however, proves the danger of accumulating a large\nnumber of cases under the same roof, and also the necessity of a\nreform in our establishments. I will pass on to the 10,000 deaths\nresulting from the report. In this average number, there are from\n1,000 to 1,500 claimed by relatives, who purchase a right of separate\nburial for _fifty_ francs; and there are from 3,500 to 4,000 who are\nconveyed to the common grave. The remaining 5,000, not claimed by any\nrelative or friend, are dissected, either at the Ecole de M\u00e9decine\nor at the Rue Fer-\u00e0-Moulin. These corpses are used after dissection\nfor the manufacture of skeletons, for anatomical institutions, for\nmuseums, etc., etc. The _detritus_ collected when these purposes have\nbeen accomplished are carried promiscuously in biers to the Hospital\nCemetery, which is situated near the Fort of Bic\u00e8tre, not far from Turg.\n\nNo spectacle can be more distressing than that of this cemetery, to\nwhich access is gained by a side door in the wooden palings that\nfence it round. It is a dreary plain, and has no sign to show it is\nconsecrated to the departed. The ridges look more like trenches than\ngraves. No living being has been led here by love to mark the mounds\nwith a cross, neither is this sign of redemption erected over the door,\nas it is in the smallest hamlet; no holy-water is sprinkled over these\ngraves. Why should no difference be made here between a churchyard and\na public field? I again repeat that these 5,000 corpses are those of\nthe deceased not claimed by relatives; and this it is which constitutes\na striking inequality between the indigent who die in their own homes,\nand those who die in the care of public charity. When a poor man dies\non his own bed, and has not left any provision for his burial, the\n_mairie_ of his _arrondissement_ has to provide a coffin gratis, and\nthe municipal tax is suppressed; whereas no such generosity as a coffin\nis granted in the hospitals. A man dying here without the fourteen\nfrancs mentioned is carried to one or other of the amphitheatres. There\nis no favor shown, even were the departed your own mother. Fourteen\nfrancs for a ransom, or the heart of the parent that beat for you is\nthe prey of medical students. A priest is sent for when the corpses\nhave been dissected. It is then his duty to stand up, facing the\nmutilated remains, and to read the prayers for the dead. When this\nceremony is over, they are conveyed to the hospital cemetery. Need I\ninsist that the religious rite performed as I have described is of\nlittle consolation to those who are left behind? It is not a separate\nservice for each of the deceased; several bodies lie together, or\nrather, the members of their bodies--a galling sight, which surviving\nrelatives avoid. Neither can it be defended; for, until the religious\nceremony has been performed, the remains are not collected in a\ncoffin; they lie unshrouded, a hideous exposure of human flesh.\n\nI here repeat that I am not opposed to medical science, nor to the\ndissection of certain corpses; it is an unavoidable process for the\nbenefit of progress in surgery, and for that of the living; what I have\nin view is the welfare of the state as acquired by respect for ties of\nkindred, and by veneration for the mortal remains of Christians.\n\nThere is a middle course to be adopted very evidently--a course by\nwhich surgery and science generally would be promoted and the religious\nconvictions of Christians not trampled under foot. I propose that,\nwhen any person claims the body of a parent or relative in the first\ndegree, that person should be privileged to obtain gratuitous burial,\nif he or she prove utter incapacity to meet the expenses. This proof\nis acquired by a certificate from the almshouses, by receipts from the\n_Mont de Pi\u00e9t\u00e9_ (Loan Bank), by a line from the _mairie_, and other\nsources. A relative in the first degree implies a father, mother, wife,\nhusband, son or daughter, brother or sister. Even were grandfathers\nand grandmothers included, the 5,000 corpses left to hospital charity\nwould not be greatly diminished; 4,000 bodies would remain at least for\ndissection--those of wandering strangers, of lawless, unknown persons\nmostly--and surely this is a high figure for the indigent population\nof one capital. There are no better surgeons in Europe than those of\nG\u00f6ttingen, Wurzburg, Salerno, Montpellier, Vienna, and Berlin, and yet\nthese cities have not near so many dead bodies in their amphitheatres.\n\nI say that a Christian must feel deeply for those who are left\nwithout proper burial, a sign on their tombs, a stone to perpetuate\ntheir memory for a few years. All this is replaced by the jests of\nindifferent students; and, instead of the friendly parting kiss, there\nis the surgeon's instrument on a loved brow.\n\nO old reminiscences of the early catacombs! how far off, how faint, are\nyou now. Who is there in this large city that remembers what a work of\nmercy it is to bury the dead? O village churchyards! in the centre of\nwhich rises the humble church-spires; O graves! over which the fervent\nkneel every Sunday--graves that never open to give up their dead; O\nhallowed spots! around which thoughts of God are united with thoughts\nof our dear ones, and where the past is folded, as it were, hand in\nhand with the future, how do I prefer you to these grand cemeteries, in\nwhich there is so much show for one or two, and nothing for the poor\nman who will want no more!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[47] When an invalid enters a Paris hospital, the shirt he had on is\ntaken from him. It would be but charitable to return it to the family\nin case of death.\n\n\n\n\nA WEEK AT THE LAKE OF COMO.\n\n\nFor perfect quiet and certain inspiration, the poet or artist could\nhardly choose a more suitable summer roost than any one of the villages\nthat fringe the Lake of Como; while for health the advantages of\nthis neighborhood are unrivalled. It combines the beauty of softened\nlines and veiled colors that distinguishes Italy with that more\nbracing atmosphere peculiar to Alpine countries. The lake is there\nfor luxurious midnight expeditions under the Italian sky--romantic\nglidings in boats which, if neither so graceful nor so mysterious as\nthe gondolas of Venice, are yet picturesque enough in their--only\napparent--cumbersomeness; the mountains are there for English\npedestrian exercise, for long, delightful, tiring walks over crag and\nscanty vineyard, and, beyond that, through chestnut woods and cypress\nclearings, till the limit of bareness begins to warn you of Alpine\nsnows; excellent little hotels are there, hardly spoiled by the many\nbut quickly fleeting guests whom the shabby little black steamboat\nbrings in cargoes three times a day--hotels with clean, dapper\nbed-rooms and bay windows overlooking the lake--hotels where you can\nalways get plenty of fresh milk and graceful Italian civility. Then\nthere are villas by the score, some to be hired, and many more utterly\nforlorn and deserted; others well cared for, pleasantly tenanted by\nhappy, unpretending Italian families, and wearing a general air of\nattractive, half-civilized rusticity. You feel that life must go on\nvery smoothly within their walls; that bright, artless women and\nchildren chatter and laugh away their brief summer holiday in those\nspacious verandas and vine-trellised piazzas; and that conventional\nrestraint is an unknown spirit there. You wish that you had a right to\nenter such an abode, or money enough to create one for yourself just\nfor three months at a time; then may be you pass by another kind of\ndwelling, with broad, grass-grown steps meeting the water like those of\nthe palaces of Venice; with a great rusty iron gate and railing showing\ntarnished remains of heraldic gilding; with a garden now overgrown with\nweeds, but whose tall hedges of box or ilex suggest the statuesque\nstyle of the XVIIth century; with melancholy fountains innocent of\nwater, and Etruscan-shaped stone vases once filled with flowers, and\nnow holding only a little stagnant rainwater; with another flight of\ngaunt steps leading up to a porch and innumerable stone balconies and\nterraces notched with half-ruined carvings of the Renaissance; moss and\nmould everywhere, life nowhere; funereal cypresses mounting guard over\nmutilated statues of fauns and wood-nymphs; rats and mice peopling in\nreality the marbled-paved halls of the mansion; and ghosts--in your\nimagination--pacing up and down the broad, deserted corridors. Then,\nif you are of a poetic turn of mind, you forget the brightness, the\nfreedom, the _laisser-aller_ of the peopled villas, and wish that you\nwere lord of this vast, melancholy, romantic pile, the natural scene\nof some stately poem, the fitting frame of some picture like Millais'\npathetic \"Huguenot Lover,\" the sure source of an inspiration lofty,\nnoble, vague, and richly proportioned. Everything is on a scale of\nmagnificence, such as suggests only extravagance to our dwarfed notions\nof the proprieties of life; a modern visitor feels a pigmy in those\nvast, re-echoing halls; he almost expects some Brobdingnag halberdier\nin cloth of gold and scarlet to catch him up by the hair as some insect\ncuriosity, or at least to order him out as an impertinent intruder;\nthe great marble staircase seems to be alive with the shades of the\nnoble throngs who, in Spanish doublets, jewelled _toques_, needle-like\nswords, and stiff neck-ruffs, used to parade the courtly scene--in\nfact, he finds himself utterly overwhelmed by the phantoms of a\ngreatness that is dead; swamped by the flood of modern days that has\nbrought in a generation of monkeys to consume their lives in efforts to\nfill the place of a generation of lions.\n\nAgain, the traveller may find other sights among the villas of the\nLake of Como--less pleasant sights, too, and jarring on the artist's\nsense of fitness; as, for instance, when he finds a wealthy and prosaic\n_paterfamilias_, of the class who do not know and care less what\nantiquity means--unless it may mean shabbiness--established in placid\nand ludicrous possession of some stately abode such as we have named.\nOf course, this unappreciative being, with his robust wife and chubby\nolive-branches, is of the great, dominant, self-sufficient Anglo-Saxon\nrace, with its grand physical contempt of everything that is foreign,\nbut its keen national determination to take timely advantage of\neverything that is cheap. He may be from our own or the other of the\nAtlantic shores; from the cotton-mills of England or the oil-wells of\nAmerica; but he will invariably be a man of prosaic and practical\ntendencies, quite impervious to the romance of his new home, but\nperfectly alive to its value as a good speculation and an economical\nventure. You will never find an artist or a scholar thus established;\n_they_ will be penned up in a white-washed room of some peasant's\ncottage, or, if lucky members of their craft, in the \"best room\" of\nthe _Signor Curato's_ little presbytery. They, too, are on the lookout\nfor cheap lodgings; but what is cheap to the careful millionaire is\nthe height of impossible extravagance to the gifted brain-worker.\nAnd for our part, if we had to share the home of either of these two\nclasses of lake tourists, we should much prefer a shake-down at the\nwhite-washed cottage, with the human counterweight of the artist, than\nthe surroundings of marble halls, spacious, deserted gardens, and\nghost-haunted staircases, if balanced by the incongruous presence of\nthe prosperous family before mentioned. What poetic justice is it which\nsternly forbids the tenantship of such abodes to be interchanged?\n\nJust such a beautiful place--but, luckily, not thus tenanted--is a\nvilla on the Lake of Como, just opposite the sharp end of the tongue of\nland which, jutting into the lake to the distance of half its length,\ncuts it into the shape of a Y. We passed it every day on our way to the\nchapel. It was formerly, if we remember rightly, the pleasure-house\nof Queen Caroline of England during her exile. No one ever goes there\nnow, and its aspect is as suggestive, as gloomy, as pathetic, as Edgar\nPoe or Mrs. Radcliffe could have wished. Just beyond it, on the narrow\nslip of land which runs parallel to the lake at the foot of the abrupt\nmountains, is a private chapel, built over the family vault of the\nMarquises of A---- and Counts of S----, an old Savoyard family of\ngreat piety and high origin. The land around here is part of their\npatrimonial estate, and the chapel contains two or three very beautiful\nmonuments of white marble, exquisite in carving and finish, but hardly\nvery Christian in taste.\n\nFurther up, and to be reached by a pleasant, rugged path right behind\nour little hotel, was another church--a village parish church this\ntime, a much more homely and _homelike_ place--served by a gentle old\n_curato_. The view over the lake from the jasmine-covered parapet\nsurrounding this church was lovely--so peaceful that it suggested\nrather the possible surroundings of a holy soul just released from the\nbody than the actual home of a busy, struggling, mortal life.\n\nTo heighten the illusion, the moon rose slowly as we descended the\nsame path, and her broad silver shield, as it passed seemingly behind\nthe crags of the mountains on the opposite shore, became momentarily\nstamped with the irregular outline of dark rocks, simulating to our\nimagination the turrets and spires of a spectre city. Soon the path\nof light traced by her rays upon the waters began to shine like the\nIsraelites' guiding pillar in the wilderness, and we felt tempted to\ntry a water-excursion as a fitting ending to our day. The beauty of\nthe scene, as the shadows grew darker and the moonlight more intense,\nis indescribable. Our silent party in the boat did not even attempt to\nadmire it _out loud_. The hills, purple-black in the foreground, rising\nout of the lake as walls of onyx from a crystal floor, grew stone-gray\nas they receded from sight and mingled their colors with the unearthly\nwhite of the Alpine snow-peaks in the far distance. These last seemed\nas though hung like a bridal wreath between earth and heaven, resting\non the dark, undistinguishable masses of the chestnut woods covering\nthe lower spurs. Now and then a bell would ring out in the still night\nair--a brazen voice rolling from some village belfry--and waking the\nmountain echoes till its sound died away in a silver murmur, mingling\nwith the plashing of our steady oars, and gently reminding us that our\nlives had floated one hour nearer to God. But lovely as the scene was\nby night, it is difficult to call it less lovely by day. Opposite our\ntemporary home was Bellaggio, one of the most frequented of the lake\nvillages--a tiny hamlet of white houses clustered together in a grove\nof cypresses, and perched on a rocky ledge overlooking the shore. The\ntall, columnar trees scattered among the houses almost suggested the\nidea of a peaceful burying-ground, the white cottages from a distance\nseeming no bad substitutes for marble tombstones. A gray-blue mist--the\nlast Italian beauty that clings to this fairy-like outpost of Italy,\ninvaded by Alpine breezes and watched by craggy sentinels--hangs over\nthe dormant village; the fir-trees of the neighboring villa--the\nshow-place of the lake, the Villa Serbellone--waft their scented breath\nover its houses, while at its foot lie the hot-houses and orangeries,\netc., by which the owner of this beautiful garden property tries to\nemulate English taste. The Villa Serbellone is almost a tropical\nmarvel; the profusion of flowers; the scent of southern blossoms,\ncultivated with assiduous care; the ivory-like magnolia, framed in its\ndark and massive foliage; the starry orange flowers; the pineapple,\nin its luscious perfection of growth--all denote the sunny land of\nspontaneous productiveness; while the velvet lawns, emerald-colored and\nclosely shaven; the trim gravel-walks, rolled to the exact point of\nfirmness required in an English garden; the marble vases, overflowing\nwith creepers of carefully chosen and judiciously contrasted shades;\nand the thousand-and-one dainty little contrivances to make the most\nof every natural advantage, display the art of that northern land to\nwhich its very disadvantages of climate have taught the secret of\nenhancing every beauty and almost creating new ones by its industry.\nThere is little to distinguish the Lake of Como beyond its beauty of\natmosphere and scenery--little or no historical interest, no ruins,\ncastles, or towns with momentous remembrances of troubled times in the\npast. The churches are plain, and generally in bad taste--in fact,\nbeyond the reach either of gorgeousness or even of simple restoration;\nfor the mountain population and the fishermen of the shore are very\npoor, and the inhabitants of the lake-side villas only come to Como for\nthe summer. But these poor parishioners have spiritual riches, if not\ntemporal comforts: the faith of the Italian, and the _na\u00efve_ enthusiasm\nof mountaineers. One day, after landing for a moment during one of\nour boat excursions, we fell into conversation with an old woman,\nher brown, wrinkled face lighted up by eyes of the intensest black,\nsparking with a vigor strangely in harmony rather than in contrast with\nher age, and her dress, in its picturesque, but we fear uncomfortable\ndilapidation, quite a study for a painter. She was very devout, and,\nwhen she found that we were _foresti\u00e8ri_, anxiously asked if we were\nChristians. This reminds us of what happened in the North of Ireland to\na Catholic English lady of distinction. Her husband was a Protestant,\nand she accordingly started alone one day to find the church, which\nshe knew to be somewhere in the neighborhood of the place at which\nshe was temporarily staying. It was not a Sunday. She lost her way,\nand, meeting an old woman, asked her to set her on the right road for\nthe Catholic \"Chapel.\" The old dame looked very suspiciously at the\nelegant costume of the questioner, and well knowing, by the accent,\nthat she was foreign to Ireland, asked her in return, with incredulity\nstamped on every expressive feature: \"Shure, she was not a Catholic?\"\nAnd, indeed, the English convert did not succeed in persuading the old\nIrishwoman that she was her sister in the faith, until, opening her\ndress, she showed her the scapular round her neck, and put the rosary\ninto her hand. These marks of orthodoxy quite convinced the staunch\nold Catholic, and the English lady reached the church at last. Having\nsatisfied herself, with a sort of joyful surprise, on this cardinal\npoint, our Italian friend discoursed very volubly of the Madonna, her\nown priest and mountain church, and the Pope. We had some beads with\nus blessed by the Holy Father, and offered her the choice of one of\nthe set. She was reverently delighted with the opportunity, and with\nmany blessings and thanks, as gracefully expressed as a poet could\nhave wished or done himself, she made her selection. How her precious\nspiritual nearness to the Holy Father, rendered more palpable by the\nsight of the plain brown rosary, seemed realized in her mind's eye! She\nkissed the beads again and again in a transport of devotion, and in\nsimple, straight-forward language expressed her love and loyalty to the\nSupreme Pontiff. There are few women in Italy, high or low, who have\nnot the same feeling for the head of the church; and those who have it\nnot are by no means among the most exemplary wives and mothers.\n\nWe were at Como--or rather, on the shores of the lake--in March as\nwell as in June. The spirit of the scene was just a little more dreamy\nin the former month than even in the latter, chiefly because there\nwere very few tourists, and the steamboats went up and down the lake\nat longer intervals than in the summer. The great heat showed no\nsigns of its advent; the vegetation was tender and yellow-green, yet\nnot scant; for the hills, whose cold breath tempers the torrid heat\nof Lombardy, also protect the lake from the biting winds that one is\nused to associate with the mention of March. It was possible to go\nout boating and walking even at noon, though the nights were none the\nless beautiful and inviting; but perhaps, at that time of the year,\nthe loveliest hour was early morning. It was with such a remembrance\nthat we left the lake. After five o'clock Mass, we rowed over to the\nprojecting tongue of mainland that cuts the waters in two, and got\ninto a light open carriage of the country, _en route_ for Milan. The\nair was delightfully fresh, the sun had just risen, and a rosy, hazy\ntint lay over everything. It might have been the Bosporus, so tranquil\nand softened was the scene. Indeed, many travellers have likened\nthis lake to the Bosporus, its narrow, river-like course between\nthe shelving mountains being, they say, quite a reproduction of the\noriental marvel, though it does not produce the oriental languor\ncharacteristic of the other. Our road for some time lay in a direction\nin which we could see both branches of the lake; then, swerving to\none side, we passed through miniature mountain passes, green meadows\nwith many water-mills, and pretty villages embowered in trees. There\nwas somewhat of northern dampness in the atmosphere, but its effect\non the pasturage was certainly satisfactory, the turf in many places\nbeing almost worthy of the Emerald Isle. As the hours sped on, our\nappetite began to make itself felt; we had brought nothing with us,\nnot even sandwiches, and the drive was lengthening beyond our original\ncalculations. The wayside inns were practically useless, the wine was\nlike vinegar, and bread not always forthcoming. At length, at a place\nwhere we changed horses for the last time before reaching Milan, and\nafter we had been enjoying the beauties of nature for ten hours on an\nempty stomach, we found something eatable, though not in a superfluous\nquantity. Not long after, we were regaling ourselves on a banquet of\nfish fried in oil, and an adequate supply of bread and butter, served\nin the irreproachable Milan hotel, once the palace of a fallen family,\nand where our _privato_ dining-room had formerly been the _Sala di\nGiust\u00e9zza_, in which feudal lords sat dispensing justice to their clan\nof retainers or hangers-on! And with this, farewell to the queen of\nItalian lakes!\n\n\n\n\nODD STORIES.\n\n\nIV.--THE INDIA-RUBBER MAN\n\nOne thousand three hundred and ninety-seven years ago, the city of\nCadiz was startled by rumors of the presence of a mysterious person,\nwhose irrepressible activity was the fear and wonder of many. Perhaps,\nfrom a certain dusk which pervaded his countenance, it came to be\ngossipped that he was an Indian by birth, and had arrived in Spain by\nway of Africa. If, however, his color was no fair sign of his origin,\nthe manuscripts found in his apartments betrayed his affinity with the\nOriental stoics. Be this as it may, the devices and doings of Don Ruy\nGomia de Goma had so impressed the traditions of Cadiz that the maker\nof ballads, Gil Cantor, sung of him in language the puzzling quaintness\nof which we have endeavored to smooth out as follows into modern\nEnglish:\n\n    Oft have I seen, e'en now I see,\n      The presence I would ban;\n    'Tis he, the Afreet of my dreams,\n      The India-rubber man!\n\n    I pick him out among the crowd\n      As nimbly he goes by,\n    And points his gum-elastic nose,\n      And blinks his vitreous eye.\n\n    'Tis said he prowls the streets at night,\n      And, spite of the police,\n    With India-rubber ease commits\n      Ingenious robberies.\n\n    Abounding Mephistopheles\n      On stealthy tiptoe comes,\n    And, as he chokes you for your purse,\n      He shows his frightful gums.\n\n    Avoid, my friend, his outstretched hand--\n      That hand of gum and glue;\n    And, ere he catches you, beware\n      The friend of caoutchouc.\n\n    Fate tries in vain to crush him out,\n      She studies how to kill;\n    But, no--this grim contortionist\n      Is standing, springing still.\n\n    One day, ten ruffians clubbed him down--\n      He wasn't dead for that;\n    Up, grinning in their faces, sprang\n      That horrid acrobat.\n\n    An agile politician, now\n      The public back he mounts,\n    And much the rabble like him for\n      His gumption and his bounce.\n\n    He rises with the rise of stocks,\n      No crisis keeps him down;\n    And, dancing on a dividend,\n      He goes about the town.\n\n    He pesters busy men of trade,\n      And on their beds at night\n    A gum-elastic nightmare sits,\n      And will not quit their sight.\n\n    Oft have I marvelled at the man,\n      And searched his meaning more;\n    So many people set him down\n      A terror and a bore.\n\n    Elastic, everlasting soul!\n      In gloomy ages back\n    They must have tried to stretch him out\n      A martyr on the rack!\n\n    Victor, alas! and victim he--\n      His wretched fate I scan;\n    And much I pity, if I scorn,\n      The injured rubber-man.\n\nDoubtless the whimsical Gil has here turned a venerable legend to a\nsubtle purpose of satire; for it appears, from a number of traditions,\nthat Don Ruy distinguished himself as a trader, courtier, gallant, and\nknight-errant. He grew rich, because no debtor ever got rid of him till\npayment, and, as a cavalier, the grace and flexibility of his carriage\nand motions were the admiration of ladies. Thus it was that, though\ndenounced by jealous grandees as one sprung from the vulgar, and, in\nfact, an upstart, his first appearance at court was a triumph, and all\nthe more so from the great ease of his genuflexion, and the modest\nliveliness of his manner and deportment. The fact, however, which first\ndrew the general attention of Cadiz to the new cavalier was an open\ninsult which, it was alleged, he had cast upon the proud escutcheon\nof the fair Do\u00f1a Gumesinda Vinagrilla de Miraflores de Albujuera y\nAlbuquerque, Countess Delamar and Marchioness Delcampo.\n\nThe story runs that the marble heart of Do\u00f1a Gumesinda had never\nyielded except to the blandishments of the bold and nimble Don Ruy. One\nday, addressing her at the court in terms of insinuating gallantry, he\nstretched out his arms with so fine a gesture of command and entreaty\nthat the noble maid all at once resolved that no one should win her\nlove save the flexible and fascinating philosopher; being well assured\nof the softness of his heart and the tenacity of his affections. Good\nright, then, had Don Ruy to stand one night under her leafy bower, and,\naccording to the fashion of the times, sing a piteous ditty:\n\n    Mi corazon es suave\n      Como la goma dulce,\n    Mis lagrimas se corren\n      Con la resina triste;\n    Oid mi cancion elastica,\n    Oid mi cancion, se\u00f1ora![48]\n\nHaving thus appealed to the fair Gumesinda, he ascended at a leap into\na leafy refuge formed by the vines and trees near her window, and\nprepared to finish his song, when he felt that one of his legs was\nbeing pulled violently from below.\n\nNothing daunted, he allowed his covert enemies to pull it quite to the\nground, while, still seated near his lady's bower, he sang in strains\nthat moved her heart to more purpose than his disturbers had moved his\nlimbs. Tired of their vain attempt to budge him, they let go of his\nleg, to their no small surprise at the suddenness of its springing\nback. Immediately he leaped down, and laid about him; and, though\ntwice he was hit in vital parts by the infuriated relatives, and, in\nfact, should have been run through, he was so invulnerably spry and\nspirited that he killed a dozen or more of them before he embraced\nthe terrified Gumesinda with his outstretched arms, and carried her\naway, bending somewhat under his burden. A large force of _alguacils_\nbarred his path, however, and he was brought, not without trouble,\nbefore the chief magistrate of the city, who, being also a relative\nof Do\u00f1a Gumesinda, put him immediately to the rack. Vain, and all too\nvain, was the cruel act of torture to extenuate the body and bones,\nor conquer the irrepressible being, of Don Ruy Gomia de Goma. Gliding\non tiptoe behind his jailers, he one day escaped, and in the night\ndanced a fandango on the bed and body of the Governor of Cadiz. Who was\nhe? the good folk of Cadiz asked themselves time and again. Some few\nvisionaries said that he was the spirit of free inquiry, that could\nnever be put down or put out; and other wiseacres averred that he was\nthe veritable spirit of mischief, always upturning and turning up.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[48]\n\n    My heart is soft\n      As sweetest gum,\n    My tears they flow\n      With resin sad;\n    Hear my elastic song,\n    Hear my song, lady!\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\n  HISTORICAL SKETCHES. Third Series. By John Henry Newman, D.D.\n\n  THE IDEA OF A UNIVERSITY, defined and illustrated. By the same.\n    London: Basil Montagu Pickering. (New York: Sold by The Catholic\n    Publication Society.)\n\nIt would perhaps be proper to say that the revised edition of Dr.\nNewman's writings bears the same relation to their original publication\nthat fulfilment and prophecy sustain to each other. In the one we see\nthe germ, the promise, and in the other the matured and mellowed fruit.\nIn the former, we foresee the inevitable result of the principles set\nforth, on a mind so single and intent on the truth. And it is because\nthey do not reflect the perfect image of the truth he now holds that he\nwould blot some of the lines therein written. In the latter, readers\nwill again meet the same wise simplicity and transparency of style\nwhich charmed them before, and which mark all the products of his pen.\n\nAs a study of diction, Dr. Newman's works are richly worth whatever\nthey cost. We doubt if any author of the time has done more to bring\nboth writers and speakers down from the stilts formerly thought\nessential in the expression of thought. Almost unconsciously, the\nleaven of his pure idiomatic English has worked, until its influence is\nshown in a large number of written and spoken productions, both at home\nand abroad. As a reflex of a truthful, honest soul, deeply solicitous\nfor the spiritual welfare of his kind, they have a pathos and unction\nwhich will have an ever-increasing influence as time goes on.\n\nThe first of the above-mentioned volumes embraces the matter which bore\nthe title, _The Church of the Fathers_, on its first appearance in the\n_British Magazine_; and the latter was published as _The Scope and\nNature of University Education_.\n\n  SACRED ELOQUENCE; OR, THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF PREACHING. By Rev.\n    Thomas J. Potter. Troy: P. J. Dooley. 1873.\n\nThis work is too well known to require any notice at our hands, having\nreceived the warmest commendation of the hierarchy and press on its\nfirst appearance in England. While this edition will hardly please\nthose who are fastidious in the matter of print and paper, it presents\nan argument to the pockets of purchasers which many of our seminarians\nwill highly appreciate. Our clerical readers are already aware that\nthe _Sacred Eloquence_ was prepared for the author's own class in the\nMissionary College of All Hallows, and resulted from the necessity felt\nfor a work adapted to English-speaking students in that department.\n\n\nBOOKS RECEIVED.\n\n  From BURNS, OATES & CO., London (New York: Sold by The Catholic\n    Publication Society): Sermons for all Sundays and Festivals\n    of the Year. By J. N. Sweeney, D.D. Vol. II. 12mo, pp. vi.\n    498.--Spain and Charles VII. By Gen Kirkpatrick. 8vo, pp. 87.--A\n    Theory of the Fine Arts. By S. M. Lanigan, A.B., T.C.D. 12mo, pp.\n    xiii. 194.\n\n  From D. & J. SADLIER & CO., New York: Bible History. By Rev. James\n    O'Leary, D.D. 12mo, pp. 480.\n\n  From HENRY HOLT & CO.: Dimitri Roudine. By Ivan Turg\u00e9nieff. 18mo,\n    pp. 271.\n\n  From BENZIGER BROS., New York: Neue Fibel, oder: Erstes Lesebuch,\n    f\u00fcr die Deutschen Katholischen Schulen in den Vereinigten\n    Staaten von Nord-America. Bearbeitet von mehreren Priestern und\n    Lehrern.--Zweites Lesebuch, und Drittes Lesebuch, of the same\n    series 12mo, pp. 58, 120, and 276.\n\n  From KELLY, PIET & CO., Baltimore: A Course of Philosophy,\n    embracing Logic, Metaphysics, and Ethics. By Rev. A. Louage,\n    C.S.C. 12mo, pp.\n\n\n\n\nTHE\n\nCATHOLIC WORLD.\n\nVOL. XVIII., No. 104.--NOVEMBER, 1873.[49]\n\n\n\n\nSPIRITUALISM.\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n  \"Spiritus sunt vagi, et insinceri, pervolantes et\n  perscrutantes.\"--_S. Max. Taur., Tract. iv., Cont. Pag._\n\nIt can hardly be denied that the question of spiritualism is forcing\nitself every year more and more upon the public attention; and that\na belief in the reality of its phenomena, and, as almost a necessary\nconsequence, a suspicion of their at least partially preternatural\ncharacter, is on the increase amongst honest and intelligent persons.\nBy preternatural phenomena, I mean manifestations of the operation of\nintelligences that are not clothed in flesh and blood; for with other\nthan such as are so clothed, in the way of the senses, which is the way\nof nature, we have no acquaintance.\n\nI believe that few will examine seriously and patiently the phenomena\nof spiritualism as a whole without coming upon much that they cannot,\nwithout doing violence to their natural instincts, attribute to\nanything but preternatural agency. Whether they reduce this to white\nspirits or black, red spirits or gray, will depend for the most part\non the religious prepossessions of the inquirers. I have said the\nphenomena as a whole, because some of these, such as cases of tables\nturning, upon which the hands of the company are resting, and, again,\nmany of the communications through mediums speaking in trance or\notherwise, do not necessarily suggest preternatural interference.\n\nThe phenomena on which I am inclined to lay most stress are, 1st,\nphysical manifestations--the movement or raising in the air, without\ncontact of any sort, of heavy bodies, whether animate or inanimate;\n2d, intelligent manifestations involving the communication of true\ninformation through a human medium, which was unknown at the time both\nto the medium and recipient. Such phenomena are not unfrequent at\nsuccessful s\u00e9ances, and spiritualists have a right to demand that we\nshould criticise their successes rather than their failures.\n\nFor examples of the phenomena of modern spiritualism, we shall depend\nmainly upon two volumes: _Experiences in Spiritualism with D. D.\nHome_, and the _Report of the Committee of the London Dialectical\nSociety_. The former is a well-known though unpublished relation of\nseventy-eight s\u00e9ances; the relaters are gentlemen whose names are\nguarantees for intelligence and honor. Of these s\u00e9ances, some were held\nin rooms which Mr. Home had never before entered, others in a variety\nof rooms belonging to gentlemen taking part in the proceedings. The\nsupposition of concealed machinery, possible enough were it question\nof the magician's own den, is thus effectually precluded. The _Report_\nis a still more remarkable volume. Even if spiritualism were exploded\nabsolutely, this volume would still retain its interest as a unique\ncollection of mental photographs representing every attitude which it\nis possible for the human mind to take up with regard to spiritualistic\nphenomena, from irreconcilable repulsion, through every shade of\nintelligent hesitation, to complete acceptance.\n\nThe _Report_ consists of the reports of the s\u00e9ances of six experimental\nsubcommittees, minutes of the examination before the General Committee\nof spiritualist witnesses, letters on spiritualism from a great number\nof literary and scientific persons, and communications in the shape\nof experiences and speculative essays on spiritualism by some of its\nprincipal adherents.\n\nSubcommittee No. 1 (_Rep._, p. 9) declares itself to have \"established\nconclusively\" \"the movements of heavy substances without contact or\nmaterial connection of any kind between such substances and the body\nof any person present.\" This is confirmed by Subcommittee No. 2, and\nembodied in the general report. Amongst a great mass of well-attested\nphenomena, I select the following: \"Thirteen witnesses state that they\nhave seen heavy bodies, in some instances men, rise slowly in the\nair, and remain there without visible or tangible support.\" \"Fourteen\nwitnesses testify to having seen hands of figures not appertaining to\nany human being, but lifelike in appearance and mobility, which they\nhave sometimes touched and even grasped.\" \"Eight witnesses state that\nthey have received precise information through rappings, writings,\nand in other ways, the accuracy of which was unknown at the time to\nthemselves or to any persons present, and which, on subsequent inquiry,\nwas found to be correct.\" Many of these experimental s\u00e9ances took place\nwithout the presence of any professional mediums. Subcommittees 1 and\n2 declare that they have never used them, and these were particularly\nfertile in instances of independent movement, No. 1 having witnessed no\nless than fifty such motions.\n\nThere is absolutely no room for a suspicion of trickery, neither\nis it more rational to suppose that the phenomena had no objective\nexistence, but were the mere phantasms of the excited imagination\nof the company; for the witnesses testify that they were in no such\nstate of excitement, and their recorded conversation and behavior are\nincompatible with any such supposition. Again, such excitement acts\nspasmodically and irregularly; but, as a rule, the phenomena are seen\nby all equally. In the few cases in which individuals have manifested\nabnormal excitement, the s\u00e9ances have been frustrated. Subcommittee No.\n2 sent for a neighbor to witness the phenomena when in full operation,\nand they presented precisely the same aspect to him as they did to the\nmembers of the s\u00e9ance.\n\nThere remains, then, a large number of objective phenomena of the kind\nmentioned which have to be accounted for. Three hypotheses have been\nadvocated with more or less success, which I shall proceed to consider\nin order.\n\n1st. Unconscious cerebration expressing itself in unconscious muscular\naction. 2d. Psychic force. 3d. Spirits. I would remark that the first\nand second agree, in so far as they make the source of the phenomena\ninternal; they differ in that the first would make them the result\nof a known law, the action of which had been previously detected,\nwhilst the second supposes a previously unknown law or force of which\nspiritualistic phenomena are the sole evidence.\n\nI.\n\nThe doctrine of unconscious cerebration is thus expressed by Dr.\nCarpenter (_Rep._, p. 272): \"Ideational changes take place in the\ncerebrum, of which we may be at the time unconscious for want of\nreceptivity on the part of the sensorium, but of which the results\nmay at a subsequent period present themselves to the consciousness,\nas ideas elaborated by an automatic process of which we have no\ncognizance.\" Dr. Carpenter's ground for \"surmising\" that \"ideational\nchanges\" may be received unconsciously, and subsequently recognized,\nand that the consciousness or unconsciousness of the reception depends\nupon their being presented or not in the sensorium, is the following\nanalogy: The cerebrum, \"or rather its ganglionic matter in which\nits potentiality resides,\" stands in precisely the same anatomical\nrelation to the sensorium that the retina does; but visual changes\nmay be unconsciously received in the retina when the sensorium is\ninoperative, and may be subsequently recognized. The reality of this\nautomatic reception and elaboration of ideas is confirmed by the\nphenomena of somnambulism, which show \"that long trains of thought may,\nwith a complete suspension of the directing and controlling power of\nthe will, follow the lead either of some dominant idea or of suggestion\nfrom without.\" This doctrine, when applied to explain the intelligent\nmanifestations of spiritualism, comes to this, that you cannot argue,\nfrom the fact that a man informs you truly of something which he could\nnot possibly have learned elsewhere, and which you know you were\nnever aware of in the ordinary sense of the word, that he is informed\nby a superior intelligence; for you may have received unconsciously\ninto your cerebrum the information in question, or have unconsciously\nelaborated it from premises so received, and may have communicated it\nto your informant by unconscious muscular action.\n\nI must do Dr. Carpenter the justice to admit that he nowhere, so\nfar as I have seen, attempts to apply his doctrine in detail to the\nhigher phenomena of spiritualism. He is contented with stating it\nas indicating the direction in which a solution of such phenomenal\ndifficulties as do not seem to him wholly incredible is to be looked\nfor.\n\nI have every wish to speak on matters of physiological experiment with\nthe modesty befitting my comparative unfamiliarity with the subject.\nI have no difficulty in admitting all that Dr. Carpenter says, in his\narticle on \"Electro-biology and Mesmerism\" (_Quart._, Oct., 1853),\non the action of dominant ideas, whether original or suggested,\nin the production of the phenomena of somnambulism and mesmerism;\nbut I hesitate as to the possibility of receiving in the form of an\nunconscious ideational change such a piece of information as this: \"I\nhave another sister besides those I am used to reckon\"; and of its\nrecovery, not as an image or sensation such as a dream might leave,\nbut as an unequivocal assertion of a fact clothed in all its native\nconfidence. The nerve modification, which I suppose the \"ideational\nchange\" comes to, is here understood to play the part, not merely of a\nbell whose prolonged vibrations, when taken cognizance of, may more or\nless suggest the individual visitor, but of a photographic negative,\nset aside, indeed, and overlaid, but from which at any moment exact\nrepresentations may be taken. This theory appears to me to belong to\nthe category of those which, to borrow Dr. Carpenter's expression\n(art., p. 535), \"cannot be accepted without a great amount of evidence\nin their favor, but which, not being in absolute opposition to\nrecognized laws, may be received upon strong testimony, without doing\nviolence to our common sense.\" I must add that I have met with no such\nevidence either in the _Quarterly Review_ or elsewhere. When we ask for\ninstances, in which modern science is ordinarily so fertile, it is at\nleast suspicious that the only at all adequate examples produced in the\nbrilliant article, \"Spiritualism and its Recent Converts\" (_Quart._,\nvol. 131, 1871), are taken from the very spiritualistic phenomena\nunder discussion. Let us, however, for the moment grant all that is\nexpressly demanded on the score of unconscious cerebration, and then\nsee how far it affords an adequate explanation of the phenomena of\nspiritualism. Of course, independent physical manifestations, such as\nthe subcommittees report, fall entirely without the sphere of this\nexplanation; and Faraday's ingenious machine for testing muscular\naction has no place where there is no contact of muscles. But what are\nwe to say to communications such as the following (_Rep._, p. 195),\nmade to Signor Damiani, at Clifton? He asked of the rapping table,\n\"Who is there?\" \"Sister,\" was rapped out in reply. \"What sister?\"\n\"Marietta.\" \"Don't know you; that is not a family name. Are you not\nmistaken?\" \"No; I am your sister.\" He left the table in disgust, but\nafterwards joined in another s\u00e9ance at the same house. \"Who are you?\"\nhe asks. \"Marietta.\" \"Again! Why does not a sister whom I can remember\ncome?\" \"I will bring one.\" \"And the raps were heard to recede, becoming\nfaint and fainter, until lost in the distance. In a few seconds, a\ndouble knock, like the trot of a horse, was heard approaching, striking\nthe ceiling, the floor, and, lastly, the table. 'Who is there?' 'Your\nsister Antonietta.' That is a good guess, thought I. 'Where did\nshe pass away?' 'Chieti.' 'When?' Thirty-four loud, distinct raps\nsucceeded. Strange! My sister so named had certainly died at Chieti\njust thirty-four years before.\" \"How many brothers and sisters had you\nthen? Can you give me their names?\" \"Five names (the real ones), all\ncorrectly spelt in Italian, were given. Numerous other tests produced\nequally remarkable results.\" He is much perplexed, naturally, about\nthis sister \"Marietta,\" and writes to his mother about her. He is\nanswered that, \"on such a date, forty-four years before, a sister had\nbeen born and had lived six hours, during which time she had been\nbaptized by the midwife by the name of Mary.\" Now, this is not a\ncase of an isolated bit of information that may have been given and\nforthwith wholly disconnected from the current of life, as an Indian\nchild might have been told, on the eve of its voyage to England, that\na certain tropical berry was poisonous, which it never saw again. In\nSignor Damiani's case, the sleep of unconscious cerebration must have\nbeen very deep that so interesting a fact should not have been waked up\nby all the friction it must have sustained every time of the thousand\nof times that he asserted himself and his five brothers and sisters to\nthe exclusion of any others.\n\nBut these difficulties sink into the shade when we try to carry out\nthe explanation a step further. We have to explain not merely how\nSignor Damiani knew, but how the medium knew, the astonishing fact. I\ncan understand how emotions of various kinds may be read in muscular\nmotions; how the almost inevitable slight hesitation at certain\ncritical letters may suggest them to the keen and practised observer;\nbut how, amongst all the threads of thought which cross the human mind,\nthe very one which must needs be the slenderest and most remote should\nget itself expressed by unconscious muscular action, and how another\nshould read the hieroglyph, I simply cannot conceive. Nothing I have\nmet with in the wildest spiritualism is half so difficult to believe.\n\nHere is another instance, from the testimony of Mr. Eyre (_Rep._,\np. 179). This gentleman wanted the register of the baptism of a\nperson born in England, and who had died in America a century ago. He\nwas led to suppose that this would be found either in Yorkshire or\nCambridgeshire. He hunted for it for three months, and then, in broad\ndaylight, without saying who he is or what he wants, consults a medium.\nHe says: \"Before leaving home, I wrote out and numbered about a dozen\nquestions. Among them was the question, 'Where can I find the register\nof the baptism I am searching for?' The paper with the questions I had\nfolded and placed in a stout envelope, and closed it. When we sat down\nto the table, I asked, after some other questions, if the spirits would\nanswer the questions I had written and had in my pocket. The answer\nby raps was, 'Yes.' I took the envelope containing the questions out\nof my pocket, and, without opening it, laid it on the table. I then\ntook a piece of paper, and as the questions were answered--No. 1, 2,\nand so on--I wrote down the answers. When we came to the question,\nwhere I could get the register of the baptism, the table telegraphed,\n'Stepney church,' and, at the same time, Mrs. Marshall, senior, in her\npeculiar manner, blurted out, 'Stepney.' Being at that time a stranger\nin London, I did not know there was such a place. I went on with the\nquestions I had prepared, and got correct answers to all of them. A few\ndays afterwards, I went to Stepney Church, and, after spending some\ndays in searching, I there found the register of the baptism, as I had\nbeen told.\"\n\nHere the medium had not even the light of the questions by which to\nread the unconscious expression of unconscious cerebration. One cannot\nhelp wondering what may be the muscular expression for \"Stepney church.\"\n\nThe writer in the _Quarterly Review_, to whom I have before referred,\nshall give us the next example from his own experience (vol. 131, p.\n331). He owns that, on one occasion, he was \"strongly impressed\" by a\nspiritualistic manifestation. \"He (the medium, Mr. Foster) answered, in\na variety of modes, the questions we put to him respecting the time and\ncause of the death of several of our departed friends and relatives,\nwhose names we had written down on slips of paper, which had been\nfolded up and crumpled into pellets before being placed in his hands.\nBut he brought out names and dates correctly, in large red letters on\nhis bare arms, the redness being produced by the turgescence of the\nminute vessels of the skin, and passing away after a few minutes like a\nblush. We must own to have been strongly impressed at the time by this\nperformance; but, on subsequently thinking it over, we thought we could\nsee that Mr. Foster's divining power was partly derived from his having\nthe faculty of interpreting the movements of the top of pen or pencil,\nthough the point and what was written by it was hid from his sight; and\npartly from a very keen observation of the indications unconsciously\ngiven by ourselves of the answer we expected.\" Indubitably in the\ncase of two accomplices, a preconcerted system of movements of the\ntop of the pencil might be made to indicate what was written; but,\nconsidering the enormous variety of ways of writing, that any one can\nacquire the art of so reading chance writing is incredible. At best\nthis explanation only applies to the questions. The answers, which were\ngiven \"correctly,\" in the shape of dates and causes of death, etc., in\nred letters on the medium's arm, must have been read in the reviewer's\nunconscious contortions. The force of the reviewer's admission of the\naccuracy of these communications is not affected by the fact that\nwhen _another_ way of answering questions was adopted--viz., the\nquestioner pointing successively to the letters of the alphabet, until\ninterrupted by the rap--there were indications of his manner being read\nby the medium. Again, it is little to the purpose that \"the trick by\nwhich the red letters were produced was discovered by the inquiries\nof one of our medical friends\"--a most curiously vague statement, by\nthe bye--for the mystery to be explained is not the red letters, but\nthe correctness of the information they conveyed. There is nothing in\nthe necessity of some sort of _rapport_ existing between the medium\nand his questioner inconsistent with the spirit hypothesis; there is\nnothing in the subsequent experiments of the reviewer even tending to a\nnatural explanation of what had so strongly impressed him; and yet he\nis able to shake off the strong impression triumphantly. One begins to\nappreciate the eloquent words of Professor Tyndall:[50] \"The logical\nfeebleness of science is not sufficiently borne in mind. It keeps down\nthe weed of superstition not by logic, but by slowly rendering the\nmental soil unfit for its cultivation.\"\n\nI recognize with gratitude, as one of the many services Dr. Carpenter\nhas done to science, his full admission of a series of facts in\nconnection with mesmerism and animal magnetism, until the other\nday looked upon with suspicion by medical men and physiologists;\nand, further, I am ready to admit that the influence of unconscious\ncerebration upon some of the phenomena of spiritualism is probable\nenough. But I maintain that it is distinctly inadequate as an\nexplanation. Its main use, as applied to spiritualism, has been that\nof a learned label to attract the attention of scientific men--a\nscientific rag wherewith spiritualism may cover its nakedness, but\nwhich all the ingenuity in the world cannot convert into clothes.\n\n\nII.\n\nNumbers of intelligent persons, men distinguished in science, in\nliterature, in the learned professions, but whose \"mental soil\" has not\nbeen rendered wholly unfit for the cultivation of all germs foreign\nto the philosophy of the day, have acknowledged that the phenomena of\nspiritualism are not only veritable, but inexplicable by any known\nlaw. \"The absolute and even derisive incredulity which dispenses with\nall examination of the evidence for preternatural occurrences,\"[51]\nof which Mr. Lecky boasts as one of the results of civilization,\nhas certainly lost ground of late. Professor De Morgan says: \"I am\nperfectly convinced that I have both seen and heard, in a manner which\nshould render unbelief impossible, things called spiritual which cannot\nbe taken by a rational being to be capable of explanation by imposture,\ncoincidence, or mistake. So far I feel the ground firm under me.\"[52]\nMr. Edwin Arnold (_Rep._, p. 258) speaks to the same effect: \"I regard\nmany of the 'manifestations' as genuine, undeniable, and inexplicable\nby any known law or any collusion, arrangement, or deception of the\nsenses.\" And so we come very much to what S. Bonaventure said in the\nXIIIth century: \"Some have said that witchcraft is a nonentity in the\nworld, and has no force, save merely in the estimation of men, who, in\ntheir want of faith, attribute many natural mishaps to witchcrafts;\nbut this position is derogatory to law, to common opinion, and, what\nis of more importance, to experience, and so has no foothold.\"[53]\nLaw has, indeed, long ceased to have anything to say on the subject,\nand popular sentiment, if not converted, has at least been reduced to\nshamefaced silence; but once again experience claims her rights, and,\nin a great wave extending across two hemispheres, the experience of\nspiritualism breaks upon us, and the opposite opinion is found to lack\nfoothold. Even in this XIXth century, men are beginning to admit that\nmagic or mysticism, call it what you will, though overrun as ever with\ntrickery and delusion, is for all that no nonentity, but a long-ignored\nreality, worthy, not of derision, but of patient examination. True many\nof those who go furthest in their recognition of the genuineness of the\nphenomena do not attribute them to spirits; still, however this may\nbe, no advocate of psychic force can deny that many of the so-called\nmarvel-mongers of the middle ages were at least no mere blind leaders\nof the blind, but the witnesses of phenomena none the less true because\nit has been for so long the fashion to ignore them.\n\nIn the middle ages, people thought that these marvels were the work of\nspirits good or bad, or at least the result of their co-operation with\nman. For such an hypothesis, modern science has an almost invincible\nrepugnance, in which I think there is much that is excusable. It is\nnot that the man of science necessarily disbelieves in the existence\nof spirits; but the idea of their possible interference in phenomena\nwhich he has to consider exercises a disturbing influence upon all his\ncalculations. He is as irritated as though he should be called upon to\nsubmit to, and make allowance for, the tricks of mischievous children\nwho jerk his arm or clog his machinery. Again, he is haunted with the\nnotion that, by admitting the spirit hypothesis, he is contributing\nto the inauguration of an era of disastrous reaction. To the eye of\nhis imagination, the bright, open platform, the familiar instruments,\neach a concrete realization, in honest metal, of a known law, the\nintelligent modern audience, his own classical tail-coat and white\nneckcloth, melt away, and he sees himself propitiating fickle spirits\nwith uncouth spells, at the bottom of a medi\u00e6val grotto:\n\n    \"A shape with amice wrapped around,\n    With a wrought Spanish baldric bound,\n    Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea.\"\n\nNot that the evil dream could ever be realized in its integrity; but\nstill, when once a spiritualist reaction has set in, who will venture\nto fix its limits? And so, forgetting that the spirit hypothesis in\nnowise excludes the operation of psychic conditions, he insists upon\nevery indication of such conditions, as though they were the key to\neverything, and there were no indications of any other agency. His\n\"mental soil,\" perhaps, does not permit him to deny the reality of the\nphenomena of spiritualism, or to talk of unconscious cerebration as a\nsufficient explanation; and so he is contented to raise his altar to\nan unknown god, provided only he may baptize him into the dynasty of\nscience by the name of \"Psychic Force.\"\n\nPsychic force has still to be defined. It is the unknown cause of\ncertain effects, taking its color from them only. With reference to\nindependent physical manifestations, it is the power to produce \"the\nmovement of heavy substances without contact or material connection.\"\nIn this sense, Arago \"is stated\" to have reported to the Academy of\nScience, \"that, under peculiar conditions, the human organization\ngives forth a physical power which, without visible instruments, lifts\nheavy bodies, attracts or repels them, according to a law of polarity,\noverturns them, and produces the phenomena of sound.\"[54] When\nconsidered in relation to the whole mass of spiritualistic phenomena,\nits vague, unsatisfactory character becomes still more apparent. The\nnearest approach to a definition of psychic force, in its larger sense,\nthat I have met with occurs in Mr. Atkinson's communication (_Rep._,\np. 105): \"It is nothing more than the ordinary and normal power of our\ncomplex nature acting without impediment\" (consciousness being one of\nthe impediments), \"and diverted from its usual relations, though in\nsome cases abnormal conditions clearly favor the development.\" It is\nhardly possible to mistake the pantheistic character of this passage;\nfor this unconditioned nature, underlying personal consciousness,\nwhich, in virtue of its being unconditioned, knows all and can do\nall, what else can it be but a common nature, an _anima mundi_, a\nworld-god? according to the pantheistic conception of Averrhoes, \"an\nintelligence which, without multiplication of itself, animates all\nthe individuals of the human species, in respect to their exercising\nthe functions of a rational soul.\"[55] I am convinced that psychic\nforce, if drawn out as the one solution of spiritualism, can end in\nnothing short of this; but, on the other hand, I readily admit that the\n\"_anima mundi_\" or rather, \"spirit of nature,\" as advocated by Dr. H.\nMore, Glanvil, and, if he is not misrepresented, the famous Carmente\ndoctor, John Bacon,[56] is not pantheistic. More, formally rejecting\nthe doctrine of Averrhoes as \"atheism,\" insists that the \"spirit of\nnature\" is substantially distinct from, though in intimate relations\nwith, individual souls. He defines it to be \"a substance incorporeal,\"\nhow far possessing \"sense and animadversion\" he may not determine, but\ncertainly \"devoid of reason and free-will,\" \"pervading the whole matter\nof the universe, and exercising a plastical power therein, according\nto the sundry predispositions and occasions in the parts it works\nupon, raising such phenomena in the world, by directing the parts of\nmatter and their motion, as cannot be resolved into mere mechanical\npowers.\"[57]\n\nAs capable of holding automatic thought, processes, or their embryons,\nsuch a spirit might lend itself as a vehicle of direct intellectual\ninfluence between soul and soul, as also, of course, between souls\nand spirits of another sort. But it must be remembered that, if this\nmight in some measure account for the intercommunication of thought,\nit in no way tends to explain the genesis of information of which\nall concerned are ignorant. That some such brute intelligence acts\nas intermediary would seem to be borne out by the frequent spaces of\nhopeless incoherency, like nothing so much as the shaking up of loose\ntype, which prelude and interrupt spiritual communications when the\nintelligent will that would fain direct matters has not yet seized the\nreins, or has dropped them from its grasp.\n\nWhatever may be thought of the theory, the following passage from the\nfirst edition of Glanvil's _Vanity of Dogmatizing_ is worth quoting.\nThe story in it was suppressed in subsequent editions, as too romantic\nfor the taste of the day:[58] \"That one man should be able to bind the\nthoughts of another, and determine them to their particular objects,\nwill be reckoned in the first rank of impossibles; yet, by the power\nof advanced imagination, it may very probably be effected; and history\nabounds with instances. I'll trouble the reader but with one, and the\nhands from which I had it makes me secure of the truth on't.\n\n\"There was very lately a lad in the University of Oxford, who, being\nof very pregnant and ready parts, and yet wanting the encouragement\nof preferment, was by his poverty forced to leave his studies there,\nand to cast himself upon the wide world for a livelihood. Now, his\nnecessities growing daily on him, and wanting the help of friends\nto relieve him, he was at last forced to join himself to a company\nof vagabond gypsies, whom occasionally he met with, and to follow\ntheir trade for a maintenance. Among these extravagant people, by the\ninsinuating subtility of his carriage, he quickly got so much of their\nlove and esteem as that they discovered to him their mystery; in the\npractice of which, by the pregnancy of his wit and parts, he soon grew\nso good a proficient as to be able to outdo his instructors. After he\nhad been a pretty while exercised in the trade, there chanced to ride\nby a couple of scholars who had formerly been of his acquaintance. The\nscholars had quickly spied out their old friend among the gypsies, and\ntheir amazement to see him among such society had well-nigh discovered\nhim; but by a sign he prevented their owning him before that crew,\nand, taking one of them aside privately, desired him with his friend\nto go to an inn not far distant thence, promising there to come to\nthem. They accordingly went thither, and he follows; after their first\nsalutations, his friends inquire how he came to lead so odd a life as\nthat was, and to join himself with such a cheating, beggarly company.\nThe scholar-gypsy, having given them an account of the necessity which\ndrove him to that kind of life, told them that the people he went with\nwere not such impostors as they were taken for, but that they had a\ntraditional kind of learning among them, and could do wonders by the\npower of imagination, and that himself had learnt much of their art,\nand improved it further than themselves could; and, to evince the\ntruth of what he told them, he said he would remove into another room,\nleaving them to discourse together, and, upon his return, tell them the\nsum of what they had talked of; which accordingly he performed, giving\nthem a full account of what had passed between them during his absence.\nThe scholars, being amazed at so unexpected a discovery, earnestly\ndesired him to unriddle the mystery. In which he gave them satisfaction\nby telling them that what he did was by power of the imagination,\nhis fancy binding theirs; and that himself had dictated to them the\ndiscourse they held together while he was from them; that there were\nwarrantable ways of heightening the imagination to that pitch as to\nbind another's; and that, when he had compassed the whole secret, of\nsome parts of which he said he was yet ignorant, he intended to leave\ntheir company, and give the world an account of what he had learned.\n\n\"Now, that this strange power of the imagination is no impossibility,\nthe wonderful signatures of the f\u0153tus, caused by the imagination of\nthe mother, is no contemptible item. The sympathies of laughing and\ngaping together are resolved into this principle; and I see not why\nthe fancy of one man may not determine the cogitation of another,\nrightly qualified, as easily as his bodily motion. This influence seems\nto me to be no more unreasonable than that of one string of a lute\nupon another, when a stroke on it causeth a proportionable motion in\nthe sympathizing consort, which is distant from it and not sensibly\ntouched. Now, if this notion be strictly verifiable, it will yield\nus a good account of how angels inject thoughts into our minds, and\nknow our cogitations; and here we may see the source of some kinds of\nfascination. If we are prejudiced against the speculation, because we\ncannot conceive the manner of so strange an operation, we shall indeed\nreceive no help from the common philosophy; but yet the hypothesis\nof a mundane soul, lately revived by that incomparable Platonist and\nCartesian, Dr. H. More, will handsomely relieve us; or, if any would\nrather have a mechanical account, I think it may probably be made out\nsome such way as follows: Imagination is inward sense; to sense is\nrequired a motion of certain filaments of the brain, and consequently\nin imagination there is the like; they only differing in this, that\nthe motion of the one proceeds immediately from external objects, but\nthat of the other hath its immediate rise within us. Now, then, when\nany part of the brain is strongly agitated, that which is next, and\nmost capable to receive the motive impress, must in like manner be\nmoved. Now, we cannot conceive anything more capable of motion than the\nfluid matter that is interspersed among all bodies and is contiguous\nto them. So, then, the agitated parts of the brain begetting a motion\nin the proxime ether, it is propagated through the liquid medium, as\nwe see the motion is which is caused by a stone thrown into the water.\nNow, when the thus moved matter meets with anything like that from\nwhich it received its primary impress, it will proportionably move\nit, as it is in musical strings tuned unisons; and thus the motion\nbeing conveyed from the brain of one man to the fancy of another,\nit is there received from the instrument of conveyance, the subtile\nmatter, and the same kind of strings being moved, and much what after\nthe same manner as in the first imaginant, the soul is awakened to the\nsame apprehensions as were they that caused them. I pretend not to any\nexactness or infallibility in this account, foreseeing many scruples\nthat must be removed to make it perfect. It is only an hint of the\npossibility of mechanically solving the phenomenon, though very likely\nit may require many other circumstances completely to make it out.\"\n\nThere are abundant records of the marvels wrought by the imagination,\nwhen, under the influence of desire or fear, or even simple\nexpectation, the attention is concentrated upon a particular spot or\na particular set of circumstances; but of the conditions and nature\nof the operation almost nothing is known. It would seem as if there\nwere a tendency in every act of the imagination to create that which\nit conceives, although it is only in rare cases that any palpable\nresult ensues. Various cases of recovery from the gravest illness,\nsome of which involved the arresting active, organic mischief, are\nrecorded as brought about by the vehement impression made upon the\nimagination by a remedy supposed, but never really applied. The action\nof imaginative sympathy is even more startling. Dr. Tuke relates the\nfollowing of a lady well known to him: \"One day, she was walking past a\npublic institution, and observed a child, in whom she was particularly\ninterested, coming out through an iron gate. She saw that he let go the\ngate after opening it, and that it seemed likely to close upon him, and\nconcluded that it would do so with such force as to crush his ankle;\nhowever, this did not happen. 'It was impossible,' she says, 'by word\nor act, to be quick enough to meet the supposed emergency; and, in\nfact, I found I could not move, for such intense pain came on my ankle,\ncorresponding to the one I thought the boy would have injured, that I\ncould only put my hand on it to lessen its extreme painfulness. _I am\nsure I did not move so as to strain or sprain it._ The walk home--a\ndistance of about a quarter of a mile--was very laborious, and, in\ntaking off my stocking, I found a circle round the ankle, as if it had\nbeen painted with red-currant juice, with a large spot of the same on\nthe outer part. By morning, the whole foot was inflamed, and I was a\nprisoner to my bed for many weeks.\"[59] In another case referred to by\nDr. Tuke, \"a lady of an exceedingly sensitive and impressible nature,\non one occasion when a gentleman visited her house, experienced a very\nuncomfortable sensation so long as he was present, and she observed\na spot or sore on his cheek. Two days after, a similar spot or sore\nappeared on her cheek, in precisely the same situation, and with the\nsame characters.\"[60]\n\nI have no fault to find with Dr. Tuke for extending this same principle\nof sympathetic attention to the case of stigmatization, when he\nsays of S. Francis, absorbed in ardent realization of the Passion of\nChrist, \"So clearly defined an idea, so ardent a faith intensifying its\noperation, were sufficient to reflect it in his body.\"[61]\n\nI cannot help thinking that the Fathers recognized the creative power\nof the imagination when they denounced so fiercely the masquerading\nin beast-skins on the calends of January. \"Is not all this false and\nmad when God-formed men transform themselves into cattle, or wild\nbeasts, or monsters?\"[62] The numerous accounts of the were-wolf\ntransformation, both in classical and medi\u00e6val times, all point in the\nsame direction; and Mr. Baring-Gould brings good authority for thinking\nthat the etymology of the \"Barsark\" rage of the Norsemen designates it\nas an outcome of their bear-skins.\n\nThe direct action of the imagination upon external objects, attributed\nto Avicenna (_Muratori della Fantasia_, p. 268), is, of course,\nsomething further. The Arabian philosopher is reported to have said\nthat, \"by a strong action of the fancy, one might kill a camel.\" At the\nsame time, the signature on the f\u0153tus, not merely of the emotion of the\nmother's fear or desire, but of the object or occasion of it, would\nseem to imply some action _ab extra_, as well as such cases as that of\nthe sympathetic bruise referred to above.\n\nThat the ordinary acts of the imagination, for all their airy and\nimpalpable play, do leave behind them most momentous results, forming,\nas it were, the very mould and measure of our whole life, is a matter\nof constant experience. Hence it is that castles in the air are often\nso costly, to say nothing of the danger that, though we have built\nthem ourselves, we may find them haunted.\n\nI am quite prepared to admit what the Germans have called a night-side\nof nature--that is, various rudimental powers of doing many things\nof a seemingly miraculous character, which powers do very probably\noften co-operate in the production of spiritualistic phenomena, and\nunder peculiar organic conditions, without any spiritual influence,\nmay be brought into considerably developed action. Moreover, as it is,\nof course, in the investigation of these natural bases of magic that\nscience will succeed so far as it succeeds at all, it is only right\nthat it should expatiate in them. My complaint is that the modern\nattempt to reduce spiritualism to psychic force involves an inadequate\nanalysis of the facts presented; and spiritualists have surely some\nground to complain of the _prima facie_ disingenuousness of a man\u0153uvre\nwhich, in regard to the same phenomena, began with, \"This is not\nnatural, therefore it is certainly not true,\" and ends with, \"This is\ntrue, therefore it is certainly natural.\"\n\nHowever much the scientific mind of the day may dislike the\npreternatural stand-point, yet it may be that, seeing \"an absolute\nand derisive incredulity\" is no longer regarded as the one scientific\nattitude, some examination of the views entertained by Catholic writers\non the subject may not be without interest. Many of the acutest amongst\nthem for ages have given great attention to the phenomena of mysticism,\nalthough mainly engaged in the consideration of their moral and\nascetical bearings. Before leaving this second hypothesis, I propose\nto bring together such passages from the schoolmen as seem to make the\nlargest allowance on the side of psychic force. Whilst there are, I\nthink, sufficient indications that the scholastics generally admit\npsychic force as a natural basis and concurrent cause in many of the\nphenomena of both divine and diabolic mysticism, it must be allowed\nthat passages dwelling at any length on this point have at least the\nmerit of rarity.\n\nG\u00f6rres taught, reasonably enough, I conceive, in his _Mystik_, that\nthere is a physical basis for the great mass of miracles wrought by\nAlmighty God in and through his saints; that is to say, that they do\nnot, ordinarily speaking, involve the creation of an entirely fresh\npower, but are rather the result of a divine excitation of a power\nalready existing in germ. Of course, he who \"of these stones can raise\nup children to Abraham\" only subjects himself to the laws which he has\nmade in so far as it pleases him to do so; and the scholastics were\nright in their insistence upon what they called the \"obediential\" power\nof things--that is, their inherent capacity of becoming anything in\nthe hands of their Creator. Of course, too, it is often impossible to\nascertain in a given case whether God is using that _altum dominium_\nwhich he possesses as Creator, or, on the other hand, is merely\ndeveloping previously existing powers. Everything tends to persuade us\nthat all nature, and especially the human soul, is full of rudimental\npowers which may be developed, 1st, by the special, immediate action of\nthe Creator; 2d, by spiritual influences, good and bad; 3d, by certain\nabnormal conditions of the bodily organism. I conceive that these\nrudimental powers form a common natural basis for the great mass of\nboth divine and diabolic miracles, and that sometimes they may attain\nto a considerable degree of development without any special influence,\ndivine or diabolic. The existence of such a common basis would seem\nto be implied in the fact that the devil has been able to imitate\nsuccessfully and really, as in the case of Pharao's magicians, so many\nof the divine miracles; for we know that he can at most develop what\nalready exists, without having the least power to create what is not.\nWe cannot imagine that God would ever create where he might develop,\naccording to the scholastic principle which Sir William Hamilton has\ntranslated into the Law of Parsimony: _Deus non abundat in superfluis_.\nTo take a particular example, G\u00f6rres maintains that the ascetic and\nmystic process which the mind of the saint goes through by abstraction\nfrom earthly things, and the habit of celestial contemplation,\ndoes really co-operate in the phenomenon, so common in ecstasy, of\nlevitation. In which case, the saint would be rather aided by God,\nacting upon his body through his soul, to rise in the air, than,\nproperly speaking, lifted up by him. This levitation is common enough\nin the best authenticated cases of diabolical possession; and, if it\ndoes not occur in cases presumably natural, at least a wholly abnormal\nlightness and agility is not unfrequent in some of the movements of\nsomnambulism. We find an example of this in the following narrative,\ntaken from a rare treatise of the Benedictine Abbot Trithemius (s\u00e6c.\n15), entitled _Curiositas Regia_ (p. 29): \"Let any one who knows\nnothing of nature tell me if the specific gravity of the body can be\nlightened by the action of the mind. I, with two witnesses to back\nme, will relate what I myself experienced when a boy at school. One\nnight, we were four of us sleeping in one bed; my companion rose from\nbeside me, as asleep as ever he was, the moon in its fifteenth night\nshining in upon us, and wandered all over the house as though he were\nawake, with his eyes shut. He climbed the walls more nimbly than a\nsquirrel. He a second and a third time clambered up on the bed, and\ntrampled upon all of us with his feet; but we felt no more of his\nweight than if he had been a little mouse. Wherever his sleeping body\ncame, at once all the fastenings of the doors fell back of their own\naccord. With exceeding swiftness, he got to the top of the house, and,\nsparrow-fashion, clave to the roof. I am telling what I saw, not what I\nheard in idle talk. This would seem to be the part, not of a body, but\nof a spirit which freely uses its native power, so to speak, when the\ncorporal senses are bound, and it wanders outside the mansion of the\nbody.... We do not suppose that this will appear wonderful to the wise,\nwho have a true conception of the power and nobility of the human mind,\nwhich in some respects is accounted the equal of the angels, being only\nseparated from them by the interposition of the body.\"\n\nAfter speaking of the miracles wrought, first by the invocation of\nfaith, second by sanctity, which commands the ministration of angels,\nthird by the assistance of demons through explicit or implicit compact,\nhe continues: \"Some persons add to these three ways a fourth, saying\nthat the mind or spirit of the man himself can naturally work its\nmiracles, provided only it knows how to withdraw itself from the\naccidental, in upon itself, above the exercise of the senses, into\nunity. Those who can compass this undertake to work marvels, to\npredict the future, to lay open the secrets of men's hearts, to dispel\ndiseases, and suddenly to change men's counsels.\" Trithemius is willing\nto admit that some such power exists, whilst denying that it can attain\nto any perfect exercise without some external assistance from good or\nevil spirits. He gives the same account with G\u00f6rres of the ecstatic\n_volatus_, viz., that the power of God co-operates with the energy of\nthe saint's soul.\n\nWilliam of Auvergne, Bishop of Paris, in the beginning of the XIIIth\ncentury, recognizes the reality of several of the phenomena of\nspiritualism, and indicates a natural basis. Thus, speaking of the\nmirrors upon which magicians make their patients look, he says that no\nimages are seen in the glass, but that what takes place is \"a bending\nback of the mind's edge upon itself--of his mind, I say, who looks\nupon such an instrument; for its brightness forbids the mind's vision\nexteriorating and directing itself, and flings it back and reflects\nit in such sort that it cannot but look into itself.\"[63] Within the\nmind, he says, all sorts of wonders may be read, for therein abides the\nlight \"to which our souls in respect to their noble powers are most\nclosely united; and one of the wisest Christians saith that 'this light\nis the Creator ever blessed,' meaning by these words that betwixt our\nminds and the interior light, which is God, there is no intermediary,\naccording to the prophet's word, which, addressing the Creator, saith,\n'The light of thy countenance is sealed upon us, O Lord'; that is,\nthy lightsome countenance, which is naught else but thyself.\" Whilst\nacknowledging that this light is \"sealed,\" and that its rays do but\nbreak out like lightning flashes in a dark night, and confessing that\nhe has long been cured of that error of his youth, the notion that the\npurification and abstraction necessary for such inward vision could\nbe profitably achieved without the \"grace of the Creator,\" he yet\nmaintains that this light is, up to a certain point, communicated\naccording to a natural law, analogous, it would seem, to that of the\ninfusion of life. He considers that a melancholy temperament favors\nthis abstraction, and insists that melancholy madmen, in virtue of\ntheir abstraction, do receive true irradiations of this divine light,\nalthough indefinitely fragmentary (_particulatas et obtruncatas_),\n\"wherefore _naturally_ they begin to discourse like prophets of divine\nthings, yet continue not to talk so, save for a little while, but\nlapse into words of accustomed folly.\" He attributes this relapse to\ntheir shattered condition and the excess of the melancholy fumes which\noverpower them.\n\nWhatever may be thought of the theory, few can have seen much of\nmad persons without noticing the noble fragments with which their\ndisjointed talk is not unfrequently interspersed. The present writer\nhas often heard one of the persons concerned relate the following story\nof a madman's prophecy:\n\nThe narrator, with two lady friends, had just been received from\nAnglicanism into the Catholic Church in Italy, and they were\nanxiously looking forward to the new phase of life awaiting them in\nEngland. They were all three going over a lunatic asylum at Palermo,\nwhen suddenly one of the inmates strode up to them, and with great\nsolemnity, touching each of them in turn, said to one of the ladies,\n\"_Il Paradiso_\"; to the other, \"_La Madalena_\"; and to the gentleman,\n\"_Molto, molto d'Argento_.\" Of the two ladies, the first died a holy\ndeath on the threshold of her Catholic life, whilst the other entered\nan order devoted to the reformation of fallen women. The third part\nonly remains unfulfilled, and may possibly mark the relapse into our\nauthor's _desipientia consueta_.\n\nWilliam of Auvergne extends these natural divine irradiations even to\nthe minds of animals, for which he entertains a most unscholastic-like\nrespect: \"Yea, this light (splendor) is given to dogs to hunt out the\nmost secret thieves; ... for the dog perceives not the thief himself,\nand the sense of smell represents him not; for a thief, as such, has no\nodor.\"\n\nTrithemius and William of Auvergne may be regarded as authors who lay\nan exceptional stress upon the natural basis of the supernatural. The\nformer indicates the possibility of the alteration of the specific\ngravity of the body by the action of the soul within it; the latter\nsuggests a system of natural revelation akin, it would seem, to what\none meets with in the mesmeric or somnambulistic trance.\n\nThe somnambulistic and mesmeric states would seem to be substantially\nidentical, although the latter involves a relation of subjection to\nthe will of another which is not necessary, though possible, at least\nin some degree, to the former. Somnambulism very frequently produces\nthe phenomenon of the exaltation of the natural powers; for instance,\nwhen in a somnambulistic state, the singer sings more sweetly, the\ndancer dances more gracefully, than in their normal condition. The same\nexaltation of natural power has been stated sometimes to take place in\nderanged persons, as Lamb indicates was the case with himself, in his\nletter to Coleridge: \"Dream not, Coleridge, of having tasted all the\ngrandeur and wildness of fancy till you have gone mad. All seems to me\nnow vapid, comparatively so.\" I remember being told by an intelligent\nperson very fond of singing, who was subject to occasional fits of\nderangement, that, when mad, his voice gained in compass a good octave;\neven if this proves to be nothing but a lunatic's delusion, it is\nsufficiently curious that somnambulism should effect in reality what\nmadness vainly imagines.\n\nFrom time to time, somnambulism seems to open a door in the soul to a\nsource of natural revelation, such as William of Auvergne speaks of.\nThe following authentic instance is particularly noteworthy, because\nthe possibility of expectation, having produced, as it often does, what\nwas expected, is precluded. At a school at Thorp Arch, in Yorkshire,\nat the beginning of the present century, a boy was known to be a\nsomnambulist. One night, the usher saw him rise from his bed and wander\ndown-stairs into the school-room. He followed, and saw the boy go to\nhis desk, take out his slate, and write. On looking over his shoulder,\nhe read: \"On such a day of such a month next I shall die.\" The boy\nalmost directly after went up to bed, and the usher took the slate to\nthe head-master. They agreed to say nothing about it, and another slate\nwas substituted. The boy went on with his routine life, apparently\nquite unconscious that anything was impending; and, indeed, it is on\nall hands admitted that somnambulists in their waking state recollect\nnothing of their somnambulism. When the day came, the boy died.\n\nSister Anne Catherine Emerich (1774-1824), an ecstatica of Westphalia,\nhas expressed herself with considerable precision on the subject of\nmesmerism. Whilst earnestly warning people against its use as to the\nlast degree dangerous, she admits that the phenomena are objective, and\nthat the power brought into action is _substantially_ natural. What\nshe says is so remarkable that I shall not hesitate to quote at some\nlength.[64]\n\n  \"My impression in regard to it [mesmerism] was always one of\n  horror, and this sprang less from the thing itself than from the\n  enormous danger to which I saw such as practised it almost always\n  fall a prey.\n\n  \"The practice of magnetism borders on that of magic; in the\n  former, indeed, there is no invocation of the devil, but he comes\n  of himself. Whoever gives himself up to it plucks from nature\n  something that cannot be lawfully won except in the church of\n  Jesus Christ, and which cannot keep its power of healing, and\n  sanctifying, except in her bosom. Nature, for all such as are not\n  in active union with Jesus Christ by true faith and sanctifying\n  grace, is full of satanic influences. Magnetic subjects see nothing\n  in its essence and in its relation of dependence upon God; they\n  see everything in a state of isolation and separation, as if they\n  were looking through a hole or crack. They see one ray of things;\n  and would to God this ray were pure--that is to say, holy! It is in\n  God's mercy that he has veiled and separated us from one another;\n  that he has raised a wall between us. Since we are all full of\n  sin, and exercise influence one upon the other, it is well that\n  we should be obliged to interpose some preamble before seducing\n  one another and reciprocating the contagious influence of the evil\n  spirit. But in Jesus Christ, God himself made man is given us as\n  our head, in union with whom we can, when purified and sanctified,\n  become one--one body--without bringing into this union our sins and\n  evil inclinations. Whoever would bring to an end in any other way\n  this separation which God has established is uniting himself, after\n  a most dangerous fashion, to fallen nature, in which he reigns with\n  all his allurements who drew it to its fall.\n\n  \"I see that magnetism is essentially true; but in that veiled light\n  there crouches a thief who has broken his chain. All union amongst\n  sinners is dangerous, interpenetration more especially so. But when\n  this befalls a soul that is altogether cloudless; when a state, the\n  condition of whose clairvoyance is its simplicity and directness,\n  falls a prey to artifice and intrigue, then _one of the faculties\n  of man before his fall--a faculty which is not quite dead_--is in a\n  certain manner revived, to leave him more unarmed, more mystified,\n  and exposed internally to the assaults of the demon. This state\n  is real--it exists; but it is covered with a veil, because it is a\n  spring poisoned for all except the saints.\n\n  \"I feel that the state of these persons follows a course in certain\n  respects parallel to mine, but moving in an opposite direction,\n  coming from elsewhere, and having other consequences. The sin of\n  a man with only the faculty of ordinary vision is an act wrought\n  by the senses or in their forum. The inward light is not thereby\n  darkened, but speaks in the conscience, and urges from within, like\n  a judge, to sensible acts of repentance and penance. It leads us\n  to those remedies which the church administers under a sensible\n  form--the sacraments. Then the sensitive part is the sinner, and\n  the inward light the accuser.\n\n  \"But in the magnetic state, when the senses are dead, when the\n  inward light receives and yields impressions, then that which\n  is holiest in a man, the interior watcher, is exposed to deadly\n  influences, to contagious infection of the evil spirit, such as the\n  soul in the state of ordinary wakefulness can have no consciousness\n  of, owing to the senses, subject as these are to the laws of time\n  and space. At the same time, it cannot free itself of its sins by\n  the purifying remedies of the church. I see, indeed, that a soul\n  altogether pure and reconciled with God, even in the state in which\n  the whole interior life is open, may chance not to be wounded by\n  the devil. But I see that if she has previously consented to the\n  least temptation, as very easily happens, especially to those of\n  the female sex, Satan is free to play his game in the interior\n  of the soul, which he always manages in a way to dazzle her with\n  the semblance of sanctity. The visions become lies, and, if she\n  perchance discover some way of healing the mortal body, she pays a\n  costly price for it in the secret defilement of an immortal soul.\"\n\nWith regard to another kindred phenomenon, viz., the projection of the\nthinking soul in a visible envelope, there is a remarkable passage in\nS. Augustine (_De Civ. Dei_, lib. xviii. 18). He is speaking of a story\nhe heard when in Italy of men being turned into asses by enchantment,\nand made to carry burdens:\n\n  \"To say nothing of the soul, I do not believe that a man's body\n  could any how by demons-craft be turned into bestial limbs and\n  lineaments; but the fantastic part of man's nature (which, in the\n  processes of thinking and dreaming, is countlessly specificated,\n  and which, though itself no body, yet with wondrous swiftness, when\n  the man's bodily senses are holden in sleep or bondage, adapts to\n  itself the images of bodies) may be presented in some I know not\n  what ineffable way, under a bodily form, to the senses of others,\n  the while their bodies be elsewhere alive, indeed, but with their\n  senses much more heavily and mightily bound than in sleep. And\n  that fantastic part appears to the eyes of others, as it were,\n  incorporated in the likeness of another creature; and such the man\n  seems to himself to be, and to carry burdens. While burdens, if\n  they be real bodies and not fantastic, the demons carry to deceive\n  spectators, who see on the one hand the burdens, which are real; on\n  the other the beasts, which are mere appearances.\"\n\nThe phenomenon described, or rather suggested, by the saint is\nsubstantially identical with that of the wraith, or apparition of the\nspirit of a living person, when the soul is supposed to be projected\nin a visible envelope under the influence of some strong emotion, the\nbonds uniting soul and body being indefinitely stretched, without\nbeing broken. Fanciful as this sounds, the apparition of the wraith is\nperhaps the best authenticated of all ghost phenomena.\n\nPlutarch (_De Gen. Soc._ p. 266) would seem to indicate the same\nphenomenon. The Neoplatonic interlocutor, having distinguished the\nintelligence (\u03bd\u03bf\u1fe6\u03c2) from the soul (\u03c8\u03c5\u03c7\u03ae), inasmuch as the former is not\nproperly the body at all, except by reflection, as light in a mirror,\nbut floats above the man's head, bound to the incorporated soul and\nyielding light for its conduct, says, in respect to the case of one\nHermodorus, whose soul was supposed periodically to leave his body:\n\"But this is not true, for his soul did not go forth from his body,\nbut, slackening and loosing the reins to the intelligence (the \u03b4\u03b1\u03af\u03bc\u03c9\u03bd,\nas the wise call it, regarding it as something external), allowed it\ncircumgyration and circum-frequentation (\u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u03b9\u03b4\u03c1\u03bf\u03bc\u1f74\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u03b9\u03c6\u03af\u03c4\u03b7\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd),\nand, when it had seen or heard anything, to bear in the tidings.\"\n\nCatholic theologians, although commonly denying that the soul can\nbe separated from the body in natural or diabolical ecstasy, admit\ngenerally that, in the case of the divine _raptus_, this separation, or\nrather projection--for death is supposed not to ensue--may take place;\nalthough many of them--amongst others Benedict XIV. (_De Beatif._, lib.\niii. cap. 49)--deny that, in fact, such separation ever does occur.\nOn this question, Cardinal Bona (_De Discret. Spir._, cap. 14) says:\n\"Whether the soul, in the higher or more vehement rapt, sometimes\nleaves the body, or can leave it, is a doubtful and difficult question;\nfor the apostle, caught up into the third heaven, professed that he\nknew not whether this was in the body or out of the body; and what so\ngreat a man did not know it is not for us to define. 'For who,' saith\nAugustine, most learnedly disputing of the rapt of Paul, 'would dare to\nsay he knew what the apostle said he did not know?' The same ignorance\npossessed S. Teresa's mind; for, describing the effects of rapture in\n_The Castle of the Soul_, mans. 6 c. 5, she says: 'Whether in the body\nor out of the body these things take place, I cannot tell: I certainly\ndare not affirm on my oath either that the soul is then in the body,\nor that the body can, in the meanwhile, live without the soul.' Then,\nmaking use of some similitude to explain the matter, she ends by saying\nshe knows not what to say. But S. Catherine of Sienna, herself a divine\npatient (_Epist. xii. ad P. Raym._), does not hesitate to affirm for\ncertain that her soul sometimes left her body and tasted the sweets\nof immortality; which occasional separation of the soul and body it\nis manifest could take place, not by the powers of nature, but by the\nomnipotence of God.\" I would suggest that separation or projection\nwould seem to admit of degrees, some of which may be possible to other\npowers short of omnipotence.\n\nTo this phenomenon of projection I should be inclined to reduce the\nmajority, if not all, the cases of replication or bilocation recorded\nin the lives of the saints. Benedict XIV. (_De Beatif._, lib. iv. pars.\ni. cap. 32), when discussing the apparitions of living saints, is\ncareful to explain that he is not pretending to entertain the question\nof the possibility of \"one and the same body of a living man being at\nthe same time in two places, which philosophers call replication.\"\nBoth S. Thomas and S. Bonaventure insist upon the intrinsic\nimpossibility of the presence of a body \"extensive\"--_i.e._ clothed\nin its dimensions--at the same time in more than one place. That\nthis is so, De Lugo, whilst advocating against Vasquez the contrary\nopinion, intrepidly admits. We may add that the fact of trilocation\nbeing unheard of is, so far, an argument against the possibility of\nreplication; for once admit that replication is possible, and there is\nno reason for limiting to duality of presence.\n\nIt would seem to be essential to the phenomenon of projection that\nthe body remain in a trance during the process. When simultaneous\nintelligent activity has been proved, the hypothesis is shown to be\ninsufficient. The best authenticated cases, however, of so-called\nbilocation seem to me to fail precisely in this proof of simultaneity.\nTake, for instance, the wonderful miracles of this kind related of\nS. Alphonso Liguori, such as his preaching in the church and hearing\nconfessions in the house at the same time; the possibility either of\nhis having passed, with miraculous rapidity of course, from the one\nplace to the other, or, again, of the projection of his soul, does not\nseem to me to have been fairly disproved.\n\nSetting aside the hypothesis of replication, the apparitions of saints\nsimultaneously existing elsewhere need not be the result of projection,\nas it is quite conceivable that they may be represented by their\nangels. This seems to be suggested by S. Augustine (_De Cura Gerenda\npro Mortuis_, cap. 10). Such representation would cover simultaneous\nactivity should this be proved. For the perfection of the phenomenon\nof projection, we require the patient's own testimony that he and no\nother has been consciously acting in some place where his body was not,\nand, in default of witnesses, some proof that he has been there. For\nobvious reasons, such self-testimony is very rare in the lives of the\nsaints. The most remarkable I have met with is the following from the\n_Life of S. Alphonso Liguori_ (vol. iii. p. 417, Orat. Series). It is\nunfortunately defective in there having been no witnesses at the term\nof projection:\n\n  \"In the morning of the 21st of September, 1774, after Alphonso\n  had ended Mass, contrary to custom, he threw himself into his\n  arm-chair; he was cast down and silent, he made no movement of any\n  sort, never articulated a word, and said nothing to any one. He\n  remained in this state all that day and all the following night;\n  and, during all this time, he took no nourishment, and did not\n  attempt to undress. The servants, on seeing the state he was in,\n  did not know what was going to happen, and remained up and at his\n  room door, but no one dared to enter it.\n\n  \"On the morning of the 22d, he had not changed his position; and\n  no one knew what to think about it. The fact was that he was in a\n  prolonged ecstasy. However, when the day became further advanced,\n  he rang the bell to announce that he intended to celebrate Mass.\n  This signal was not only answered by Brother Francis Anthony,\n  according to custom, but all the people in the house hurried to him\n  with eagerness. On seeing so many people, his lordship asked what\n  was the matter, with an air of surprise. 'What is the matter?' they\n  replied. 'You have neither spoken nor eaten anything for two days,\n  and you ceased to give any signs of life.' 'That is true,' replied\n  Alphonso; 'but you do not know that I have been with the Pope, who\n  has just died.'... Ere long, the tidings of the death of the Pope\n  Clement were received; he passed to a better life on the 22d of\n  September, at seven o'clock in the morning, at the very moment when\n  Alphonso came to himself.\"\n\nTo all appearances, precisely the same phenomenon is to be found both\nin the diabolical and the natural order. Innumerable instances are\nrecorded of diabolical projection. Here is one quoted by G\u00f6rres from\nSenert (_De Morbis Occultis_): \"A woman, accused of being a were-wolf,\nanointed her body in the presence of the magistrate, who promised her\nher life if she would give him a specimen of her art. Immediately after\nthe anointing, she fell on the ground, and slept profoundly. She awoke\nthree hours after, and, on being asked where she had been, answered\nthat she had been changed into a wolf, and had torn to pieces a sheep\nand a cow close to a little village, which she named, and which was\nsituated a few miles off. They sent to this village, and, on inquiry,\nfound that the mischief she claimed to have perpetrated was a reality.\"\n\nThe following narrative of presumably natural projection is\ncharacterized by G\u00f6rres (_Mystik_, tom. iii. p. 267, French Trans.) as\n\"very noteworthy and perfectly authentic\":\n\n  \"Mary, the wife of John Goffe, of Rochester, was attacked by a\n  lingering illness, and was removed ten miles from her home to\n  her father's house at West Malling, at which place she died June\n  4, 1691. On the eve of her death, she was possessed with a great\n  longing to see her children, whom she had left at home with their\n  nurse. She besought her husband to hire a horse, that she might\n  go to Rochester and die with her children. They pointed out to\n  her that she was not in a condition to leave her bed and mount on\n  horseback. She insisted that anyhow she would make the attempt. 'If\n  I cannot sit upright,' said she, 'I will lie down on the horse; for\n  I must see my dear little ones.' The clergyman visited her about\n  ten o'clock at night. She seemed perfectly resigned to die, and\n  full of confidence in the divine mercy. 'All that troubles me,'\n  said she, 'is that I am not to see my children any more.' Between\n  one and two in the morning, she had a kind of ecstasy. According to\n  the statement of Widow Turner, who was watching beside her during\n  the night, her eyes were open and fixed, and her mouth shut. The\n  nurse put her hand to her mouth and nostrils, and felt no breath;\n  she therefore supposed that the sick woman had fainted, and,\n  indeed, was not clear whether she was alive or dead. When she came\n  to herself, she told her mother that she had been to Rochester, and\n  had seen her children. 'Impossible,' replied the mother; 'you have\n  never for a moment left your bed.' 'For all that,' rejoined the\n  other, 'I went to-night and saw my children during my sleep.' The\n  Widow Alexander, the children's nurse, declared on her side that,\n  a little before two o'clock in the morning, she saw Mary Goffe\n  come out of the room next to hers, where one of the children was\n  sleeping by itself, with the door open between them, and enter her\n  room; and that she remained about a quarter of an hour close to the\n  bed where she was lying with the youngest child. Her eyes moved and\n  her lips looked as if they were speaking; but she said nothing. The\n  nurse professed herself willing to affirm on oath in the presence\n  of the authorities all that she had said, and to take the sacrament\n  upon it. She added that she was perfectly awake, and that the dawn\n  was beginning to break, as it was one of the shortest nights of the\n  year. She sat up in bed, and watched the apparition attentively.\n  She heard the clock on the bridge strike two. After a few moments\n  had passed, she said, 'In the name of the Father, and the Son,\n  and the Holy Ghost, who are you?' At these words, the apparition\n  vanished.\"\n\nHere is another example from Mr. Varley's evidence (_Report on\nSpiritualism_):\n\n  \"My sister-in-law had heart disease. Mrs. Varley and I went into\n  the country to see her, as we feared, for the last time. I had a\n  nightmare, and could not move a muscle. While in this state, I\n  saw the spirit of my sister-in-law in the room. I knew that she\n  was confined to her bed-room. She said, 'If you do not move, you\n  will die,' but I could not move; and she said, 'If you submit\n  yourself to me, I will frighten you, and you will then be able\n  to move.' At first I objected, wishing to ascertain more about\n  her spirit-presence. When at last I consented, my heart had\n  ceased beating. I think at first her efforts to terrify me did\n  not succeed; but when she suddenly exclaimed, 'O Cromwell! I am\n  dying,' that frightened me exceedingly, and threw me out of the\n  torpid state, and I awoke in the ordinary way. My shouting had\n  aroused Mrs. Varley; we examined the door, and it was still locked\n  and bolted, and I told my wife what had happened, having noted the\n  hour--3:45 A.M.--and cautioned her not to mention the matter to\n  anybody, and to hear what was her sister's version, if she alluded\n  to the subject. In the morning, she told us that she had passed a\n  dreadful night, that she had been in our room, and greatly troubled\n  on my account; and that I had been nearly dying. It was between\n  half-past three and four when she saw I was in danger. She only\n  succeeded in rousing me by exclaiming, 'O Cromwell! I am dying.' I\n  appeared to her to be in a state which otherwise would have ended\n  fatally.\"\n\nIn considering the psychic-force hypothesis, I have been anxious to do\njustice to every slightest indication of such abnormal power in the\nspeculations and experiences of Catholic writers. For this reason, I\nhave spoken of projection, although I am not aware that any attempt\nhas been made by the advocates of psychic force so to explain it.\nWhilst reiterating my belief that the mind has many mysterious powers\ncapable of being brought into active operation by various influences,\nand that these are, in all probability, operative in several of the\nphenomena of spiritualism; granting, moreover, that it is hardly\npossible to define precisely the extent of the soul's co-operation in\nthe production of these phenomena, I contend, notwithstanding, that the\npsychic-force hypothesis is the result of a non-natural and inadequate\nanalysis of the phenomena of spiritualism. For, 1st, in the form in\nwhich it has been presented, it is indubitably obnoxious to the charge\nof being an expedient to escape a recognition of spiritual influence,\nwhich recognition, in a XIXth-century man of science, would be so very\nunsportsmanlike, to say the least of it. 2d. It wholly ignores the\nsense of personal dualism in spiritual experience, to which the history\nof spiritualism in all ages bears consistent witness. As the idealist\nwould convince us that there is no external world distinct from the\nphenomena of sensation, so the advocate of psychic force would persuade\nspiritualists that they have been merely conversing with their own\nshadows, as with real beings who could hear and answer their questions,\nand have attributed to these, as independent agents, feats which they\nwere themselves performing. 3d. So far as we have any indication of a\nthaumaturgic element in the mind, it manifests itself in the supreme\nefforts of the imagination, kindled by emotion, and abstracted and\nconcentrated by expectation; whereas, in the mass of spiritualistic\nexperiences, imagination in those concerned seems distinctly to fall\nshort of its highest stages.\n\nThe third hypothesis remains for consideration; but, in order to do it\njustice, I shall have to enter at some length into the church notion\nof magic and direct diabolical interference; and this will form the\nsubject of my second chapter.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[49] Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by Rev. I.\nT. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington,\nD. C.\n\n[50] _Scientific Scraps._\n\n[51] _Hist. of Rat._, chap. i.\n\n[52] Pref. to _From Matter to Spirit_.\n\n[53] Lib. iv. dist. 34, art. 2.\n\n[54] Dr. Tuke, _Influence of the Mind upon the Body_, p. 355.\n\n[55] _Biog. Brit., Baconthorp._\n\n[56] Haureau, _La Philosophie Scholastique_, tome ii. cap. 29.\n\n[57] _The Immortality of the Soul_, op. p. 212.\n\n[58] _Biog. Brit._\n\n[59] _Influence of the Mind upon the Body_, p. 260.\n\n[60] _Ibid._, p. 428.\n\n[61] _Influence of the Mind upon the Body_, p. 82.\n\n[62] S. Max. Taur., _Hom._ xvi.\n\n[63] _De Universo_, pars iii. cap. 18, 20.\n\n[64] _Vie_, par Schmoeger, tome i., p. 484 _et seq._\n\n\n\n\nTHE SON OF GOD, ARCHETYPAL BEAUTY.\n\n\nMy heart's voice is to thee, my Lord and Eternal King, Christ Jesus.\nThe work of Thy hand dares to address Thee with loving boldness, for\nit yearns after Thy beauty, and longs to hear Thy voice. O Thou, my\nheart's desired One, how long must I bear Thy absence! How long must\nI sigh after Thee, and my eyes drop tears? O Lord, all love, all\nloveable, where dwellest Thou? Where is the place of Thy rest, where\nThou reposest all joyful among Thy favorite ones, and satisfiest them\nwith the revelations of Thy glory? How happy, how bright, how holy, how\nardently to be longed for, is that place of perennial joys! My eye has\nnever reached far enough, nor my heart soared high enough, to know the\nmultitude of the sweetnesses which Thou hast stored up in it for Thy\nchildren. And yet I am supported by their fragrance, though I am far\naway from them. The breath of Thy sweetness comes to me from afar--a\nsweetness which to me exceeds the odour of balsam, and the breath of\nfrankincense and myrrh, and every kind of sweet smell.--_S. Anselm._\n\n\n\n\nDANTE'S PURGATORIO.\n\nCANTO ELEVENTH.\n\n  In the Ninth Canto Virgil declares to Dante: _Tu sei omai al\n  Purgatorio giunto_-\"Thou hast arrived at Purgatory now!\" and it\n  is not until the next Canto that the gate of Purgatory proper is\n  unfolded to the poet. The first nine Cantos being preliminary, are\n  by Italian critics called the Ante-Purgatorio.\n\n  In the first cornice of the true Purgatory, \"_La, dove 'l\n  Purgatorio ha dritto inizio_,\" Dante meets a procession of spirits\n  crouching under great burdens of stone, in expiation of their sin\n  of pride. As this Tenth Canto, however, is mostly occupied with an\n  elaborate description of certain sculptures around the cornice,\n  illustrative of the same deadly sin, and might be less interesting\n  to the readers of THE CATHOLIC WORLD, we proceed to the Eleventh,\n  where we are introduced to the spirits of Omberto Aldobrandeschi,\n  Oderisi the illuminator, and Provenzan Salvani, lord of Sienna. In\n  Omberto the pride of birth is especially reproved; and in Salvani\n  the pride of place, the arrogance of power. The sin of Oderisi is\n  of the \u00e6sthetic order common to a period of larger culture. Himself\n  an artist, whose fault was pride of art, he inveighs against the\n  vanity of painters and of poets, and the emptiness of a present\n  reputation.\n\n\nPRAYER OF THE PROUD SPIRITS--A PARAPHRASE OF THE LORD'S PRAYER.\n\n    \"O thou, our Father, dwelling there in heaven!\n      Not circumscribed, save by the larger love\n    Which to thy love's first offspring must be given,\n      Who from the first have dwelt with thee above!\n    By every creature hallowed be thy name\n      And praised thy goodness, as for man was meant\n    To render thanks to thy benignant flame:\n      May to our souls thy kingdom's peace be lent,\n    For of ourselves we could not come thereto\n      With all our intellect, unless 'twere sent:\n    And even as of their will thine Angels do\n      (Chanting Hosanna) sacrifice to thee,\n    So to Thy Will may men their own subdue:\n      Our daily manna give to us this day,\n    Without which help, through this rough wilderness,\n      Who strives to go falls backward on his way.\n    And even as we forbear us to redress\n      The wrong from others which we have to brook\n    Pardon thou us, benignant One! and less\n      On our deserving than our weakness look:\n    Try not our virtue, ever prone to yield,\n      'Gainst the old enemy who spurs it so;\n    Deliver us from him and be our shield:\n      This last petition, dearest Lord! we know\n    We have no need of;--but for them we plead\n      Who after us amid temptation go.\"\n    Thus praying for themselves and us God-speed,\n      Those weary shadows, underneath a load\n    Like that we sometimes dream that we endure,\n      Toiled in unequal anguish[65] o'er the road\n    Round the first cornice, all becoming pure\n      From the world's tarnish. O if alway there\n    For us they say such gracious words! for them\n      What might be here performed in act or prayer\n    By souls whose will is a sound-rooted stem:\n      Well might we help them wash whatever stain\n    They bore from _this_ world, that sublimed and fair\n      They to the starry circles might attain.\n\nVIRGIL.\n\n    \"Ah so may pity soon, and justice spare\n      You souls this load, that you may move the wing\n    That lifts you upward to celestial air!\n      Show us which way most speedily may bring\n    Us towards the ascent. If more than one there be,\n      Point us that pass the least precipitous;\n    Since he who comes and fain would climb with me\n      Through flesh of Adam is encumbered thus.\"\n    Who made their answer to these words which he\n      Whom I was following unto them addrest\n    Was not discernible, but this was said:\n\nOMBERTO.\n\n    \"To the right hand, along the bank, 'tis best\n      You come with us. This way to living tread\n    The pass is possible that you request:\n      And were I not impeded by the stone\n    Which my proud neck so masters with its weight,\n      That I perforce must hold my visage down,\n    This man who liveth, and who doth not state\n      What name he bears, I would look up to see\n    If I do know, and make compassionate\n      His heart for this huge load that bendeth me.\n    William Aldobrandeschi was the name\n      Of a great Tuscan; I was born his son,\n    Of Latin race: whether his title came\n      To your ears ever, knowledge have I none.\n    Mine ancestors, their ancient blood, and what\n      They wrought by prowess, rendered me so high\n    In arrogance, that never taking thought\n      About our common Mother, all men I\n    So scorned, that as the Siennese all know,\n      I to my death at last was brought thereby,\n    And every child in Campagnatico\n      Knows how I there did perish for my sin.\n    I am Omberto, and not me alone\n      Hath pride done damage to, but all my kin\n    Hath it dragged hither with myself to groan,\n      And I who living never bowed my head,\n    Till God be satisfied, and mercy shown,\n      Must bear this burden here among the dead.\"\n\n    Listening I held my visage down intent,\n      And one of them, but not the same that spoke,\n    Writhing looked up, beneath his burden bent,\n      And recognized, and called me; still his look\n    With strained eyes fixing upon me who went\n      All bowed beside them. \"O!\" exclaimed I then,\n    \"Art thou not Oderisi, Gubbio's pride,\n      And honor also of that art which men\n    In Paris name _illuming_?\" He replied:\n\nODERISI.\n\n    \"Brother! those leaves with hues more smiling shine\n      Touched by the pencil of the Bolognese\n    Franco, whose whole fame was but partly mine.\n      Haply in life such courteous words as these\n    I had not spoken, so my heart was set\n      All others to excel. For such poor pride\n    Here I must pay the penalty; nor yet\n      Should I be here, but that before I died\n    I turned to God, still having power to sin.\n      O thou vain-glory of man's boasted powers!\n    How little while thy summit keeps its green,\n      Unless gross ages come that yield no flowers!\n    Once Cimabu\u00e8 thought to keep the crown\n      In painting's field; now all cry Giotto best,\n    So that the former hath but dim renown:\n      Thus could one Guido from the other wrest\n    The glory of language, and perchance is born\n      He that shall drive out either from his nest.\n    Naught is the world's voice but a breath of morn\n      Coming this way and that, and changing name\n    Even as it shifteth side: what more shalt thou,\n      If old thou cast thy flesh, enjoy of fame\n    Than if death's hand had touched thy baby brow\n      Whilst thou wert babbling, ere a thousand years\n    Have past? which unto God's eternity\n      A space more insignificant appears\n    Than would the twinkle of an eyelid be\n      To the least rapid of the heavenly spheres.\n    Yon soul before me, moving on so slow,\n      Once through all Tuscany was noised for great,\n    Now scarce Sienna breathes his name, although\n      He was her sovereign, when the infuriate\n    Spirit of Florence met such overthrow;\n      For she, now vile, swelled then in proud estate.\n    Men's reputation is the fleeting hue\n      Of grass, that comes and goes! even that whereby\n    Fresh from the soil its tender verdure grew,\n      The sun, discolors it and leaveth dry.\"\n\nANTE.\n\n      And I: \"Thy truthful words teach me to seek\n    Goodness in humbleness, and quell my pride.\n      But who is he of whom thou just didst speak?\"\n\nODERISI.\n\n    \"That's Provenzan Salvani,\" he replied;\n      \"And he goes here because he so presumed\n    In bringing all Sienna 'neath his sway:\n      Thus ever since he died hath he been doomed,\n    Without repose, to walk his weary way.\n      _Who dares too much there in such coin pays back._\"\n\nDANTE.\n\n    I then: \"If every soul who doth delay\n      Repentance till the limit of life's track,\n    Must wait below, nor be up here received\n      Unless good prayers assist him on his road,\n    Before as much time pass as he hath lived,\n      How comes this largess upon him bestowed?\"\n\nODERISI.\n\n    The spirit replied: \"When he was living still\n      In the full glory of his most high state,\n    All shame subduing, of his own free will\n      Amid Sienna's public square he sate,\n    And there his friend to ransom from the pain,\n      Which Charles had doomed him, of his dungeon's grate,\n    Did that which made him tremble in each vein.[66]\n      I say no more and know I darkly teach\n    But in short while thy neighbors unto thee\n      Will so conduct that thou mayst gloss my speech:\n    Him from those confines did this act set free.\"\n\n\nNOTE.\n\n  In the translation of Canto VII., published in the April No. of\n  THE CATHOLIC WORLD, I proposed a new rendering of the 74th verse,\n  namely,\n\n            _India's rich wood, heaven's lucid blue serene_,\n\n  for\n\n                    _Indico legno, lucido e sereno_,\n\n  which line I would then have read,\n\n                     _Indico legno, lucido sereno_,\n\n  without the conjunction. I had not found this reading in any\n  edition which fell to my hands, and it was merely a suggestion of\n  my own to make intelligible what seemed to be unsatisfactory to the\n  sense.\n\n  In a late No. (June 14) of the London _Athen\u00e6um_, Dr. H. C. Barlow,\n  a very learned Dantean, confirms my reading by one of the older\n  texts in his library, and also adds that, \"in the edition of the\n  _Divina Commedia_ by Paola Costa, we find the reading recently\n  adopted by Mr. Parsons ... which the editor says is an emendation\n  of Biondi, who has defended it with much learned reasoning.\"\n\n  Nevertheless, Dr. Barlow does not accept this amendment; but\n  believes, with Monti, that Dante meant to compare the rich and\n  varied hues of a flower-bed to something like charcoal; to wood,\n  clear and dry; for instance, _ebony_; and he quotes from Monti this\n  word: \"What can be darker than the night? yet when free from clouds\n  we call it _serene_.\" The answer whereto is that when the night is\n  free from clouds, and starry, or serene, it is _not_ dark, and many\n  objects in nature are blacker than such a night.\n\n  I cannot feel quite so sure of my reading as Dr. Barlow appears to\n  be of his own interpretation, but I have some confidence that Dante\n  did not mean _ebony_, for the obvious reason that _ebony_ is not\n  a brilliant color such as Dante was describing; and the statement\n  which Dr. Barlow takes such pains to prove, namely, that painters\n  often introduce black for the sake of contrast, does not apply at\n  all to a verbal description--\"_segnius per aurem_,\" etc.\n\n  I am after all inclined to think that the true reading of this\n  much-disputed verse may be\n\n                    _Indico legno, e lucido sereno_,\n\n  but my mind is not made up entirely, and one object of publishing\n  these Cantos in a periodical is that my version, before it is\n  completed, may have the advantage of critical suggestions, and\n  perhaps elucidation, in doubtful passages, from the learning and\n  ingenuity of such Italian scholars in England as Mr. Haselfoot, Dr.\n  Barlow, and Sir Frederic Pollock.\n\n                                                             TRANSLATOR.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[65] That is, under loads of divers weight proportioned to their degree\nof sin.\n\n[66] That is to say he begged: in which act of terrible humiliation to\nso haughty a spirit Dante is recalling his own bitter experience.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FARM OF MUICERON.\n\n\n                            BY MARIE RHEIL.\n\n                  FROM THE REVUE DU MONDE CATHOLIQUE.\n\n\nI.\n\nWhat I am going to relate to you is a true story in every respect,\nseeing that I had it from my late father--in his lifetime the\nharness-maker of our hamlet of Val-Saint, and who was never known to\ntell a falsehood: may God have mercy on his soul!\n\nIn the village of Ordonniers, which was the next one to us, and in our\ncommune, where flows _la Range_, lived a farmer named Louis Ragaud. The\nmaiden name of his wife was Pierrette Aubry; but after her marriage,\naccording to our custom, she was called by every one La Ragaude.\n\nThey were rich, and no one was jealous of them, as it was known that\nthey had commenced with nothing, having been simply servants in the\nemploy of M. le Marquis de Val-Saint. Little by little they had risen,\nwithout having injured any one, always kind to the poor, never miserly\nor boasting; so that, when at the end of twenty years they found they\nhad saved enough to buy the beautiful farm of Muiceron, which they had\npreviously rented, all the neighbors said: \"Behold the true justice of\nthe good God!\"\n\nThey had been married a long time, and had no children. Now, wealth\nis a great deal, but not enough for perfect contentment of heart. The\ngood man Ragaud had fields and meadows that yielded rich crops, strong\noxen, and even vines that bore well--though it must be acknowledged\nthat the wines of our province were not very renowned. As for the farm\nbuildings, except those of the ch\u00e2teau, there were scarcely any in a\ncircle of six leagues which were as well kept; and nevertheless, Ragaud\nsighed when looking around him--no child, alas! and no family, with the\nexception of a cousin, who left for the army more than thirty years\nbefore, and had never been heard of since; so that, very naturally, he\ncould not be counted upon.\n\nLa Ragaude sighed still more. She was good and very devout, but unable\nto bear sorrow; and this was so severe, so constant, it had ended by\ndestroying all her happiness. Often, when looking at the neighbors'\nchildren playing before the doors, she felt her heart throb with pain,\nand would hasten to seek refuge in her own house, where she could give\nfree vent to her tears. As this happened more than once, and as she\nalways reappeared with red eyes, it had been much remarked, and sundry\ncomments made. Not that there is much time to be lost in the fields,\nbut a reflection here and there scarcely retards work. There are even\nthose who say that the tongue assists the arm, and that gossipping\nhelps push the plough. It is woman's tattle, I believe; but a good\nnumber of men here and elsewhere have the habit of repeating it, and I\ndo likewise, without inquiring further.\n\nThe gossips of the neighborhood--above all, those who had larger\nfamilies than incomes--were determined to find out the true cause of\nPierrette Ragaud's tears; and, as often happens, preferred seeking for\nwicked reasons rather than stop their babbling.\n\n\"It is a thing I cannot understand,\" said one, \"why the mistress of\nMuiceron is so unhappy that she weeps constantly--a woman who is so\nwell off. We must believe that things at the farm are not so well as\nthey appear. Perhaps it is her husband who makes all the trouble!\"\n\n\"Her husband! Magdaleine Pi\u00e9dau?\" replied another; \"you must be well\nput to that you imagine such a thing. Master Ragaud is the first\nworkman in the country; and, as for his using bad words, that he has\nnever done, any more to his wife than to others.\"\n\n\"Bah! what you say is true,\" replied Magdaleine Pi\u00e9dau; \"but all the\nsame, neighbor, Ragaud can fly into a rage as well as any other man.\nI saw and heard him, day before yesterday, beside himself with anger\nagainst one of his yoke of oxen. You know Capitaine, the big black\none? Ah! my dear, I pitied the poor beast--he beat him well! without\ncounting that he swore so that you would not have known him. Bah! don't\ntalk to me!\"\n\n\"Ah! that may be, but I speak of people. Now, an ox is not a person!\"\n\n\"There you are right, thank God! Men are often rough to beasts, and\nvery polite to Christians; but, in my opinion, we must be gentle and\npatient to both. A beast that works well deserves to be well treated,\nand Ragaud had no right to beat his ox. I don't say he would treat his\nwife so; but, at least, we must allow that Pierrette Ragaud does not\nalways look as if her life were a holiday. Ah! she has trouble, that is\nvery sure, poor creature!\"\n\n\"And the reason?\"\n\n\"The reason! Go and ask her, Magdaleine, if you are so curious.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't dare; for, after all, it don't concern me very much. What I\nhave said was only in the way of friendly gossip.\"\n\n\"In that case, we can speak of other things; for I don't know any more\nabout it than you. We will leave it for God to clear up. Go and catch\nyour boy, who will fall into the pond, Magdaleine Pi\u00e9dau, and lend me\nyour sickle, that I may cut some grass for my cows.... But to think\nthat Ragaud ill-treats his wife--no, no; that is out of the question.\nAfter that, where may we hope to find a good man? One don't know....\"\n\n\"No, neighbor, one never knows how it is with them. You speak like a\npriest, my good woman. The deceased Pi\u00e9dau, my man, that every one\nbelieved so good, ...\"\n\n\"Good-evening, Magdaleine.\"\n\n\"Was a drunkard and big eater. I concealed it for ten years, and wept\nalone like the mistress of Muiceron.\"\n\n\"Good-evening, neighbor.\"\n\n\nII.\n\nOne summer day, when La Ragaude was washing her earthen pans in the\nsun, she saw the _cur\u00e9_ of Ordonniers advancing through the path in the\nwoods. He was a worthy priest, beloved by all, and well deserving of\nit on account of his great charity. I have heard it said that, in the\nyears when bread was so dear, he gave away his last measure of wheat,\nand then, having no more for himself, was obliged to go to the miller,\nPierre Cotentin, and ask for some flour on credit.\n\n\"It is not my custom,\" said he gaily, \"and you are not bound to oblige\nme; but the times are hard, and you must never refuse to give alms,\neven to your _cur\u00e9_.\"\n\nThe miller filled the bag willingly; and as for the money, although he\nwas very fond of it, he would never hear the word mentioned.\n\nSaid he, \"M. le Cur\u00e9 has an empty purse. We must not ask him where the\nlast cent went, poor dear man! Pierre Cotentin can well feed him--it is\njustice! Who will have the heart to be jealous?\"\n\nAnd in fact, the _cur\u00e9_ was so respected that not a boy, no matter how\nbad he was, ever failed to take off his cap when passing him.\n\nWhen La Ragaude saw the black cassock coming towards Muiceron, she\nquickly arranged her pans, and threw aside her working-apron; for she\nwas a careful woman and thorough housekeeper.\n\n\"Good-morning, M. le Cur\u00e9; how are you?\" she asked joyfully.\n\n\"Very warm, very warm,\" replied the _cur\u00e9_; \"otherwise, well.\"\n\n\"My dear monsieur, why did you not wait until the cool of the evening\nto do us the honor of visiting us? It is roasting in the road. I\nthought just now I would send a servant to replace my husband in the\nfields. A storm is rising, the flies bite, Ragaud is not as strong as\nhe was at twenty, and I am afraid of the beasts--they are difficult to\ncontrol when they become impatient.\"\n\n\"Ah! your husband is absent?\"\n\n\"Have you something to say to him, monsieur?\"\n\n\"To him and to you also, my good woman.\"\n\n\"Come in and refresh yourself,\" said she.\n\nM. le Cur\u00e9 entered, and took a seat near the table. He appeared\npreoccupied, and answered like a man who did not hear what was said\nto him. He even placed his cane against the bread-box, and his hat on\ntop--something which he had never done before, as the slightest motion\nmight have sent them to the floor. When he put his hand in his pocket\nfor his breviary, he found he had forgotten it, which embarrassed him\nnot a little; as, it must be said, no man was more exact and particular\nthan he in words as well as in actions.\n\nLa Ragaude, not being a fool by nature, quietly replaced the cane and\nhat in a safe place, but was, in her turn, very much astonished to see\nthe _cur\u00e9_ so absent, as it was the first time it had ever happened;\nand from that concluded he must have something in his head of great\nimportance. What could it be?\n\nWhile busying herself around the room, without showing it, Pierrette\nRagaud had distractions also. She drew new wine for cider, and washed\na glass which had not been used. But that I do not believe she would\nhave perceived then or afterwards; for she was so accustomed to scrub\neverything you could have used the side walls of the stable for a\nmirror.\n\nM. le Cur\u00e9 tasted the wine through civility, but, as he said nothing,\nshe began to feel rather impatient. Women are curious. My deceased\nfather was accustomed to say, from that came all the evil from the\ncommencement of the world. It is true the dear man was rather in his\ndotage towards the end; but it is also true that I have heard others\nsay the same thing.\n\nPierrette at last commenced to question the _cur\u00e9_ very respectfully\nand gently; for, in truth, she could no longer restrain herself.\n\n\"Although the master is out, M. le Cur\u00e9,\" said she, \"will you not\ntell me what I can do to serve you?--without pressing to know, you\nunderstand, monsieur.\"\n\nM. le Cur\u00e9 raised his eyes, and replied as gravely as though he were\npreaching a sermon:\n\n\"I have come to know, in the name of the good God, Mme. Ragaud, if you\nare disposed to act charitably.\"\n\n\"Oh! if it is to aid those who are suffering and in need, my husband\nand I will be most happy to assist you,\" frankly cried La Ragaude, who\nspoke with her whole heart and soul. \"Thank God! there is yet money in\nthe drawer. Tell me how much you want, monsieur.\"\n\nThe good _cur\u00e9_ shook his head, laughing, and repeated two or three\ntimes, \"Good, good,\" which was a sign that he was pleased.\n\n\"You are always ready to give money to the poor, I know,\" said he; \"but\nto-day that is not the question. I have come to ask you for something\nof greater importance.\"\n\n\"More so than money! Heaven of our Lord!\" said Pierrette, slightly\namazed. \"I do not know, M. le Cur\u00e9, how, then, I can oblige you.\"\n\nShe said that, although she had a generous heart; but money with us is\nalways the great affair. In the fields, as in the city, the poor man\nwho eats his bread while working knows that the francs are not picked\nup under the horses' feet.\n\n\"Money,\" replied M. le Cur\u00e9, \"when the soul is wanting in charity,\nis given, and there it ends; but what I have come to ask of you is a\ngood work which will not end for a long while, and which will need\ngood-will, and great patience especially, on your part.\"\n\n\"I can guess what it is,\" said Pierrette.\n\n\"Indeed!\" replied the _cur\u00e9_. \"Well, that spares me the difficulty of\nexplaining myself. Let us hear, Mme. Ragaud, what you have guessed.\"\n\n\"I have heard it said you were very much worried about your surplices\nand altar-linens, since Catharine Luguet left the country so\nshamefully, like a good-for-nothing girl, to seek her fortune in\nParis,\" said La Ragaude, blushing--for this Catharine was a distant\ncousin--\"and doubtless, M. le Cur\u00e9, you wish me to replace her, and\ntake charge of the sacristy.\"\n\n\"And if it were so, would you refuse me?\"\n\n\"Certainly not, monsieur. I would willingly do my best to please you.\nNot that I have as light a hand as Catharine for plaiting and folding;\nbut for washing and ironing, I can say, without boasting, I am the\nequal of any one.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said the _cur\u00e9_. \"I accept an offer made so willingly. But\nto speak truly, I have not come for that.\"\n\n\"Then,\" replied Pierrette, in astonishment, \"I cannot imagine what you\nwant me to do.\"\n\n\"This is it,\" said the _cur\u00e9_, taking a serious tone: \"This morning,\nPierrette, a bundle was left at my house....\"\n\n\"I bet,\" cried La Ragaude, \"it was the beautiful monstrance promised by\nM. le Marquis for Corpus Christi!\"\n\n\"No, it was a new-born infant, a beautiful boy, Mme. Ragaud; and,\nsince the good God has allowed you to remain childless, and that this\nprivation has greatly afflicted you, I immediately thought he destined\nthis child for you.\"\n\n\"Monsieur,\" replied Pierrette, with emotion, \"it is true that it is\nvery hard for me to be alone in the house, and to think that I will\ndie and leave no one after me to inherit Muiceron; but I prefer it to\nworking all my life for a child sprung, perhaps, from a wicked race.\"\n\n\"I know where it comes from,\" said the _cur\u00e9_; \"but still I can\ntell you nothing, as it is a secret of the confessional. But have\nconfidence in me; as for the race, it is not bad.\"\n\n\"It is the same thing. I don't believe in these foundlings.\"\n\n\"Say nothing further about it,\" replied the _cur\u00e9_ rather sadly; \"I\nwill send it to the hospital.\"\n\nAnd then, without appearing to feel either pique or bitterness, M.\nle Cur\u00e9 commenced to converse on other subjects, speaking of the\nnext harvest, the price of the new wine, and of the last fair, with\neven voice and kind looks, that showed plainly he did not wish his\nparishioner to think he was pained by her rather prompt refusal.\n\nThis kindness of a heart truly charitable had more effect on good\nPierrette than reproaches or scolding. She did her best to reply to the\n_cur\u00e9_, but her eyes were wet against her will, and soon she became\nso absent-minded the _cur\u00e9_ with difficulty repressed his mirth,\nseeing that he had gained ground by the ell, without seeming to do it\nintentionally.\n\n\"You see,\" said he, \"by often hearing the bells ring, one becomes a\nbell-ringer; and as I love all my parishioners, like a true pastor, I\ngo everywhere, inquiring and advising, so that I may be useful in case\nof need. In that way, Mme. Ragaud, without ever having driven a plough\nor taken care of cattle, God has given me the grace of being able to\nadvise on all rural subjects, as well as the first master-farmer in the\nneighborhood. Thus, I will say to you: 'When there are more pears than\napples, keep your wine, good man.' This is a country proverb hundreds\nof years old. Now, as this year there are more pears than they know\nwhat to do with, believe me, keep your vintage, and you will have news\nto tell me of it by next Easter.\"\n\n\"I do not know how Ragaud will decide,\" replied Pierrette; \"he is\nalways afraid when the cellar is full....\"\n\n\"The proverb never fails, my good woman; and that is easily understood\nwhen one reflects how and why proverbs have obtained credit.\"\n\n\"But, M. le Cur\u00e9,\" interrupted La Ragaude, \"if you knew where this poor\nabandoned child came from, it seems to me....\"\n\n\"What child?\" said the _cur\u00e9_, taking a pinch of snuff, so as to appear\nindifferent. \"Oh! yes, the little one of this morning. What, do you\nstill think of it? Bah! let it pass; after all, the hospital is not a\nplace where one dies from want of care.\"\n\n\"I know it; but it is sad, monsieur, very sad, for one of those little\ninnocents to say afterwards, 'I was in a hospital'; that always gives a\nbad idea.\"\n\n\"What can be done, Mme. Ragaud? One becomes accustomed to everything.\nCome, come, don't make yourself uneasy. We were saying, then, ... what\nwere we saying? Ah! I remember now. I was telling you that proverbs\nmust be believed, and for the reason that these little village-sayings\nare only repeated after they have been verified by the great and long\nexperience of our fathers. Thus, you will see that the last part of\nthe one I just quoted is equally curious: 'When there are more apples\nthan pears, then, good man, you can drink.' Well, wasn't it a fact last\nyear? There were so many apples that a jug of cider was only worth two\nfarthings; there was enough for everybody, and the wine was so abundant\nthat--you are not listening to me, Pierrette Ragaud?\"\n\n\"Excuse me, M. le Cur\u00e9, I am listening attentively; but I was thinking\nperhaps my husband would not return; and, nevertheless, he should have\na little talk with you.\"\n\n\"About the vintage? We have time enough until then for that,\" replied\nthe _cur\u00e9_ with a spice of malice.\n\n\"About the little innocent, dear monsieur. The truth is, I feel my\nheart ache when I think he will go to the hospital through my fault.\"\n\n\"And as for me, my good woman, I am sorry that I spoke to you about\nit; yes, sorry,\" he repeated earnestly, \"for I have worried you, and I\nhad no such intention when I came to visit you. I see now that you are\ninclined on the side of the good work; but I don't wish to force you\nto take it in hand. Here, now, if the hospital frightens you, I have\nthought of another arrangement, which might work well. My old Germaine,\nnotwithstanding her thirty years of service, is still active, and the\nwork in my house don't kill her. We will buy a good milking-goat at the\nAugust fair; until then, you will lend us one, and, God willing, the\nlittle one will remain where his good angel deposited him.\"\n\n\"May the Lord bless you!\" cried La Ragaude, the tears streaming from\nher eyes. \"But what a shame for us to let you burden yourself with such\na heavy load, when you already give more than you can afford! No, no,\nholy and good Virgin Mary! For my part, I would not sleep easy after\nsuch an act.\"\n\nThe good _cur\u00e9_ clasped his hands, and in his heart rendered thanks to\nall the saints in paradise. He was very much touched, and as he was\nabout to thank Pierrette as she deserved, Ragaud returned from the\nfields.\n\nThey cordially saluted each other; and, very naturally, as the good\nman saw his wife wiping her eyes, and the _cur\u00e9_ almost ready to\ndo likewise, he asked what had excited them. Thereupon M. le Cur\u00e9\ncommenced a long discourse, so gentle and so touching--he spoke of\ncharity, of the rewards of heaven, the happiness of generous hearts,\nwith words so beautifully turned that never in the parish church, on\nthe greatest festivals, had he preached better. Pierrette, as she\nafterwards said, thought she was listening to the holy patron saint of\nOrdonniers, who in his lifetime, it is related, spoke so well that the\nbirds stopped singing to listen to him. Ragaud remained silent, but he\nshook his head, and turned his cap around in his hands--signs of great\nemotion with him.\n\nMeanwhile, he said neither yes nor no, but asked time for reflection,\npromising to give his answer the next day before twelve o'clock. He was\nperfectly right, and M. le Cur\u00e9, who felt in the bottom of his heart\nthat the cause was gained, wished even to wait until Sunday; but Ragaud\ndid not like to take back his word.\n\n\"I said to-morrow, M. le Cur\u00e9, and it will be to-morrow,\" said he, when\nconducting his pastor to the threshold of the door.\n\n\"Dear, holy soul of the good God!\" cried Pierrette, looking after the\n_cur\u00e9_ as he leisurely walked down the road, repeating his rosary as he\nwent along. \"Good dear priest, that he is! We need many more like him,\nRagaud!\"\n\n\"Good, holy man, in truth,\" replied the farmer; \"but what he proposes\nto us is an affair of importance. You are young and healthy yet, wife,\nbut in ten years your arms will not be as strong as now. You must think\nof that, even if God keeps you in good health. A child is a comfort in\na house, but all the burden falls on the mother. Suppose this little\none should become refractory and vagabond, like Cotentin's son.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" said La Ragaude.\n\n\"Suppose he should get bad ideas in his head, and send religion and\nhonesty to the devil.\"\n\n\"That would be a great misfortune,\" again said La Ragaude, but this\ntime sighing.\n\n\"I know you,\" continued the good man--\"you become attached to every\none. Didn't you weep like a little girl because I beat Capitaine, who\nis only an ox, and who deserved it? And haven't I seen you half crazy\nbecause Brunette had the gripes?--and she was only a cow.... Can it be\nhoped that you would be more reasonable about a child who would become\nours?--for we must do the thing well or not at all; isn't it so?\"\n\n\"It is just as you say,\" replied Pierrette, sighing still louder; \"but\nwhat, then, shall we do?\"\n\n\"My opinion is that we must consider it well,\" answered Ragaud.\n\n\"You only consider the bad side,\" said La Ragaude gently; \"but suppose\nthe little one should preserve the blessing of his baptism, and let\nhimself be well governed--later, we would be very happy and well\nrewarded.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" said the farmer.\n\n\"If,\" continued La Ragaude, \"I am easily worried about animals, I know\nwell it would not be the same thing with a Christian. You see, husband,\nthe poor beasts suffer without being able to complain or explain\nthemselves; and, therefore, I am always afraid of their being treated\nunjustly. But a boy has his tongue, and can defend himself. We can talk\nsense to him, and if he won't listen, why, we will put him to school.\"\n\n\"Bah! you will spoil him so that he will be master of the house before\nhe is in breeches.\"\n\n\"Don't fear,\" cried Pierrette; \"that will never be, or I should think\nmyself wanting in gratitude to the good God.\"\n\n\"If I could be sure of that, my wife, I would attempt it. But, come;\nlet the night pass before deciding.\"\n\nThey did not mention it again until the next day; but Pierrette took\ncare, before retiring, to light a taper at her bedside, beneath a\nbeautiful picture of Our Lady of Liesse.\n\nEarly the next morning, she went, as usual, to feed her turkeys and\ndrive her cows to the meadow. On her return, she saw Ragaud dressing\nhimself in his Sunday clothes.\n\n\"I think, wife,\" said he, \"we had better, at least, see this little one\nbefore deciding.\"\n\nPierrette hastened to throw aside her apron; and then it appeared she\nhad expected such a decision, as at dawn she had dressed herself in\nher new gown of gray serge, with her bright-flowered neckerchief from\nRouen, which had only been worn at the last feast of the good S. Anne,\nin July.\n\nIt was thus the worthy couple proceeded on their way to the priest's\nhouse. As it was Thursday, and neither festival, nor fair, nor\nmarket-day in the village, the neighbors stared as they saw them pass,\nand, unable to imagine the cause, chattered nonsense, half from malice,\nhalf from spite; and Simonne Durand, well known for her viper tongue,\nsaid aloud: \"We must believe the Ragauds are going to obtain the\npriest's blessing on their fiftieth anniversary, as they are so finely\ndressed on a week-day.\"\n\nThis wicked jealousy went a little too far, and profited nothing to the\nspiteful thing, as every one knew the Ragauds had only been married\ntwenty years at the furthest; but, when the mind is full of malice,\nthere is little time for reflection.\n\nWhen the good friends arrived at the pastoral residence, M. le Cur\u00e9\nhad just entered after saying his Mass; and we need not ask if he had\nprayed well. Germaine, his old servant, held the baby in her lap, and\nwas feeding him with boiled goat's milk. Pierrette could not restrain\nher delight on seeing what a beautiful child it was, and that it was at\nleast six or seven months old. She snatched it from Germaine's arms,\nand commenced kissing it, not caring that she had interrupted his\nlittle repast. This showed that the child was good-natured; for instead\nof crying, as a sickly, cross baby would have done similarly situated,\nhe crowed with joy, and put out his little hands, dazzled with the\nfine, flowered neckerchief of his new mamma.\n\n\"How pretty and healthy he is!\" cried La Ragaude. \"My dear M. le Cur\u00e9,\nyou told me it was a new-born child.\"\n\n\"Did I say so, Pierrette? It was because I did not know much about it.\"\n\n\"So it seems,\" replied the good woman, gaily. \"The little darling is at\nleast seven or eight months old; don't you think so, Germaine?\"\n\n\"I know one a year old not so large as he,\" answered the old servant.\n\"But that is not all, Mme. Ragaud; you see him in the day-time, but it\nis at night that he is good and amusing. He sleeps without stirring,\nlike a little corpse. For my part, I would not be afraid to bring him\nup.\"\n\nRagaud had not yet said a word, and still upon him all depended.\n\n\"Come and talk a little while with M. le Cur\u00e9,\" said he, pulling his\nwife by the skirt.\n\nPierrette quickly rose to obey him, according to her good habit, but\nshe did not give up the young one; so that Ragaud gently reproved her\nfor again showing herself as ready to become attached to men as to\nbeasts.\n\nWe need not be sorcerers to divine what happened. In less than\na quarter of an hour, the contract of adoption was passed\nsatisfactorily, without notary or scribbling. It was signed with a\nfriendly shake of the hands; and to say which one of these good hearts\nwas the best satisfied would not be very easy.\n\n\nIII.\n\nNow, without further delay, I am going to show you, as they say,\nthe under-card in relation to the little one. True, it was a secret\nof the confessional, at least for the time being; but later, it was\neverybody's secret. The story is simple, and will not be long. You\nremember that our _cur\u00e9_, in conversation with Pierrette, led her\nto mention a certain Catharine Luguet, against whom the good woman\nappeared very much incensed. This Catharine was an orphan, whose\nparents, dying, left her when quite young without any means of support.\nGermaine watched over her like a daughter, and M. le Cur\u00e9, to keep her\nnear him, paid her apprenticeship to a seamstress; after which, having\ngrown up, and being very skilful with her needle, he placed her in a\nlittle room near the church, and gave her charge of the sacristy. But,\nunfortunately, the poor child was as pretty as a picture, and loved\ncompliments, dress, and dancing, which is a great danger for a young\ngirl, especially in a village. Catharine commenced by degrees to make\npeople talk about her, and not without cause. The Ragauds, who were\ndistantly related to her on the mother's side, at first reprimanded\nher, and finally would not see her. The girl was quick-tempered,\nresented the treatment, and one fine day went off, saying that she\ncould easily find in Paris people who would be happy to receive her.\n\nTwo years passed without news of her. Her name was no longer mentioned\nin the village, and from that M. le Cur\u00e9 surmised some misfortune had\nhappened. He prayed for the poor girl, and unceasingly begged the good\nGod to mercifully receive her through his grace, if not during her\nlife, at least at the hour of death. His prayer was heard at a moment\nwhen he scarcely expected it. One morning, when Germaine had left the\nvillage at day-dawn to make some purchases in the city, she took it\ninto her head to pay a visit to one of her good friends, who was a Gray\nSister in a large hospital. They talked about the patients; and the\nsister, very much affected, spoke of a young woman she had received the\nweek before, and who appeared very near her end.\n\n\"I have put her by herself,\" said she, \"and I will confide to you,\nGermaine, that this poor afflicted creature has a child; and, between\nourselves, I very much believe she is dying as much of shame as of\nwant.\"\n\nGermaine wished to see her; but, at the first look, the sick woman\nuttered a loud cry, and hid her head under the counterpane.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" said Germaine. \"I frighten her.\"\n\n\"We have awakened her,\" replied the good sister, \"and she is nervous. I\nshould have entered alone.\"\n\nBut the poor girl sobbed without showing her face. At last the sister\ncalmed her. Germaine, on her side, spoke kindly, and finally she drew\ndown the covering. You can imagine the rest.\n\nIt was Catharine Luguet, but how changed! She, formerly so pretty, so\nbright, and so laughing--and now her mother herself would scarcely have\nrecognized her. The innocent little being that slept in a cradle by her\nside told all her story. What she had found in Paris, what had brought\nher back to the country, there to die, were dishonor, misery, and an\norphan without a name--but also sincere and true repentance; and the\ngood God, who has certainly received her in paradise, struck the blow,\nthat she might be saved.\n\nWho was astonished, and at heart happy, in spite of his sorrow, which\ncan be well understood? It was our _cur\u00e9_. Holy man that he was, he\nwas happier to have his lost sheep brought back to him, even although\nhalf dead, than not to have found her at all. The next day, he hastened\nto Issoudun, and remained the greater part of the afternoon with poor\nCatharine.\n\nIssoudun was the nearest large city to our village, and, if I have\nforgotten to tell you so, I beg you will excuse me.\n\nAlthough my father gave me some slight details of the unfortunate\ngirl's story, I will not relate them; for many long years she has\nreposed in consecrated ground, and, as the dear, good man wisely said,\n\"The sins which have received the pardon of God should be hidden by\nman;\" and this is true charity.\n\nIt is only necessary to say that this first visit of our _cur\u00e9_ was\nfollowed by many others. Catharine declined visibly, and her little\none, from whom she would not be separated, was a great worry to her.\nThe sisters took care of him, and fed him to the best of their ability\nduring the day, but they could not attend to him at night. He was\nbeautiful and healthy, and grew like a weed--which was a miracle,\nconsidering the state of the mother--but his first teeth commenced to\nappear, and rendered him restless and troublesome. One morning, when\nM. le Cur\u00e9 and Germaine went together to the hospital, they found poor\nCatharine so ill they feared she would not pass the day.\n\n\"My daughter,\" said Germaine to her, \"be reasonable; let me have your\nchild. I will take great care of him.\"\n\n\"As you please,\" replied Catharine.\n\nHe was instantly carried away; and, that no one should penetrate the\nsecret, a confidential woman, employed in the hospital, came in the\nnight-time, and left him at the priest's house in the village. That\nsame night, poor Catharine became speechless, but was conscious until\nthe moment of her death, which soon happened, and never was there seen\na more peaceful and touching agony. The sisters saw with admiration\nthat after death she regained her beauty, and her face its youthful\nlook of twenty years.\n\n\"She is smiling with the angels,\" said the pious souls, and it was not\nto be doubted; for the angels receive with as great joy the repentant\nas the innocent.\n\nThe little one was baptized and registered under the name of his poor\nmother. Our _cur\u00e9_ easily procured all the necessary acts; but for the\nfamily name, the dear innocent had none to bear, at least for a long\ntime. He was called Jean-Louis; about the rest, there was silence. As\nto the secret of his birth, although confided in confession, Catharine,\nbefore dying, said to the _cur\u00e9_:\n\n\"You will tell all, my father, if it is necessary, later, for the\nfuture of my child.\"\n\nAnd you will see in the end that it was a wise speech.\n\nBetween ourselves, this holy, good man of a _cur\u00e9_, who was gentle and\nmerciful, as much from a sense of duty as by inclination of heart,\nhad always blamed the Ragauds for their rigorous severity against the\npoor departed. Says the proverb, \"In trying to do too much, one often\nfails to do well.\" Perhaps it would have been better to have patiently\nborne with the poor inexperienced girl than to have driven her from\nthe protection of her only relatives on account of malicious gossip.\nBut Ragaud did not understand jesting; he was, as the saying runs,\nas stiff as a poker, and, as soon as the wicked tongues commenced to\nwag about her, he said, \"There is no smoke without fire,\" and closed\nhis mind to all explanations, and his door to the girl. Thus had they\nacted towards Catharine, without thinking that then she was only giddy\nand coquettish--faults which might have been cured as long as the soul\nwas not spoiled. The treatment was too harsh; it caused the flight to\nParis, which took place in a moment of anger and spite, and all the\nmisfortunes that followed. In strict justice, the Ragauds should in a\nmeasure make reparation for an action done with good intentions, but\nwhich had ended so badly. Our _cur\u00e9_ foresaw that sooner or later they\nwould be sorry for it; therefore, in burdening them with the child,\nhe acted shrewdly, but also with great fairness. I certainly will not\nblame him, nor you either, I think.\n\n\nIV.\n\nFrom the day that poor Catharine's child was installed in the house\nof her relatives, there was a change in Muiceron. Pierrette no longer\nwept, and, far from being grieved, as formerly, at the sight of other\nchildren, she willingly drew them around her. On Saturdays, when\nshe baked her bread for the week, she never failed to make a large\ncrumpet of wheaten flour, beaten up with eggs, and a bowl of curds and\nfresh cream, for the sole purpose of regaling the young ones of the\nneighborhood. We need not inquire if, on these evenings, the house\nwas full. The children were well satisfied, and their mammas also; for\nSaturday's supper remained whole for Sunday, and, in the meantime, the\nlittle rascals went to bed gayer than usual, thanks to a glass of white\nwine that watered the crumpet and filled the measure of joy in all\nthose little heads.\n\nIt was also remarked that Ragaud's jests were more frequent at the\nmeetings of the church wardens of the parish on the appointed days\nafter Vespers. Sometimes he even went off in the morning to his work\nsinging the airs of the country-dances, which was a sure proof that his\nheart was at peace; for, by nature, he was a man more serious than gay,\nand as for singing, that was something quite out of his usual habit.\n\nThese good people thus already received a holy reward for their\ngenerous conduct. According to the old adage, \"Contentment is better\nthan wealth\"; and now they, who had so long possessed riches without\ncontentment, had the happiness of enjoying both. Quite contrary to many\nChristians, who imagine that the good God owes them everything, the\nRagauds every evening thanked Heaven for this increase of wealth. Now,\nif gratitude is pleasing to men, it is easy to believe that it draws\ndown blessings from on high; and from day to day this could be clearly\nseen at Muiceron.\n\nLittle Jean-Louis grew wonderfully, and gave good Pierrette neither\ntrouble nor care. At his age, children only cry from hunger, and as he,\nwell fed and well cared for, had nothing to complain of, it followed\nthat he grew up scarcely ever shedding a tear.\n\nWhen he was one year old, it seemed that the good boiled goat's milk\nwas no longer to his taste, as he put on a discontented look when he\nsaw the smoking bowl. Ragaud, one evening, for a joke, put his glass to\nthe boy's lips, and, far from turning his head, he came forward boldly,\nand drank the cider like a man. This highly delighted Master Ragaud,\nwho wished to try if a piece of dry pork, in the shape of a rattle,\nwould please him as well; but to that Pierrette objected, maintaining\nthat a root of marsh-mallow was a hundred times better, particularly as\nthe little fellow was getting his double teeth.\n\n\"You wish to bring him up like a woman,\" said Ragaud, shrugging his\nshoulders; but, nevertheless, he let the mistress have her own way.\n\nThere were no other disputes about him until he had attained his\nthird year, for then his excellent health, which had caused so much\nhappiness, was nothing in comparison with the good instincts which\ncommenced to develop. He was lively and gentle, chattered away\ndelightfully, and was always so obedient and tender, that to pay him\nfor his good behavior, the Ragauds nearly killed him with kindness. In\nregard to his appearance, I will tell you that in height he surpassed\nmost children of his age, his hair was black and curly, his eyes dark\nalso and very bright. With all this, he was not very handsome, as,\ngrowing so fast, he had kept very thin; but Pierrette said wisely, he\nwould have time to grow fat, and since he ate, drank, and slept when he\nwas tired, there was nothing to fear.\n\nOne thing will astonish you, that neither of the Ragauds perceived\nfor an instant that the child was the living image of poor Catharine\nLuguet; and still the likeness was so striking, M. le Cur\u00e9 spoke of it\nincessantly to Germaine, and expected on every visit to Muiceron to\nbe embarrassed by some remark on the subject. But whether the good\npeople had really forgotten their relative, or did not wish by even\npronouncing her name to recall a sorrowful remembrance, certain it is\nthat nothing in their words or actions, which were perfectly frank and\nsimple, betrayed in the slightest degree that they ever thought of it.\n\nAbout that time, Pierrette commenced to be more uneasy, as Master\nJean-Louis often escaped on the side of the stables, and delighted in\nracing up and down the bank, bordered with tall grass, of the stream\nthat ran behind the bleaching-ground of Muiceron. With such a bold boy,\nwho would not listen to any warning, an accident very often happens;\ntherefore, the good woman placed around his neck a medal of S. Sylvain,\nin addition to that of the Blessed Virgin Mary, which he had worn ever\nsince his arrival at the farm.\n\nS. Sylvain is a patron saint venerated in our province, who won\nheaven in leading the life of a peasant like us. Pierrette had a\ngreat devotion for him, and said that the saints above remember with\ntenderness those of their own former condition on earth; consequently,\nno one in the good God's heaven could better protect a child daily\nexposed to the accidents of rural life. One day especially, when he\nwished to be very active in helping his mother Pierrette by putting\nlittle pieces of dry wood in the fire, while she was soaking the\nclothes in lye, a plank of the big tub gave way all at once, and the\nboiling water floated around the room, and only stopped within half a\nfoot of the child, who might have been drowned and scalded, in less\ntime than it takes to say it. Pierrette for two entire days was so\novercome she could speak of nothing else.\n\nIn the same manner, once, when Ragaud carried the little fellow with\nhim to the fields, he amused him by placing him on one of the oxen; but\nthe animal, tormented by the flies, shook his head so roughly that his\nrider, about as high as your boot, was thrown on the ground; but before\nany one could run to assist him he was already standing, red, not with\nfear, but with anger, and quickly revenged himself on the beast by\nstriking him with a willow-wand that he used for a whip, and which he\nhad not let go in his fall. Ragaud was terribly frightened at the time,\nbut afterwards proudly related the adventure, and said to his neighbors\nthat his son, Jean Louis, would be as brave a man as General Hoche, the\nhero of the war of La Vend\u00e9e, and who, according to the old men of the\nneighborhood, never in his lifetime feared either man or beast.\n\nAs for the resemblance to General Hoche, Pierrette cared precious\nlittle, not being the least warlike by nature. Truth to say, I\nscarcely believe she knew precisely who was this very great personage,\nnotwithstanding his immense renown in the province; therefore, she\nsimply contented herself with having a Mass of thanksgiving said in S.\nSylvain's Chapel, thinking that his protection was worth more than all\nthe vanities of this world.\n\nThe great love of this good household for the little orphan increased\nday by day. Pierrette and her husband accustomed themselves to call him\n\"My son\" so often and so sincerely that I do believe they really ended\nby fancying it was so. The neighbors could do no less than they; so\nthat every where and by every one he was called the Ragauds' son--so\ntrue it is that custom often takes away reflection.\n\nFrom that grew the idea that this little mite would one day be the big\nman of the neighborhood; and those who thought they were making a wise\ndiscovery, in supposing it would be thus, fell into the intentions\nof the Ragauds, as surely as the brook flows into the river; for at\nthis same time, one autumn evening, when the fire burnt brightly on\nthe hearth, Ragaud, seated at table opposite his good wife, commenced\nall at once to compliment her talent for housekeeping, praising\neverything around him, from the walls and window-panes, glistening with\ncleanliness, to the chests and benches, newly waxed once a month. He\ntook pleasure in recalling his great happiness during the past twenty\nyears, attributing all his blessings, after God, to the account of\nPierrette's virtues; and as, like the thread in a needle, Jean Louis\nwas sitting between them, eating his soup, he seized him in his arms,\nand tossed him up three times nearly to the rafters.\n\n\"You see, my son,\" said he, re-seating himself, and still keeping the\nboy on his knees, \"you drew a good number in the lottery; for although\nyou came to us like the down off the thistle, you have, nevertheless,\na mother such as cannot be found in a hundred leagues; and as for your\nfather, my brave fellow, he will leave you enough crowns to make you as\nrespected in life as though you were a prefect.\"\n\n\"Happily,\" replied the wise Pierrette, \"the little one is not old\nenough to understand what you are talking about; for this, my dear\nhusband, is a very improper speech for the child's ears. We would fill\nhim with vanity, and not only does pride offend the good God, but it\nrenders a man very disagreeable to those around him.\"\n\n\"You are always right,\" replied Ragaud, without taking offence; \"but a\ngood fire, a good wife, money honestly earned, and new cider--nothing\nlike these for untying the tongue and making it a little too long.\nCome, go to bed, my Jeannet, kiss your parents, and say your prayers\nwell; to-morrow we will go to gather the thatch in the fields near\nOrdonniers, and if you only bring me as much as will fill your apron,\nyou shall have two cents on Sunday to buy a gingerbread.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Pierrette, laughing, \"that will be a fortune which\nwill not make him too vain.\"\n\nA little while afterwards, when they were alone, the conversation\nwas recommenced, but they proceeded regularly about the business,\nand, finally, debated the question as to how the will should be\ndrawn, according to law, so as to leave Muiceron to the child. The\ndifficulty was that Ragaud knew very little about writing in any\nshape, and Pierrette nothing at all. They talked away, without making\nany progress, far into the night, and at last acknowledged they would\nhave to finish where they should have begun, namely, by going next day\nto consult Master Perdreau, the notary of Val-Saint, on the subject.\nThereupon, they went off well pleased to sleep in their big bed,\nwith the canopy of yellow serge; and as the next morning the work of\nthe thatching pressed, on account of the rains which were about to\ncommence, Ragaud postponed his trip to another day.\n\nNow, the good God, who has his own designs, permitted that it should\nbe entirely otherwise from what these good people had intended, and in\na manner so astonishing that no one, no matter how wise, could have\nforeseen it; for La Ragaude, who had nearly completed her forty-second\nyear, became the following year the mother of a beautiful little girl,\nwho was most fondly welcomed by the delighted parents.\n\n                            TO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n\n\nPHILOSOPHICAL TERMINOLOGY.[67]\n\n\nII.\n\n  TO THE EDITOR OF THE CATHOLIC WORLD:\n\nIn the letter which I ventured to address to you a short time ago\nconcerning the general conditions required in a good English work of\nphilosophy, I made some observations on the importance and difficulty\nof wielding the popular language in a strictly philosophical manner.\nAs I apprehend that the title of \"Philosophical Terminology,\" under\nwhich that letter was made to appear, is scarcely justified by its\nvery limited contents, I beg leave to add a few other considerations\non the same subject, that your intelligent readers may find in these\nadditional remarks a confirmation and a further development of what I\nsaid about our need of a more copious philosophical language.\n\nThere are two words which cannot easily be dispensed with in the\nmetaphysical analysis of created beings; these two words are, in Latin,\n_actus_ and _potentia_. Metaphysicians, in fact, conclusively prove\nthat in every created substance there are two essential principles:\na principle of activity, which is known under the name of _actus_,\nand a principle of passivity, which is styled _potentia_. These two\nterms, which are so necessary in metaphysics, and so familiar to all\nthe scholastic philosophers, might be fairly represented in English\nby \"act\" and \"potency\"; though as yet neither \"act\" nor \"potency\" is\npopularly used in this philosophical sense.\n\nThe word \"act\" with us primarily signifies that which is produced\nby action; for all action is the production, or the position, or\nthe making of an act. But all action implies an agent--that is, a\nbeing which is already \"in act,\" with its actual power prepared for\naction. On the other hand, nothing is formally \"in act,\" but through\nan intrinsic \"act,\" which is the formal principle of its actuality.\nAccordingly, the word \"act,\" though primarily known to us as expressing\nthe product of action, must, by metaphysical necessity, be applied also\nto that from which every agent and every being has its actuality.\n\nHence, philosophers found it necessary to admit two kinds of\n\"acts\"--the _essential_ and the _accidental_. The essential is that\nwhich gives the first actuality, or existence, to a being--_dat esse\nsimpliciter_. The accidental is that which is received in a subject\nalready existing, and which only gives it an accidental actuality or a\nmode of being--_dat esse secundum quid_.\n\nBut the essential act (which is also called _substantial_, though it\nhas a more extensive meaning, as we shall see hereafter) is, moreover,\nto be distinguished from actual existence. Metaphysicians, indeed, very\noften speak of existence as an act; and hence, to avoid confusion and\nequivocation, they are obliged to distinguish the _actus essenti\u00e6_ from\nthe _actus existenti\u00e6_. Yet, to speak properly, existence is not simply\nan act; it is the actuality of the being;[68] and, consequently, the\ndistinction which must be admitted between the essential act and the\nexistence of a being is not strictly a distinction between two acts,\nbut between the _act_ which actuates the essential term of the being,\nand the _actual state_ which results from such an actuation. I will say\nmore on this point when I have explained the use of the word \"potency.\"\n\nThe English word \"potency\" is the equivalent of the Latin _potentia_.\nThis Latin word, although used most frequently in the sense of \"passive\nprinciple,\" is not, however, necessarily connected with passivity\nmore than with activity; and accordingly it has been used as well\nto designate \"active power.\" Hence, it is obvious that this term,\n_potentia_, when employed absolutely without the epithet _activa_ or\n_passiva_, is liable to two interpretations, and becomes a source\nof mischievous equivocations. I do not see what prevented our old\nLatin philosophers from designating the two kinds of _potentia_ by\ntwo different words. Had they constantly used _virtus_ or _vis_ for\nthe _potentia activa_, and reserved _potentia_ exclusively for the\n_potentia passiva_, they would not have mistaken the one for the other,\nas they sometimes did. Let me quote a few examples of this for our\ncommon instruction.\n\nSanseverino, a very learned man, and one of the best modern\nscholastics, while arguing against the Scotists, who deny all real\ndistinction between the soul and its faculties, says that if the soul\nand its faculties are really the same thing, then, \"as the soul is\nalways in act, the faculties also must be always in act and never in\npotency.\" Whence he infers that \"the soul would have no potentiality,\nand would therefore be a _purus actus_ like God\"; which is, of course,\na pantheistic absurdity.[69] But evidently this inference has no\nother foundation than the confusion of the _potentia activa_ with the\n_potentia passiva_. The author, in fact, knows perfectly well that\nno being in which there is _potentia passiva_ can be styled _purus\nactus_: when, therefore, he draws the conclusion that the soul, in the\nScotistic theory, would be _purus actus_, he must be understood to mean\nor imply that all _potentia passiva_ would be excluded from the soul.\nYet his premises are concerned with the _potentia activa_ only; and it\nis quite evident, that from such premises he could not have passed to\nsuch a conclusion had he not confounded the two kinds of _potentia_\nwith one another.\n\nI would remark, also, that in his argument the expression, \"The\nfaculties must be always in act,\" cannot mean that the faculties must\nbe always _acting_, but only that they are always _actual_, as the\nsoul itself; and, therefore, the author cannot reasonably conclude\nthat the faculties \"would never be in potency\" respecting their\nproper acts. The _potentia activa_ is already an \"act,\" as it is\nknown, since it is called _actus primus agendi_; and is not called\n_potentia_, except as contrasted with its accidental operations.\nMoreover, a faculty does not cease to be _potentia activa_, even when\nit actually performs its operations. When I actually make a syllogism,\nmy faculty of reasoning is \"in act,\" and yet it retains its _potentia\nactiva_ with regard to any number of other syllogisms. It is not true,\ntherefore, that a faculty which is in actual operation ceases to be\n_in potentia activa_. Lastly, the soul itself, which, as Sanseverino\nremarks, is always in act, is nevertheless always in potency also; for\nthe actuality of all contingent being is always potential--that is,\nliable to modifications of different kinds. Hence, we not only deny\nthe conclusion of the learned author as illegitimate, but affirm that\nthe premises themselves, on which he relies, are untenable. It is the\nindiscriminate use of the word _potentia_ that vitiates the author's\nargumentation.\n\nAnother great Thomist, Goudin, wishing to prove that in all creatures\nthe power of acting is an accident, argues that _potentia et actus sunt\nidem, quamvis diversimode_, and that _actus est semper nobilior quam\npotentia ad eum essentialiter ordinata_; whence he concludes that, if\na given act is an accident, the active power, whence it proceeds, must\nneeds be an accident too. Here, also, the equivocation is evident. The\nact is _nobilior quam potentia_ when we compare it with the _potentia\npassiva_ which is destined to receive it--that is, to be actuated by\nit--but when an act is compared with the active power from which it\nproceeds--that is, with the _potentia activa_--we cannot say that it\nis _nobilior quam potentia ad eum essentialiter ordinata_: it is the\ncontrary that is true. Had the author used the word _virtus agendi_\ninstead of the equivocal word _potentia_, he would soon have discovered\nthe fallacy of his argument.\n\nI am sorry to say that even S. Thomas sometimes forgets to observe the\ndistinction between _potentia activa_ and _potentia passiva_; as in the\nfirst part of his _Summa_, where he compares the _potentia essendi_ and\nthe _potentia operandi_ with their respective acts, and establishes a\nkind of proportion between the two potencies and the two acts.[70] No\nsuch proportion can be admitted, unless the _potentia operandi_ and\nthe _potentia essendi_ are both similarly connected with their acts.\nYet whilst the _potentia operandi_ is active, the _potentia essendi_,\naccording to S. Thomas, is passive.[71] They cannot, therefore, be\nrelated to their acts in a similar manner. Hence, the terms are not\nhomologous, and the proportion cannot subsist. In another place, the\nholy doctor argues that, if an act is accidental, the _potentia_ from\nwhich it proceeds must be accidental also; because _potentia et actus\ndividunt ens, et quodlibet genus entis_, and, therefore, _oportet quod\nad idem genus referatur potentia et actus_.[72] But the _potentia_\nwhich, with the _actus_, constitutes the being and every class of\nbeings is the _potentia passiva_; whilst the _potentia_ from which\nany act proceeds is the _potentia activa_. The argument, therefore,\ncontains four terms, and proves one thing only, namely, that it is\nextremely difficult, even for the greatest men, to avoid equivocations\nwhen things that are different and opposite are designated by the same\nterm.\n\nIn English, the word _potentia_ is commonly represented by \"power,\"\nto which the epithets of \"active\" and \"passive\" have been attached by\nsome writers, in the same manner as was done with the Latin _potentia_.\n\"Power,\" says Locke,[73] \"may be considered twofold, namely, as able to\nmake or able to receive any change.\" But \"in strictness,\" says Webster,\n\"passive power is an absurdity in terms. To say that gold has a power\nto be melted is improper language; yet for want of a more appropriate\nword, _power_ is often used in a passive sense.\"\n\nIt is not true, however, that \"the want of a more appropriate word\"\nreally compels us to use the word _power_ in a passive sense. Have\nwe not the word _potency_? This word exactly answers our purpose.\nIt is not only the exact equivalent of the Latin _potentia_, but is\nalso the immediate relation of the terms _potential_, _potentially_,\n_potentiality_, which are already admitted in common philosophical\nlanguage as expressing capability, passiveness, and liability. These\nlatter words are only subordinate members of a family, of which\n_potency_ is the head. Therefore, to convey the notion of _potentia\npassiva_, we have a more appropriate word than \"power,\" and nothing\ncompels us to employ the absurd expression of \"passive power.\" On\nthe other hand, the remarks above made, on the consequences of the\npromiscuous use of the word _potentia_ in the active and the passive\nsense, would suffice to show that the word \"power,\" even if it could be\nused without absurdity in the passive sense, should, in philosophy, be\nrestricted to the active; as it is most desirable that things which are\nso thoroughly opposite be expressed by different words. Thus, the word\n\"power\" retaining its active meaning, the _potentia passiva_ may very\nappropriately be styled \"potency.\"\n\nSome will ask, Why should we use the word \"potency\" in this new sense,\nwhile we have already the term \"potentiality,\" which seems to express\nvery exactly the same notion? I answer that the principle of passivity,\nwhich we call \"potency,\" is an essential constituent of created\nbeings; whilst \"potentiality\" is not an essential constituent, but an\nattribute flowing from the essential constitution of being, on account\nof the potency which the latter involves. Accordingly, \"potentiality\"\ncannot stand for \"potency,\" any more than rationality can stand for\nreason, or materiality for matter.\n\nFrom the foregoing considerations, it appears that the words \"act\"\nand \"potency\" cannot be easily dispensed with in metaphysics, and,\ntherefore, should be freely admitted and acknowledged as philosophical\nterms. As to their definitions, however, we shall have to rely on\nphilosophical treatises rather than on common English dictionaries.\nThe word \"act\" is indeed to be found in all dictionaries; but,\nunfortunately, its meaning is restricted to the expression of mere\naccidents, while substantial acts are ignored altogether. In Fleming's\n_Vocabulary of Philosophy_ we find: \"Act in metaphysics and in logic is\nopposed to power. Power is simply a faculty or property of anything, as\ngravity of bodies. _Act_ is the exercise or manifestation of a power\nor property, the realization of a fact, as the falling of a heavy\nbody.\" On these words I would incidentally remark that \"power\" cannot\nbe defined a \"faculty\"; because, though all faculties are powers, yet\nthere are powers which are not faculties. Again, \"power\" cannot be\ndefined a \"property\" without adding some restriction; as there are\nproperties which are not powers. Moreover, the \"gravity of bodies\"\nis not a power, as some unphilosophical scientists imagine, but is a\nsimple tendency to fall, owing to the fact that the active power of\nthe earth is actually applied to the passive potency of the body. Nor\nis it true that in metaphysics or in logic the _act_ is the \"exercise\nor manifestation of a power.\" Such an exercise and manifestation is\n_action_--that is, the position or the production of the act. As to\n\"the falling of a heavy body,\" it is true that we usually call it _an\nact_, but we evidently mean _actuality_; for, if the falling were an\nact strictly, then the tendency to fall would be an active power; which\nit is not. Lastly, the most important metaphysical meaning of the word\n\"act,\" and of its correlative, \"potency,\" is not given; which, however,\nis not owing to any oversight of the author, as we have already\nsaid that these two words were not used by English writers in this\nphilosophical sense.\n\nIn Worcester's and Webster's dictionaries, the word _act_ is said\nto mean action, exertion of power, and real existence as opposed to\npossibility. From the preceding remarks, it may be seen that, in\nmetaphysics, none of these three meanings can be considered rigorously\naccurate.\n\n_Act_, in the scholastic language, is that which gives existence\nby formal actuation. _Potency_ is that which, by formal actuation,\nreceives existence. _Actuality_ is the result of the actuation--that\nis, the very existence of the act in its potency. Actuality, as we have\nalready remarked, was also called _actus existenti\u00e6_; hence, existence\nitself was considered as an act received in the essence, and causing it\nto be. But this view is now generally abandoned, because it has been\nshown that it is not the existence that entails the reality of the act\nand the potency, but the real position of the act in its potency that\nentails the existence of the being. Accordingly, existence is not an\nact received in the essence, but the result of the position of the\nessence; and cannot be called _an act_, except in a logical sense,\ninasmuch as it gives to the being _denominationem existentis_.\n\nAn act is called _essential_ when it gives the first existence to any\nessence, be it simple or compound; _substantial_, when it gives the\nfirst existence to a pure potency; _accidental_, when it gives a mode\nof being. The distinction between essential and substantial acts will\nbe explained here below, where we examine the different kinds of forms.\n\nEvery being acts inasmuch as it is in act, and is acted on inasmuch\nas it is in potency. Hence, the substantial act is a principle of\nactivity, and the potency a principle of passivity.\n\nThe active power of any being, if taken in the concrete, is nothing\nbut its substantial act _as ready for exertion_, and is called active\npower, because its exertion is the position or the production of an\nact. The active power thus considered is, therefore, in reality one of\nthe constituent principles of natural beings; whilst the abstract term\n_activity_ does not stand for a principle, but for an attribute of the\nbeing--that is, for its _readiness to act_.\n\nThe passive potency of any being, if taken in the concrete, is nothing\nbut the term of the substantial act _as liable to be acted on_, and is\ncalled passive or receptive, because it is actuated by the reception\nof an act. The passive potency, thus considered, is therefore in\nreality one of the constituent principles of natural beings, whilst the\nabstract term _passivity_ does not stand for a principle, but for an\nattribute of the being--that is, for its _liability to be acted on_.\n\nEvery one who is acquainted with metaphysical matters will acknowledge\nthat it is of extreme importance that these terms and others of a\nlike nature, which are continually employed in metaphysical analysis,\nbe clearly understood by all students of philosophy. So long as our\nlanguage has no definite words by which to designate the essential\nconstituents of things, no hope can be entertained of advancing the\ninterests of metaphysics by means of vernacular books.\n\n_Act_ and _potency_, in material things, are called _form_ and\n_matter_ respectively; hence, material substance is said to consist\nessentially of matter and form. The forms of natural things are usually\ndivided into _substantial_ and _accidental_. The substantial form\nis commonly defined as that which gives the first existence to its\nmatter--_qu\u00e6 dat materi\u00e6 primum esse_, or _simpliciter esse_. It is\nsometimes defined, also, as that which gives the first existence to a\nthing--_qu\u00e6 dat primum esse rei_. But this second definition is open\nto misconstruction; because, when the thing in question is a physical\ncompound having a number of material parts, the form that gives to\nit--that is, to the compound essence--its first existence is its\nphysical composition, which is not a substantial, but an essential,\nform, as we shall see presently.\n\nThe accidental form is defined as that which gives an accidental mode\nof being--_qu\u00e6 dat esse secundum quid_. This definition is universally\nadmitted; but it is a remarkable fact that the examples of accidental\nforms given by most philosophers do not support it. Thus, the form of\na statue and the form of a column are not forms giving to the marble\nany accidental mode of being, but are _the very modes of being_, which\nhave resulted in the marble from the reception of suitable accidental\nacts. Therefore, what is called _the form_ of a statue is not a form\n_giving a mode of being_, but the mode itself, on account of which _we\ngive_ to the marble _the name_ of a statue. Suarez and others have\nindeed pointed out the necessity of distinguishing the forms _dantes\nesse_ from the forms _dantes denominationem_; yet, even to this day, in\nour philosophical treatises, the definition of the former is almost\nexclusively illustrated by examples of the latter. True forms are\n_acts_, whilst modes of being are _actualities_; and therefore modes\nof being should not be called forms, but formalities. As, however, the\nword _form_ is in general use in this last sense also, the best thing\nwe can do is to retain the term, and add to it a suitable epithet.\nI would call them _resultant forms_, or _consequential forms_; and\nin the same manner, when actuality is styled _act_, I would call\nit _consequential act_, or _complementary act_, that it may not be\nconfounded with _act_ proper.\n\nIt is also necessary to make a well-marked distinction between\n_substantial_ and _essential_ forms. The necessity of this distinction\nis sufficiently shown by the very existence of the two scholastic\ndefinitions of form. In fact, two definitions imply two concepts. The\nfirst definition, _Forma est id quod dat primum esse materi\u00e6_, strictly\nbelongs to the substantial form, as every one knows; but the second,\n_Forma est id quod dat primum esse rei_, is more general, and extends\nto all essential forms, be they substantial or not. Thus, we can say\nthat velocity is the essential form of movement, though, of course, it\nis not a substantial form, as movement is not a substance.\n\nThe same distinction is to be admitted with regard to natural\ncompounds, at least in the opinion of those philosophers who oppose the\nAristotelic theory of substantial generations, or teach that bodies\nare made up of primitive, unextended elements. Indeed, if chemical\ncombination does not destroy the essence of the combining substances,\nit is obvious that the compound substance which arises out of the\ncombination will have no _special_ form, except the combination itself;\nand such a form, however essential to the compound substance, cannot\nbe a substantial form in the sense of the Peripatetics; because it\ngives existence to the compound nature only, and not to its matter.\nAgain, if the molecule of a primitive body, as hydrogen, is nothing\nmore than a system of material points or elements connected with one\nanother by dynamical ties, and subject to a law of vibratory movement,\nwhich allows the molecule to contract and dilate, then it is evident\nthat the essential form of such a molecule will be its specific\ncomposition; for the composition is the immediate constituent of all\nmaterial compound. Accordingly, since the scientific views which\nlead to these conclusions are widely received, and very well founded\non chemical and other data, and can be philosophically established\nby the very principles of ancient metaphysics, the said distinction\nbetween substantial and essential forms is to be acknowledged as a\nvery important one in questions connected with modern science. Lastly,\nessential forms are to be admitted, not only in natural, but also\nin artificial and in moral, compounds. A clock has its essential\nform, without which it would cease to be a clock; a family has its\nessential form, without which it would cease to be a family; and yet\nit would be ridiculous to talk of a clock or a family as having a\nsubstantial form. It is, therefore, necessary to divide all true forms\ninto _substantial_, _essential_, and _accidental_, and to place in a\nseparate class all the so-called _resultant_ forms above mentioned.\n\nThus, the _substantial_ form is that which gives the first being to\nmatter. This definition comes from Aristotle himself, and has been\nuniversally received by all metaphysicians.\n\nThe _essential_ form is that which gives to a thing its specific\nnature. This definition coincides with that of the substantial\nform whenever the specific nature of which we treat is physically\nsimple--that is, without composition of material parts--for, in fact,\nsuch a simple nature receives its species from the same form that\ngives the first being to its matter. Hence, the essential form and\nthe substantial form are one and the same thing so long as there is\nquestion of simple or primitive beings. But the definition of the\nessential form is no longer equivalent to that of the substantial form\nwhen the specific nature constituted by it is physically compounded of\nmaterial parts; because such a compound nature receives its species\nfrom its specific composition, which is not a substantial form, though\nit is essential to the specific compound.\n\nThe _accidental_ form is that which gives to its subject an accidental\nmode of being, or an _esse secundum quid_, according to the language of\nthe schools.\n\nThe so-called _resultant_ form is the actuality resulting from the\nposition of any true form. As, therefore, true forms are either\nsubstantial, essential, or accidental, so, also, are all the resultant\nforms. From the substantial form results the actuality of the primitive\nbeing, which, as primitive, is always free from material composition;\nfrom the essential form results the actuality of every specific nature,\nwhich involves composition of material parts; and from the accidental\nform results the actual modification of the subject in which it is\nreceived.\n\nI have dwelt purposely on these considerations, because the word\n_form_, and its derivatives, _formal_, _formally_, _formality_, etc.,\nare variously employed, and sometimes loosely, in philosophy, and\nbecause, without a clear and distinct notion of the different kinds\nof forms, many fundamental questions of metaphysics cannot be rightly\nunderstood. I might say nearly as much respecting the word _matter_,\nwhich is the metaphysical correlative of form; but it will suffice to\nremark that _matter_, in philosophy, always means a receptive potency\nwhich is actuated by a form; so that, if the form is accidental, the\nword _matter_ stands for material substance itself as receptive,\nbecause it is the substance that receives accidental forms; if the form\nis essential in the sense above explained, then the word _matter_ means\nthe totality of the material parts required for the constitution of any\ngiven specific compound, including their actual disposition to receive\nthe form in question; and if the form is substantial, then the word\n_matter_ expresses only one of the constituent principles of primitive\nmaterial substance--that is, the potential term of substance; which is\nfirst actuated by such a form.\n\nThe word _matter_ is used analogically in many other senses, which are\ngiven by our lexicographers, who, however, omit to mention matter as\nthat potency which receives its first existence through the substantial\nform. Webster says: \"Matter is usually divided by philosophical writers\ninto three kinds or classes: solid, liquid, and aeriform.\" This\nstatement is not correct. Philosophical writers admit that _bodies_\nare either solid, liquid, or aeriform; but they do not admit that\nthe matter of which bodies and their molecules are made up is either\nsolid, or liquid, or aeriform. Ice is solid, water is liquid, and\nvapor is aeriform; and yet the matter in all of them is identically\nthe same. It is impossible, therefore, for philosophical writers to\ndivide _matter_ into liquid, solid, and aeriform. The philosophical\ndivision of matter has always been into _materia informis_, or _prima_,\nor _actuabilis_--that is, matter conceived as void of all substantial\nform; and _materia formata_, or _secunda_, or _actuata_--that is,\nmatter actuated by, and existing under, a substantial form.\n\nAs I am not now writing a treatise on matter, I will dismiss this\nsubject with only two observations. The first is, that the words\n_first matter_ and _second matter_ are indispensable in metaphysics,\nand, therefore, must be adopted in our English philosophical language,\nunless, indeed, we prefer to make use of the original Latin words. The\nother is, that in reading the metaphysical works of the scholastics,\nwhen we find the word _materia_ with the epithet _prima_, we should\ncarefully ascertain that the epithet is not misapplied. For, it has\nbeen observed with reason that most of the abstruseness and uncertainty\ninherent in the old explanation of physical questions arises from\nthe fact that the matter, which was supposed to be actually under\nits form, and therefore in act, was very frequently called _materia\nprima_, though it is known that \"nothing that is in act can be called\nby such a name.\"[74] This observation is of the greatest importance,\nsince it is evident that nothing but perpetual confusion can arise from\ncontradictory definitions.\n\nTo express the relation existing between act and potency, or between\nform and matter, the philosophical Latin possesses many good phrases,\nsuch as the following: _Forma dat esse materi\u00e6, actuat materiam,\ninformat materiam, terminatur ad materiam_; and, reciprocally, _materia\naccipit esse a forma, actuatur a forma, informatur a forma, terminat\nformam_. In English, I presume, we are allowed to say that the form\n_informs_ its matter, that the form _gives existence_ to the matter,\nand that the form _actuates_ the matter. But can we say that the form\n_is terminated to_ its matter, and that the matter _terminates_, that\nis, completes its form? This manner of speaking may be considered\nawkward, nevertheless its mode of expressing the relation of the\nform to its matter is so remarkable for its philosophical precision,\nclearness, and universality, that I would not hesitate to adopt it in\nphilosophy. To say that the form is terminated to its matter, is to\nsay that the matter is the potential _term_ actuated by the form. The\nphilosophical notion of _term_ (_terminus_), which is susceptible of\na general application to all conceivable beings, is a very important\none in philosophy as well as in theology; and since it can be made\nquite intelligible even to the dullest of students, I think that in\nmetaphysical speculation the use of the words _term_, _termination_,\n_to terminate_, _terminability_, _terminativity_, etc., cannot but\ngreatly help both teachers and students in their efforts to explain\ncorrectly a number of ontological relations which it would be difficult\nto express as simply and as correctly by other words.\n\nThe word _term_ in the popular use means the extremity of anything, or\nthat where anything ends. The spot of ground where a stone is allowed\nto fall is the term of the falling; the drop of rain acted on by\ngravity is the term of the action by which it is attracted; the tree at\nwhich I am looking is the term of my vision; the concept which I form\nof anything is the term of my thought. But all these terms correspond\nto accidental acts, whereas the term which we ultimately reach in the\nanalysis of substance, is always substantial, as being intrinsic to the\nsubstantial act of which it is the term. Hence, when we say that the\nmatter is the term of the form, or in general that the potency is the\nterm of its act, we mean not only that the act, or the form, reaches\nthe potency or the matter, but that the potency or the matter acquires\nits first reality and actuality by the very position of the act or\nform which it terminates; in the same manner as the centre of a sphere\nacquires its first actuality through the simple position of a spherical\nform. Accordingly, the words _act_ and _term_ are correlative; the act\n_actuates_, the term _is actuated_, and the formal reason of their\ncorrelation is _actuation_. This actuation is not efficient, but\nformal; that is, the act, not by its action, but by itself, entails\nthe immediate existence of its intrinsic term, just as the spherical\nform by itself, and not by any action, entails the immediate existence\nof a centre. As a sphere without a centre, so an act without a term\nis an utter impossibility. Hence the termination of the act to its\nterm is nothing less than the very constitution of any essence that\nhas a proper and complete existence. For this reason, I am of opinion\nthat the phrase \"the form is terminated to the matter, and the act to\nits potency,\" is the best we can adopt in speaking of created things,\nhowever new it may be to English ears.\n\nWith regard to the peculiar construction of this verb with the\npreposition _to_ instead of the prepositions _by_, _at_, or _in_, which\nare in general use, I will only remark that these latter prepositions\nare not suitable to express what we need. The _termination at_ connotes\na limit of time or space, as every one knows. The _termination in_\nconnotes a change or successive transformation of that which is\nterminated into that in which it ends, as when a quarrel terminates\nin murder. The _termination by_ connotes either an obstacle to further\nadvance, or at least a positive entity existing independently of\nthe termination itself: it cannot therefore express the fact that a\nsubstantial term receives its very first actuality by the termination\nof the act. On the other hand, this fact is perfectly expressed by\nsaying that the act is terminated _to_ its term; and since no other\nEnglish phrase has yet been found, so far as I know, which can express\nthe fact equally well, I think that we need have no scruple in\nenriching our philosophical language with this old scholastic phrase.\n\n\"The resources of our noble language in philosophy,\" says a well-known\nAmerican writer, \"are surpassed by no ancient or modern tongue, unless\nthe Greek be an exception. It is capable in philosophy of receiving\nand assimilating all the riches of the Greek, Latin, Italian, and\nFrench languages, while it has in its Teutonic roots the wealth of the\nGerman.\"[75] This is a great encouragement to English philosophical\nwriters. Indeed, to say that among the resources of the English\nlanguage for philosophy we may reckon its capability of receiving and\nassimilating all the riches of other learned languages, is to tell us\nthat our resources are still in a _potential_ state, and therefore that\nno one can reasonably blame us for freely adopting from other languages\nas many terms and phrases as we need to express our thoughts with\nphilosophical rigor. Yet the task, for obvious reasons, is extremely\ndifficult, as it requires a degree of judgment which unfortunately is\ncommon only to the few. \"The English language,\" adds the same writer,\n\"only needs Catholic restoration and culture to be the richest and\nnoblest language ever written or spoken. But it deteriorates, as does\neverything else, in the hands of Protestants and unbelieving Englishmen\nand Americans.\" At least two things are certain; first, that if the\nEnglish language ever becomes a perfect instrument of philosophical\neducation, it will be due to Catholic writers, for they alone will\nbe able to utilize for its healthy development all the treasures of\nthe scholastic terminology; second, that only in proportion as such a\ndevelopment will be carried on, shall we acquire the means of training\nour youthful generation in a vernacular course of philosophy. This\nthought should rouse our dormant energies into action. It was with\nthis object that I undertook to say a few words on philosophical\nterminology. Our language may be capable of receiving and assimilating\nall the riches of other languages; but so long as such an assimilation\nis in abeyance, the language remains poor and imperfect, nay, it\ncontinues to \"deteriorate, as does everything else, in the hands of\nProtestants and unbelieving Englishmen and Americans.\" We still need\nmany philosophical words. I have given a few examples of such a need in\nthe preceding pages.\n\nThat we also need a number of new phrases is undeniable; but I will\nnot enter into the discussion of so difficult a subject. I prefer\nsimply to mention a few Latin phrases, which are much used by Catholic\nphilosophers or theologians, and will allow the reader himself to\nattempt their translation without altering their philosophical meaning,\nand without infringing upon English usages. Translate:\n\n_Actus et potentia conspirant in unitatem essenti\u00e6._\n\n_Actio motiva terminatur materialiter ad mobile, et formaliter ad\nmotum._\n\n_Sicut se habet actus substantialis ad esse simpliciter, ita se habet\nactus accidentalis ad esse secundum quid._\n\n_Facultas ordinatur ad operationem ut actus primus ad secundum._\n\n_Quidquid sistit in suis essentialibus, nullo superaddito, est unum per\nse._\n\n_Intellectus attingit objectum sub ratione veri, voluntas autem sub\nratione boni._\n\n_Actus et potentia principiant ens principiatione metaphysica._\n\n_Relatio est id cuius totum esse est ad aliud se habere._\n\n_Motus est actus existentis in potentia ut in potentia._\n\nThese and such like phrases will afford matter for a great exercise\nof patience to him who will undertake to translate them faithfully.\n_To conspire into unity, to be terminated to a movable object, to\nbe ordered to the operation_, _etc._, are scarcely good English\nexpressions: yet it is not easy to see what other phrases would be\ncalculated to express the same thoughts in an unobjectionable manner.\n\nI will conclude by giving the opinion of a competent authority on this\nvery point. The Rev. F. Hill, in the preface to his substantial work\nlately published under the title of _Elements of Philosophy_, says:\n\"The Latin of the schools, besides being brief, is also peculiarly\ncapable of expressing precisely, clearly, and comprehensively matters\nwhich it is difficult to utter through the less accurate vernacular\nin terms that are neither obscure nor ambiguous.\" And speaking of the\nLatin philosophical axioms and sentences, which he inserted in his\ntreatise with their English translation, he remarks: \"It was not,\nhowever, an easy task, in some instances, to reproduce them with\nfidelity in the English phraseology, as the classic scholar will\nreadily see from the result.\" Certainly, the task was not an easy\none. Yet the author has most creditably carried out his object. May\nhis example encourage others to cultivate the same field, and thus\ncontribute towards developing \"the resources of our noble language,\"\nand making it a fit channel for sound philosophical education.\n\n                                                 A FRIEND OF PHILOSOPHY.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[67] For the preceding article on the subject, see the July No. of _The\nCatholic World_.\n\n[68] _Esse est perfectissimum omnium; comparatur enim ad omnia ut\nactus. Nihil enim habet actualitatem nisi in quantum est; unde ipsum\nesse est actualitas omnium rerum, et etiam ipsarum formarum._--S.\nThomas, _Summa Th._, p. 1 q. 4 a. 1.\n\n[69] Sanseverino, _Dynamilogia_, c. i. a. 1.\n\n[70] _Summa Th._, p. 1 q. 54 a. 3.\n\n[71] For he says that _esse non comparatur ad alia sicut recipiens ad\nreceptum, sed magis ut receptum ad recipiens_ (p. 1 q. 4 a. 1); whence\nit is clear that the _potentia essendi_ is considered by him as the\n_recipient_ of actual existence. The same he teaches _Contra Gent._\nlib. ii. c. 53, and in other places.\n\n[72] _Summa Th._, p. 1 q. 77 a. 1.\n\n[73] _Essay on the Human Understanding_, b. 2. c. 21.\n\n[74] _Materia ... per se nunquam potest esse; quia, quum in ratione sua\nnon habeat aliquam formam, non potest esse in actu (quum esse in actu\nnon sit nisi a forma), sed solum in potentia. Et ideo quidquid est in\nactu non potest dici materia prima._--S. Thomas Opusc. _De Principiis\nNatur\u00e6_.\n\n[75] _Brownson's Quarterly Review_, July, 1873, p. 416.\n\n\n\n\nSELF-LOVE.\n\n\n                           BY AUBREY DE VERE.\n\n    Light-winged Loves! they come; they flee:\n      If we were dead, they'd never miss us:\n    Self-Love! with thee is constancy--\n      Thine eyes could see but one, Narcissus.\n\n\n\n\nMADAME AGNES.\n\n\n                   FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES DUBOIS.\n\n                               CONCLUDED.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\n  \"Fais ce que dois, advienne que pourra!\"\n\nLouis was thunderstruck at seeing Madeleine. He had not spoken a word\nto her for several days, and intended to maintain a reserve full of\ncircumspection towards her. His connection with the family had twice\ngiven rise to the most malevolent interpretations, and he by no means\nwished a similar vexation to be repeated. He received the young girl\nwith a coldness that was almost rude.\n\n\"What do you wish?\" said he.\n\n\"To speak with you, monsieur. But I fear I have come at the wrong time.\nI will return at a later hour.\"\n\n\"Not later, but elsewhere.\"\n\n\"Why?\" asked Madeleine, with _na\u00efvet\u00e9_.\n\n\"But what have you so urgent to tell me?...\"\n\n\"Nothing concerning you, monsieur; it only relates to myself. I am so\nunhappy.... If I ventured to come here at this hour, it is because I\nfeared being seen talking with you. I have a secret to confide to you\nwhich my parents alone are aware of. If they knew I told you, I do not\nknow what they would do to me.\"\n\n\"Where are your parents now?\"\n\n\"At my cousin's, a league off. They will not be back for several hours.\"\n\nMadeleine was so overwhelmed with grief and anxiety that Louis was\nfilled with compassion. He motioned for her to be seated on a lounge\nbefore his desk, and then said:\n\n\"Well, my good Madeleine, what has happened? Tell me your troubles. If\nin my power to remove them, it shall soon be done. What can I do for\nyou?\"\n\n\"You know Durand, the overseer?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes!...\" said Louis, frowning with the air of a man who knows\nmore than he expresses.\n\n\"He and my father have become intimate, I know not how or why, within a\nfew weeks--since you stopped coming to our house. He often came before\nthe inundation, and paid me a thousand absurd compliments. I made no\nreply to his silly speeches, but they seemed to please my parents. The\nfirst moment I set eyes on that man, he inspired me with fear. He looks\nso bold--so false! And besides....\"\n\n\"Besides what? Madeleine, I insist on your telling me everything.\"\n\n\"Well, he tried every way to make us believe you are.... I dare not\ntell you....\"\n\n\"Go on, child. Nothing would astonish me from Durand. I know he hates\nme.\"\n\n\"He says you are a hypocrite, a--Jesuit, a dangerous man. He told my\nfather you were going to leave the mill, and seemed to boast of being\nthe cause of it.\"\n\n\"I suspected it,\" said Louis to himself. \"Adams was only Durand's tool.\nOh! what deceit!\"\n\n\"Is it true, then, that you are going away?\" asked Madeleine anxiously.\n\n\"Quite true, my child.\"\n\n\"Oh! what a hateful man! I was right in detesting him! Since we have\nbeen here living in the same house with him, he has tormented me more\nthan ever. He says he wishes to marry me....\"\n\n\"Has he dared go that far?\"\n\n\"Yes; and, what is worse, my parents have given their consent. Durand\ntells them he has money laid up; that he is earning a good deal here,\nand is willing to live with them and provide for the support of the\nwhole family.... But I--I have a horror of that man! There is nothing\ndisagreeable I do not say to him. I have told him plainly I would never\nconsent to marry him. My parents were terribly angry at this; my father\nbeat me, and my mother loaded me with abuse. They ended by saying, if I\npersisted in refusing Durand, they would find a way of making me change\nmy mind. This scene took place last evening. What shall I do? O God!\nwhat shall I do?...\" So saying, Madeleine burst into tears.\n\nLouis remained silent. He was reflecting. Self whispered: \"Leave this\ngirl to her unhappy fate. Do not embark in another undertaking that\nwill get you into fresh trouble and may endanger everything--both\nEug\u00e9nie's love for you, and your reputation itself. This unfortunate\ngirl has already been the cause of more than one sad moment; take care\nshe does not at last ruin you, and likewise compromise herself....\"\n\nBut such selfish promptings had no power over a heart so generous\nand upright as that of Louis. Besides, he had learned such shocking\nthings about Durand that, if he did not reveal them in order to save\nMadeleine, he would regard himself guilty of a crime, and not without\nreason. After some moments of silent reflection, all incertitude\nceased. He had decided on the course to pursue.\n\n\"How old are you, my child?\" said he.\n\n\"I am in my twenty-first year.\"\n\n\"Well, you have hitherto devoted yourself generously to the interests\nof your parents. They have now made this impossible. There is no choice\nin the matter. You must leave them.\"\n\n\"I have thought of it. But where could I go? I have no place of refuge,\nnow my aunt is dead.\"\n\n\"I will give you a note to a lady who lives in the city. I may as well\nsay at once it is my sister. She will take care of you, and get you a\nplace as a chamber-maid, if she does not keep you herself.\"\n\n\"Oh! how kind you are!... You revive my courage. When can I go?\"\n\n\"When you please.\"\n\n\"To-morrow?\"\n\n\"Yes, to-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"And who will inform my parents?\"\n\n\"You yourself. Write a line, and leave it with some one you can\ntrust, to be delivered a few hours after you are gone. You can tell\nyour parents you are going to seek a situation in the city in order\nto escape from Durand. Promise to be a credit to them, to love them\nalways, and even to render them assistance; and I will say more to them\nwhen the proper time comes. Above all, I will tell them what Durand\nreally is.... Thank God, my child, that he enables you to escape that\nman's snares....\"\n\nEverything was done as agreed upon by Louis and Madeleine. The latter\nleft for town the next morning. Her parents were not informed of her\ndeparture till about noon. They immediately notified Durand.\n\n\"The engineer has had a hand in this,\" said he to Vinceneau and his\nwife. \"He shall pay for it.\"\n\n\"What makes you think he had anything to do with it?\" asked Vinceneau.\n\n\"Your daughter went to see him last evening.... My police told me.\"\n\n\"How shall we be revenged?\"\n\n\"By telling everybody what this Tartuffe is. I will see to it. Ah! he\ninduces young girls to run away without any one's knowing where they\nare gone! That is rather too bold!\"\n\nDurand watched for an opportunity of speaking to Albert, with whom he\nkept up daily communication. He told him what had occurred, adding\ncalumnious suppositions that may be imagined. Albert, delighted at\nthe news, went at once to tell his aunt. It was near dinnertime. Mme.\nSmithson said to her nephew: \"Wait till we are at table, then relate\nthis story without appearing to attach any importance to it. If I am\nnot very much mistaken, this will be a death-blow to that troublesome\ncreature. Only be prudent, and do not begin till I make a sign. There\nare times when your uncle takes no interest in the conversation, no\nmatter what is said. Poor Eug\u00e9nie will blush well to hear of such\ninfamous conduct, for she loves him. It is horrible to say, but so it\nis. Since I caught them talking together the other day, I have had\nno doubt about it. Besides, as you have remarked, she grows more and\nmore reserved toward us, while, on the contrary, she has redoubled her\namiability towards her father. I really believe, if the foolish fellow\nhad not compromised himself, she would in the end have got the better\nof us. Her father is so indulgent to her!... But after what has taken\nplace, there can be no more illusion! She will perceive the worth\nof her hero!... It must be acknowledged there is no alternative! Her\nromance has ended in a way to make her ashamed of it for ever.... You\nwill see, Albert, she will end by thinking it too great an honor to be\nyour wife.\"\n\n\"Too great an honor! Hum! hum! It will be well if she consents.\nEug\u00e9nie has more pride than any girl I ever saw. Humbled, she will\nbe unapproachable. Believe me, aunt, we must be cautious in availing\nourselves of this advantage.\"\n\nThey took seats at table at six o'clock as usual. Mr. Smithson appeared\nthoughtful and out of humor, but that often happened. Eug\u00e9nie was no\nless serious. Very little was said till the dessert. Albert evidently\nlonged to let fly the shaft he held in reserve against Louis. Mme.\nSmithson was quite as impatient as he, but could not find a propitious\nopportunity. However, her bitterness against Louis prevailed. Towards\nthe end of dinner, she made Albert an imperceptible sign, as much as to\nsay: \"Proceed, but be prudent!\"\n\nAlbert assumed as indifferent an air as possible, and in an off-hand\nway began his attack after this manner:\n\n\"There is trouble in the refugees' quarter to-day.\"\n\nMme. Smithson looked up with an air of surprise at the news. Mr.\nSmithson and Eug\u00e9nie remained impassible.\n\n\"The Vinceneaus are in great commotion,\" continued Albert. \"Their\ndaughter has run away.\"\n\n\"A poor set--those Vinceneaus,\" muttered Mr. Smithson.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Albert, \"a poor set indeed! But this time I pity them.\nTheir daughter has gone off, and no one knows where she has gone.\"\n\n\"Why did she leave them?\" asked Eug\u00e9nie.\n\n\"She and her parents had a violent quarrel day before yesterday, but\nnot the first; they say this Madeleine is more amiable in appearance\nthan in reality. Anyhow, there is something inexplicable about her. It\nseems she was to have been married; then she refused to be. Result:\nanger of the parents, obstinacy of the daughter. All that is known\nbesides this is that she went all alone to consult the engineer last\nevening. Durand and another workman saw her go to his room. This\nmorning she disappeared, leaving word she intended to get a situation,\nno one knows where; she has not thought it proper to leave her\naddress....\"\n\nWhile listening to this account, Eug\u00e9nie turned pale, then red, and\nfinally almost fainted. Mr. Smithson perceived the sad effect of the\nstory on her, and was filled with inexpressible sorrow. Heretofore\nhe had refused to believe in the possibility of her loving Louis;\nbut now he could no longer doubt it. For the first time in his life,\nhe acknowledged his wife had shown more penetration than he--more\nprudence. The look that rested on Eug\u00e9nie was not of anger, however,\nbut full of affection and anxiety. He loved her too much not to pity\nher, even though he blamed her.\n\nEug\u00e9nie, with characteristic energy, recovered her self-possession in a\nfew moments. Suspicions of a stronger and more painful character than\nany she had yet had struggled with the love in this proud girl's heart.\n\nAlbert was overjoyed, but concealed his satisfaction under a\nhypocritical air of compassion. Continuing the subject, he said the\nworkmen were all indignant at Madeleine's flight. \"The engineer has\ndone well not to show himself since the girl's departure was known,\"\nhe added. \"He would have exposed himself to a public manifestation of\nrather a disagreeable nature. And I do not see who could defend him....\"\n\n\"He could defend himself, if he is innocent,\" thought Eug\u00e9nie....\nThen another idea occurred to her: \"But if he has plans he cannot yet\nacknowledge, ... if he loves this Madeleine, ... ah! how he will have\ndeceived me!... No! it is impossible!... And yet it is true he has\ndisappeared: I have not seen him to-day....\"\n\nBy an unfortunate coincidence, Louis had been obliged to come to see me\nthat day. I had been taken with a terrible pain in all my limbs--the\nfirst symptoms of my paralytic seizure. My mother, frightened beyond\nall expression, sent a messenger to our poor friend, conjuring him to\ncome with all possible speed.\n\n\"Enough!\" said Mr. Smithson. \"The subject does not please me. I do not\nlike to be deceived, as I have so often been before. It seems to me\nthere is some mistake here. I shall ascertain the truth. But this shall\nbe my care. Let it be understood that no one but myself is to make any\ninquiries about the affair. No tittle-tattle!\"\n\nThey retired to the _salon_ a few moments after. Albert offered Eug\u00e9nie\nhis arm. She refused it, as if to show him, if Louis were driven\nfrom her heart, he, Albert, should never have a place there. She\nseated herself at the piano, and played a succession of pieces with\ngreat effect. Her ardent nature required the relief of some outward\nmanifestation. For the first time in her life, she blushed before her\nparents--before the cousin she despised. But the torture she suffered\nfrom her wounded pride was not the most painful. She had loved\nLouis--she loved him still, as a woman of her intelligence and energy\nalone could love--that is to say, to excess. And now she is forced to\nask herself: is an affection so pure met only with hypocrisy, or at\nleast an indifference but too easy to understand. Swayed between love\nand contempt; by turns ashamed of herself, then drawing herself up with\npride, she would have given ten years of her life to be able at once to\nsolve the doubt that caused her so much suffering.\n\nWhile the poor girl was thus abandoning herself to the most distressing\nanxiety, without any consolation, Mme. Smithson and Albert were talking\nin a low tone near the fireplace. They appeared dissatisfied.\n\n\"The affair has begun badly,\" said Albert. \"One would think my uncle\nresolved to thwart me in everything.... Why could he not intimate to\nthat fellow that there is no necessity of his remaining any longer?...\nThat is what I hoped and what I expected! He has certainly done enough\nto deserve being treated in such a way.... Instead of that, my uncle is\ngoing to undertake an investigation!... I wager this arrant piece of\ncraft will find some way of making himself out innocent.\"\n\n\"That would be rather too much!\" said Mme. Smithson. \"You are right: we\nmust despatch business, or all is lost. I will talk to your uncle this\nvery evening, and make every effort to prevent their meeting....\"\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nA VILLAIN'S REVENGE.\n\nThe whole family were still in the _salon_, when, about half-past\neight, they heard an unusual noise out of doors, and people seemed to\nbe moving about in the darkness. In a few moments, a servant entered\nand said a few words to Mr. Smithson in a low tone. He immediately rose\nand started to go out; but, before leaving the room, he said: \"I shall\nnot be gone long. I wish you all to remain here till my return.\"\n\nEug\u00e9nie continued to drum furiously on the piano; then, weary of this\nmonotonous employment, she took a book, and pretended to read. Mme.\nSmithson and Albert were far from being at ease. Triumphant as they\nwere, they stood in awe of Eug\u00e9nie. To keep themselves in countenance,\nthey began a game of cards.\n\nWhat was Mr. Smithson doing meanwhile? He forbade his servants\nmentioning a word of what had happened, which they were aware of as\nwell as he. Sure of being obeyed, he went directly to Louis' apartment.\nEntering the room, he found him lying all dressed on his bed, groaning\nand unable to utter a word. A bloody handkerchief was tied across his\nforehead, as if he had received a severe wound. At a sign from Mr.\nSmithson, the servant dismissed all the men--hands at the mill--who\nhad brought the engineer to his room. When they were gone, the servant\nremoved the handkerchief that concealed the wound. It was a long gash,\nwhich was still bleeding. Louis opened his eyes, and put his hand to\nhis neck, as if there was another wound there. The servant untied\nhis cravat. The unfortunate young man's neck, in fact, bore marks of\nviolence.\n\nThe servant seemed greatly affected at the sight. He placed the wounded\nman in as comfortable a position as he could, bandaged his wounds,\nand tried to revive him with _eau-de-Cologne_. Louis came to himself a\nlittle, and, extending his hand, pressed that of the good fellow who\nwas tending him so kindly. Mr. Smithson stood a few steps from the\nbed, looking on as calmly as if gazing at some unreal spectacle in a\ntheatre. No one would have divined his thoughts from the expression of\nhis countenance; but at the bottom of his heart there was a feeling\nof animosity against Louis, which was scarcely lessened by the sight\nof his sufferings. At that moment, he believed Louis guilty, and what\nhad happened only a chastisement he merited. Nevertheless, he sent in\nhaste for a physician, who arrived in a short time. Louis' clothes were\nremoved, and his wounds dressed with the greatest care. The relief he\nexperienced, the warmth of the bed, and the skill of the attentive\nphysician, produced a speedy and favorable reaction. He recovered the\nperfect use of speech, and, addressing those around him with an attempt\nat a smile, he said:\n\n\"They have brought me to a sad condition.\"\n\n\"You will get over it,\" replied the doctor.\n\n\"How did it happen?\" asked Mr. Smithson coldly.\n\n\"It is a long story to tell,\" replied Louis. \"I have not recovered\nfrom the violent concussion, and am still in severe pain; but I will\nendeavor to tell you how it happened. It is time for you to know the\ntruth about many things, Mr. Smithson. What is your opinion of Durand?\"\n\n\"He is a capable hand, but somewhat unaccountable.\"\n\n\"Well, I have found him out.... He is a dangerous man. The condition\nyou see me in is owing to him.\"\n\n\"What induced him to ill-treat you in this way?\"\n\n\"He has hated me for a long time, though secretly. Before I came here,\nhe did somewhat as he pleased, and was guilty of many base acts. He\nrobbed you in many ways--saying he had paid the workmen money that was\nnever given them, and having an understanding with one and another, in\norder to cheat you. I found out his dishonest trafficking, and put a\nstop to it. This was the origin of his dislike.\"\n\n\"Why did you not notify me at once?\"\n\n\"My silence proceeded from motives of delicacy. You will recollect the\nman came here with excellent recommendations; he was a Protestant; and\nyou liked him, and thought more of him than of many others.\"\n\n\"That is true. Go on.\"\n\n\"I afterwards discovered he lent money on security. My reproaches\noffended him still more. Within a short time, he has become intimate\nwith that drunken Vinceneau and his indolent wife, and, since the\ninundation drove them here for shelter, he has permanently installed\nhimself in their house. He only did this to annoy their poor\ndaughter, Madeleine, with his audacious attentions. The girl was\nindignant. Young as she is, she felt there was something vile--I may\nsay criminal--in the depths of his deceitful soul. But her father\nand mother countenanced him. They hoped a son-in-law so much richer\nthan they would enable them to give themselves up to their shameful\ninclinations--the husband to drink, and the wife to idleness. Madeleine\nwas, therefore, ordered--and in such a way!--to accept Durand's offer.\nShe came to consult me on the subject, and said the man inspired her\nwith invincible horror. On the other hand, her parents threatened her\nwith the worst treatment possible if she resisted their orders--a\ntreatment already begun. Now, I had learned only a few days previous\nthe following particulars respecting Durand: His name is not Durand,\nbut Renaud. He is not a Protestant, but a Catholic, if such a man can\nbe said to have any religion. His fine recommendations did not come\nfrom his employers; he wrote them himself. He is not a bachelor, but is\nmarried, and the father of three children. Be good enough to open my\ndesk, Mr. Smithson.... You will find a letter from Durand's wife, in\nwhich all these facts are stated with a minuteness of detail, and such\nan accent of truth, that there can be no doubt after reading it. It was\naddressed to the _cur\u00e9_, begging him to threaten Durand--or rather,\nRenaud--with the law if he did not send for his wife and children. They\nare dying of want at Lille, whence he fled without saying anything to\nthem. They lost all trace of him for a year, and only heard of him\nagain about six months ago.\"\n\nMr. Smithson opened Louis' desk, and took out the letter. The details\nit contained were, in truth, so numerous and so precise that there\ncould be no doubt they really referred to the so-called Durand.\n\n\"What an infamous impostor!\" exclaimed he, as he finished the letter.\n\"Continue your account, monsieur. I am eager to know how this sad\naffair terminated.\"\n\n\"My friend, Mme. Barnier,\" continued Louis, \"has not been able to leave\nSt. Denis, where she took refuge at the time of the inundation. A\nviolent affection of the muscular system obliges her to keep her bed.\nI learned this morning from a letter that she was worse, and wished to\nsee me immediately. I went to St. Denis. On my way back this evening on\nfoot, I met Durand not three hundred steps from the mill. I cannot say\nhe was waiting for me, but am inclined to think so. When he perceived\nme by the light of the moon, a gleam of fury lighted up his features. I\nhad no weapon of defence. He, as usual, carried a strong, knotty cane\nin his hand.\n\n\"'Where is Madeleine?' said he.\n\n\"'At my sister's,' I replied. In fact, I had sent her there with a\nletter of recommendation.\n\n\"'Why did you send her away?'\n\n\"'Because I wished to withdraw her from your criminal pursuit.'\n\n\"'Criminal?... How was my pursuit criminal? I wished to marry her.'\n\n\"'You have not the right.'\n\n\"'What do you say? I haven't a right to marry?'\n\n\"'No, you have not. You are married already.'\n\n\"'It is false.'\n\n\"'I have the proof in my possession--a letter from your wife.' Then I\ntold him what I knew of his history, and ended thus: 'You have hitherto\ngone from one crime to another. It is time for you to reform. Promise\nto begin a new life, and I pledge my word to keep what I know to\nmyself.'\n\n\"'I promise--humble myself--and to you!... There is one man too many in\nthe world, you or I. By heaven! this must be ended.'\n\n\"I heard no more. Before I could ward off the blow, he hit me, causing\nthe wound you see on my head. Then he continued striking me with\ndiabolical fury. I could not defend myself, but called for help. Two\nmen heard me in the mill, and came running with all their might. As\nsoon as Durand saw them, he fled I know not where. I beg he may not be\npursued; the crime is too serious.\"\n\nLouis had ended his account.\n\n\"Monsieur,\" said Mr. Smithson, \"you have been strangely unfortunate\nsince you came here. It has all arisen from a misunderstanding. I\ndistrusted you. I was wrong. You have a noble heart. I see it now.\nWhat you have said explains many things I did not understand. You\nhave been odiously calumniated, monsieur! Now that we have come to an\nunderstanding, promise not to leave me. I will go further: forgive me.\"\n\nLouis was affected to tears, and could not reply.\n\n\"And now, monsieur,\" said Mr. Smithson, \"can I render you any service?\"\n\n\"I wish my father and sister to be cautiously informed of what has\nhappened to me.\"\n\n\"I will go myself,\" said Mr. Smithson, \"and give them an account of\nyour unfortunate adventure. You may rely on my making the communication\nwith all the discretion you could wish. Will to-morrow be soon enough?\"\n\n\"Oh! yes. To go this evening would made them think me in great danger.\"\n\nThey continued to converse some minutes longer, then Mr. Smithson\nreturned to the house. When he entered the _salon_, he found the family\nexceedingly anxious. They suspected something serious had occurred, but\nthe servants had not dared communicate the slightest particular. Mr.\nSmithson had forbidden it, and in his house every one obeyed to the\nletter.\n\n\"M. Louis, ...\" began he. At this name, Eug\u00e9nie turned pale. She still\nloved the engineer, and waited with dread for her father to allay the\nsuspicions so hateful to her, or to confirm them.\n\n\"M. Louis came near being killed. He was only wounded, and will soon be\nwell again.\"\n\n\"What happened to him?\" cried Eug\u00e9nie eagerly.\n\nMme. Smithson and Albert exchanged a look of intelligence. Mr. Smithson\nrelated the facts he had just learned from Louis. In proportion as he\nunveiled the infamy of Durand's conduct, and revealed the nobility\nof Louis' nature, an expression of joy, mingled with pride, dawned\non Eug\u00e9nie's face. It was easy to read the look she gave her mother\nand Albert--a look of mingled happiness and triumph which seemed\nto say: \"He is innocent; it is my turn to rejoice!\" Mr. Smithson,\nalways sincere and ready to acknowledge an error, ended his account\nby expressing his regret at having been hard, suspicious, and unjust\ntowards Louis. \"I shall henceforth regard him with the highest respect;\nand I hope, if any of you, like me, have been deceived about him, that\nmy words and example will suffice to correct your mistake.\"\n\nMme. Smithson and Albert pretended not to hear his last words; but they\nstruck Eug\u00e9nie particularly. Had she dared, she would have thrown her\narms around her father's neck, and given vent to her joy and gratitude.\nShe was obliged to refrain, but her sentiments were so legible in her\nface that no one could mistake them. You will not be surprised to hear\nthat Mme. Smithson and her nephew cut a sad figure.\n\nA few moments after, they all retired to their rooms. As Eug\u00e9nie\nembraced her father, she could not refrain from timidly asking him one\nquestion: \"Is it really true that M. Louis' life is not in danger,\nfather? It would be very sad for so good a man to be killed by a\nvillain on our own premises.\"\n\n\"There is no danger, my child, I assure you,\" replied Mr. Smithson\nkindly. He then tenderly kissed his daughter for the second time. This\nmark of affection on the part of so cold a man had a special value--I\nmight even say, a special significance.\n\n\"This voluntary expression of love from my father,\" said Eug\u00e9nie\nto herself, \"shows he is aware of all I have suffered, and that he\nsympathizes with me.\" And she went away full of joy and hope. Once\nmore in her chamber, she reflected on all the events of the last few\ndays. Louis had been calumniated many times before, and she believed\nhim guilty; but he had always come out of these attacks justified, so\nthat the very circumstances which at first seemed against him turned to\nhis benefit. What had happened during the evening now at an end threw\na new light on the state of affairs. Louis was an upright man. He was\nsincere, and the persecution he had undergone made him so much the\nworthier of being loved. For the first time, Eug\u00e9nie ventured to say to\nherself boldly: \"Yes, I love him!\" Then she prayed for him. At length a\nnew doubt--a cruel doubt--rose in her heart: \"But he, does he love me?\"\nimmediately followed by another question: if Louis loved her, would\nher father consent to receive him as a son-in-law?... He had won his\nesteem--that was a good deal; but Mr. Smithson was not a man to be led\naway by enthusiasm. These questions were very embarrassing. Nor were\nthey all. Eug\u00e9nie foresaw many other difficulties also: Louis was poor;\nhe was a Catholic, not only in name, but in heart and deed. His poverty\nand his piety were two obstacles to his gaining Mr. Smithson's entire\nfavor. These two reasons might prevent him from ever consenting to give\nLouis his daughter's hand. Such were Eug\u00e9nie's thoughts. Reflection,\ninstead of allaying her anxiety, only served to make it more keen.\n\n\"One hope remains,\" thought she, \"but that is a powerful one: my father\nloves me too well to render me unhappy. I will acknowledge that the\nhappiness of my life depends on his decision.\"\n\nAt that same hour, Louis, in the midst of his sufferings, was a prey\nto similar anxiety. But he had one advantage over Eug\u00e9nie. \"It is not\nwithout some design,\" he said, \"that Providence has directed everything\nwith such wonderful goodness. I trust that, after giving me so clear\na glimpse of happiness, I shall at last be permitted to attain the\nreality.\"\n\nThis was by no means certain, for the designs of God, though ever\nmerciful, are always unfathomable. No one can tell beforehand how\nthings will end. But we must pardon a little temerity in the heart of\na lover. It is sad to say, but even in the most upright souls love\noverpowers reason.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nTHE BETROTHAL.\n\nThe next morning, Eug\u00e9nie had news that surprised her, but seemed a\nhappy augury: her cousin had suddenly decided to go home! His departure\nwas announced by Fanny. As long as things remained undecided, and\nAlbert had some hope, Fanny had appeared cross and dissatisfied. But\nnow she made her appearance as she used to be--smiling, chatty, and\nagreeable, without any one's knowing why. The artful _soubrette_ felt\nit was high time to change her tactics. In consequence of the blunders\nAlbert had committed, and Eug\u00e9nie's marked antipathy to him, he would\nhenceforth be blotted out of the list of mademoiselle's admirers. If,\ntherefore, Fanny wished to reinstate herself in her mistress' good\ngraces, if she wished to make sure of that cherished asylum--the object\nof all her aims for the last ten years--she must pave the way by her\nsubserviency to her future patrons--Eug\u00e9nie and the husband of her\nchoice, whoever he might be. With a keener eye, or at least bolder,\nthan Eug\u00e9nie's, Fanny had no doubt it would be Louis.\n\nWith the assurance of those people who make others forget their faults\nby appearing to be ignorant of them themselves, Fanny went with a\nsingle bound over to the side of the man she regarded as a personal\nenemy the night before. Eug\u00e9nie perceived the sudden tack. It greatly\namused her, though she pretended not to see it.\n\n\"Where is my father?\" she asked Fanny.\n\n\"Monsieur is going to town with M. Albert, and also to notify Mr.\nLouis' family of the misfortune that has happened to him--a painful\nerrand. M. Louis has a father who is greatly attached to him, and a\nsister who is still fonder of him--a very amiable woman, with a strong\nmind.\"\n\n\"Ah! indeed; where did you learn these particulars?\"\n\n\"Here and there. Mademoiselle knows the good God has given me ears to\nhear with.\"\n\n\"And especially a tongue that can ask questions, Fanny.\"\n\nEug\u00e9nie went down to the breakfast-room, where she found the rest\nassembled. Mr. Smithson wore a cheerful air. Albert was in an\nill-humor, which he badly concealed under pretended elation. Mme.\nSmithson appeared anxious, but Eug\u00e9nie saw with delight that she was\nmore affectionate towards her than she had been of late.\n\nA policeman from St. M---- passed by the window.\n\n\"What is that policeman here for?\" inquired Eug\u00e9nie.\n\n\"We had to search Durand's room, my child,\" replied Mr. Smithson. \"The\nman cheated me in a shameful manner. I have obtained positive proofs\nof it. We found letters from his wife and other people which prove him\nutterly heartless and base--in short, one of the most dangerous men I\never saw.\"\n\nMr. Smithson and Albert started a short time after. The parting between\nthe two cousins was not, as you may suppose, very affecting. As Mr.\nSmithson entered the carriage, he said to his wife: \"Go and tell M.\nLouis I am on my way to his father's. I intend to bring him back with\nme, and hope the sister will accompany him; for no one knows so well\nhow to take care of him, or to do it so acceptably. Do not delay giving\nhim this information; it will do him more good than a visit from the\ndoctor.\"\n\nMme. Smithson made a brief reply, in which a slight confusion and a\nlingering antipathy were perceptible. The commission was evidently\ndisagreeable, but she obeyed her husband. As soon as he was out\nof sight, she proceeded towards the wounded man's room. Eug\u00e9nie\nreturned to the house. She expected her mother would be back in a few\nminutes, and was greatly surprised when a quarter of an hour--half an\nhour--nearly a whole hour passed without her returning. She became\nextremely anxious. She feared her mother had found Louis in too\ndangerous a state to be left till Mr. Smithson returned. \"Perhaps,\"\nshe also thought--\"perhaps mother and M. Louis are having a painful\nexplanation. Mother is very kind, but at times she is dreadful!\nExasperated by my cousin's abrupt departure, I fear she may, under the\nimpulse of vexation or animosity, say something painful to the poor\nsick fellow....\" And at this, she gave her imagination full course.\n\nAt length Mme. Smithson reappeared. Eug\u00e9nie refrained from questioning\nher, but she looked as if she would read the bottom of her mother's\nheart.\n\n\"We had rather a long talk,\" said Mme. Smithson, without appearing to\nsuspect how anxious her daughter had been. \"He is a good young man,\nthat M. Louis; a little serious, a little too gloomy, but that seems\nto please certain people!... He is delighted because his sister is\ncoming....\"\n\n\"I am not surprised,\" said Eug\u00e9nie.\n\nThe conversation was kept up for some time in this discreet tone,\nneither of them wishing to let the other see what she really thought.\nIt seemed to Eug\u00e9nie, however, that her mother, instead of manifesting\nany irritation against Louis, was making an effort to reconcile herself\nto him. Had she then an idea he might become her son-in-law, and did\nshe wish to accustom herself to a prospect but recently so contrary to\nher views?...\n\nThe carriage arrived an hour after. Eug\u00e9nie felt somewhat agitated at\nthe thought of meeting Louis' father and sister. \"Shall I like them?\nWill they like me?\" she said to herself, as she proceeded resolutely\nto the door to receive them. She first shook hands with Aline. The\npoor girl was pale with anxiety, but her very anxiety increased her\nbeauty. She made a conquest of Eug\u00e9nie at the first glance. Her\nthoughtful air, the distinction of her manners, her intelligent and\nanimated countenance, were all pleasing to her. Eug\u00e9nie felt, if Aline\ndid not become her friend, it would be because she did not wish to.\nTheir interview lasted only a few minutes; then Aline followed Mr.\nSmithson, who had taken her father's arm, to Louis' room. Eug\u00e9nie was\nalso pleased with M. Beauvais. He had a cold, stern air, but so had Mr.\nSmithson himself.\n\nQuite a series of incidents of no special importance occurred after\nthis, which it would take too much time to relate. I must hasten to end\nmy story, as you wish, I fear.\n\nA week after, Mr. Smithson's house was _en f\u00eate_ to celebrate Louis'\nconvalescence. Both families assembled on this occasion. Aline,\nEug\u00e9nie, and Mme. Smithson, who had again become the excellent woman\nshe was when we first knew her, formed a trio of friends such as is\nseldom found. And one would have taken Mr. Smithson and Louis' father\nfor two old friends from boyhood, so familiarly did they converse. They\nseemed to understand each other at half a word.\n\n\"What a delightful _r\u00e9union_!\" said Mr. Smithson when they came to\nthe dessert. \"It is hard to think we must all separate to-morrow. But\nit is settled that you, M. Louis, are to come back as soon as you are\nperfectly well.\"\n\n\"I give you my word,\" said Louis; \"and promise also never to leave you\nfrom the time you see me again.\"\n\n\"I hope you will carry out that intention. We will never separate\nagain. But you are young, and it is more difficult for a young man to\nforesee what may occur.\"\n\n\"As far as it depends on me, I can.\" As Louis said these words, he\nglanced at Eug\u00e9nie, who sat opposite. His look seemed to say: \"There is\nthe magnet that will keep me here for ever!\" Eug\u00e9nie blushed. Every one\nnoticed it.\n\n\"It is useless for you to say that,\" said Mr. Smithson. \"I shall\nalways be in fear of your escape till you are positively bound here.\nBut how shall we bind you to St. M----? There is one way,\" and Mr.\nSmithson smiled as he spoke; \"which has occurred to the parents; will\nthe children consent?\"\n\nEug\u00e9nie and Louis looked at each other. In the eyes of both beamed the\nsame joy.\n\n\"The children make no reply, ...\" resumed Mr. Smithson.\n\n\"Pardon me,\" exclaimed Louis. \"I dare not be the first to answer.\"\n\n\"Silence implies consent,\" replied Mr. Smithson. \"If Eug\u00e9nie is not of\nyour mind, let her protest against it. Otherwise I shall give my own\ninterpretation to her silence.\"\n\n\"I do not protest,\" said Eug\u00e9nie, unusually intimidated.\n\n\"Oh! what strange lovers!\" continued Mr. Smithson. \"I think we shall\nhave to tell them they love each other.\"\n\n\"Perhaps we are already aware of it,\" said Louis. \"At least, I have\nbeen for a long time.\"\n\n\"And have you not confessed it to each other?\"\n\n\"I had forbidden myself to do so.\"\n\n\"Louis, you have a noble heart,\" said Mr. Smithson. \"To keep silence\nin such a case requires a courage amounting to heroism. But I have\nremarked that the heroic qualities you have given so many proofs\nof since you came here always turn to the advantage of those who\ncontinue under their influence. This proves that God, even in this\nworld, rewards the deeds of the upright much oftener than is supposed.\nDoubtless they are also recompensed in heaven, but they often have on\nearth a foretaste of what awaits them hereafter.\"\n\nSuch was the betrothal of my two friends. The next day, Louis came\nto town, in order to obtain the medical aid necessary to complete\nhis cure. I had returned myself a few days previous. I cannot tell\nyou with what pleasure I received him, and learned the welcome news\nfrom the lips of the _fianc\u00e9e_ herself, who greatly pleased me at\nthe very first interview, and never gave me any reason to change my\nopinion. My intercourse with them and Aline--three choice spirits--was\nso delightful that it sustained me in the midst of the terrible\ntrials through which I was then passing. My grief for the death of my\nhusband had grown more calm, but his memory followed me constantly and\neverywhere.\n\nIn addition to my mental troubles, I underwent physical sufferings that\nwere sometimes excruciating. And I was filled with a dread that was\nstill worse. I trembled at the thought I might always be a burden to my\npoor mother and sister. I had not fully learned that, when God sends\na trial, he likewise gives the strength to bear it, and some way of\nmitigating it. How many times I have since realized this! God comes to\nthe aid of those whose will is in conformity with his.\n\nThe marriage of Louis and Eug\u00e9nie took place a month afterwards. For\nthem, and I might almost say for myself, it was the beginning of a life\nof serene happiness that lasted six years. The better these two souls\nbecame acquainted, the more they loved each other. They were always\nof the same mind on all subjects whatever, particularly when there\nwas a question of doing good. Eug\u00e9nie, under her husband's influence,\nbecame in a few months a woman of angelic piety. The good works Louis\nhad previously begun under such unfavorable circumstances were resumed\nat once, and carried on with a zeal and prudence that had the happiest\ninfluence on the whole country round. St. M---- was transformed into\na Christian republic. The wicked--to be found everywhere--were few in\nnumber, and, instead of ruling over the good, considered themselves\nfortunate in being tolerated. Ah! if it were thus everywhere!... Every\nsummer, I went to pass three months with my friends. I was happier\nthere than I can express. It was delightful to behold a family so\nadmirably united, so beloved and respected everywhere around! Mr.\nSmithson himself was hardly to be recognized. The sight of the wonders\neffected by his son-in-law and daughter destroyed one by one all his\nprejudices against the true religion....\n\nAlas! the happiness of this world is seldom of long duration. Eug\u00e9nie\nhad been married six years, and was the mother of two children, when\nshe was seized with a severe illness that endangered her life. She\ngot over it, however, but remained feeble and languid. The physicians\ninsisted on her residing permanently in the South. A large manufactory\nbeing for sale on the delightful shores of the Mediterranean, a few\nleagues from Marseilles, on the picturesque and charming road leading\nfrom the Phoc\u00e6an City to Toulon, Louis purchased it, and they all went\naway!\n\nNo words could describe the sadness they experienced at leaving so dear\na spot as St. M----, where they were greatly beloved. They likewise\nregretted separating from me. When I saw them start, I felt almost as\ndistressed as I was at the death of my husband; but I did not tell them\nso, for fear of increasing their regret. After they went to Provence,\nthey had one more year of happiness; but the amelioration that took\nplace in Eug\u00e9nie's health did not last any longer. She died three\nmonths later.\n\nSome time after, Louis came to seek consolation from his sister and\nme. His very aspect made us heartsick. His grief was beyond the reach\nof any human consolation. It would have been wrong had he voluntarily\ngiven himself up to it. But, no; he struggled against it. It prevailed,\nhowever, in spite of himself, as phthisis resists every remedy and\nwears the sufferer to the grave. We represented to him the good he\nmight still effect, and reminded him he had one child left to bring\nup; the other being dead. He listened kindly to our representations,\nand said he had had more happiness on earth than he merited; that he\nsubmitted to the divine will, and resigned himself to live as long as\nGod wished. But all this was said with a dejection and involuntary\nweariness of everything, that was no good sign. Louis was one of those\nsouls, all sensibility, who die as soon as their hearts receive a deep\nwound. Had he been an unbeliever, he would have taken his own life, or\ndied of grief in a few months. Religion sustained him four years longer.\n\nDuring that time, his friends always found him resigned. He became more\ndevout than ever, and more zealous in doing good. A sudden illness at\nlength carried him off. The physicians asserted that he might have\nrecovered if grief had not undermined his constitution, once so robust.\nWhen he died, he left his son to be brought up by his sister. God gave\nhim the happiness, before his death, of seeing his father-in-law enter\nthe bosom of the church.\n\nMadame Agnes had finished her story.\n\n\"Such, my friend, is the history of my life,\" said she. \"It is not very\nentertaining, I confess, but I think it instructive. All who had a part\nin it suffered, but they never lost courage. Such a misfortune could\nnot happen to them, because they only expected from life what it has\nto give--many days of trial, mingled with some that are joyful. But\nwhether their days were sad or joyful, my friends were never deprived\nof the light of the divine presence. They received from the hand of God\nhappiness and sorrow with equal gratitude, aware that he disposes all\nthings for the good of those he loves, and that in him all they have\nloved on earth will be found again.\n\n\"My friend, imitate the example of these dear ones now gone! Keep\nintact the gift of faith, which was their dearest, most precious\ntreasure. Let it also be yours! If you rely on God, you will never lack\nresignation and hope, even in the midst of the most bitter trials.\nFaith, while waiting to open the gates of heaven to you--faith,\npractical and ardent, wonderfully softens every trial here below.\"\n\n\n\n\nDANIEL O'CONNELL.\n\n\nThe good old saying, that it never rains but it pours, has received\nadditional illustration in the appearance within a very short time of\ntwo lives and one memoir of the great Irish agitator, the late Daniel\nO'Connell. The latter, it is true, is a mere sketch, intended only as\nan introduction to a collection of ten or twelve of the most noteworthy\nspeeches of that distinguished man, judiciously selected from hundreds\nwhich, as a lawyer, politician, and parliamentary debater, he had\ndelivered in the course of a remarkably busy life, extending over\nnearly half a century. In this regard, if in no other, it will be found\ninteresting and useful to those who have not leisure or inclination to\nstudy the history of his career in detail.\n\nOf Mr. Luby's work, published originally in parts, many of which we\nhave carefully perused, we have little to say. It is evidently written\nin haste, loosely, and without due regard to the canons which are\ngenerally supposed to govern composition and narration. There are\nno facts or incidents in it bearing on the public or private life\nof O'Connell that are not already well known to every person of\nordinary intelligence, and which have not been better and more lucidly\npresented to the public years ago. It has the demerit, also, of being\naltogether too discursive, not to say blatant, in style, and the\nauthor is too constantly wandering away from his subject to matters\nquite disconnected from the actions and peculiarities of his hero.\nJudging from this production, Mr. Luby seems to be a very unfit person\nto portray the genius, aims, and designs of the great Irish popular\nleader, lacking as he does that earnest sympathy which should exist\nbetween the biographer and his subject, as well as that judicial and\nphilosophical insight into the secret springs of human action which,\nwhile recording patent facts, can comprehend and elucidate the true\nmotives, designs, and probable results of the deeds related. Such has\never been considered the real end of biographical literature.\n\nIn this respect, the _Life of O'Connell_, by Sister Mary Francis\nClare, is much superior to Mr. Luby's, as it is in every other\nessential quality, though in itself far inferior to what might have\nbeen expected from so popular a writer, particularly when dealing with\nso great and congenial a theme. In her book of eight hundred pages,\nthe good religious has shown a vast amount of industry, a genuine\nappreciation of the character, labors, and conduct of the Liberator,\nand considerable literary skill in presenting them to the public in the\nmost attractive and readable form. The correspondence between O'Connell\nand the venerable Archbishop of Tuam, now for the first time published,\nconstitutes a most valuable, perhaps the most valuable, feature in\nthe work, and, as a glimpse at the inner life of the busy lawyer and\nuntiring agitator, will be read with particular gratification by\nthe admirers of his extraordinary abilities in this country. Here,\nwe regret to say, our praise of Miss Cusack's book must end. As a\nbiography of one of the most remarkable public men of this century or\nof any country, it is not a decided success, and, as coming from the\npen of an experienced, facile, and patriotic writer, it will, we do\nnot doubt, disappoint the majority of her admirers at home and abroad.\nWith the exception of the letters to Abp. McHale, alluded to above,\nand some original notes and appendices supplied by friends, the facts,\nincidents, and anecdotes recounted of the Irish leader are mainly\ntaken from such books as those of O'Neill Daunt, Fegan, Sheil, and\nhis own son, John O'Connell, all of which may be found in an anonymous\ncompilation published five or six years ago.[76]\n\nWe do not find fault so much with the fact that it is so largely a\ncompilation, as with the crude manner in which the extracts from those\nworks are collated and presented to the public. We can even point\nto several instances where they are inserted bodily in the text, as\noriginal, without quotation-marks, foot-notes, or any other sign of\nreference. This may or may not be the fault of the printer, but the\nexamples are so numerous as to incline us to the latter opinion. We\nhave often admired the industry of Miss Cusack in bringing out so many\ngood books in such rapid succession; as well as her zeal in endeavoring\nto aid, by the products of her genius, a most meritorious charity;\nbut we hold it to be against the laws both of fair play and literary\ncourtesy to neglect to accord to the labors of others a proper share of\nacknowledgment.\n\nWe do not want to be unreasonable. Had the gifted authoress allowed\nherself more time, and related the dramatic story of O'Connell's\nlife entirely in her own words, we would have been satisfied. We do\nnot expect that a lady secluded from the world, necessarily devoting\nthe greater part of her time to the duties of her calling, and\nconsequently practically unacquainted with the outside political world,\nits storms, passions, and intrigues, can treat us to anything like\na full or elaborate disquisition on the circumstances, dangers, and\ndifficulties which surrounded and impeded the career of such a man as\nthe emancipator of the Catholics of Great Britain and Ireland. Only a\nperson who has devoted much time to the examination of the history of\nIreland and England, for the past hundred years, at least; who himself\nhas been a participant in, or an interested spectator of, the unceasing\nconflict which during that period was naturally waged between the Irish\nnationalists and their opponents, can attempt to do so. This war was\ncarried on in every relation of life; at the bar, on the bench; in the\npulpit, press, and forum; in the workshop, the club, and the halls\nof St. Stephen; and the central figure, the invincible leader of the\naggressive and at length victorious national party, was O'Connell--the\nman who for near half a century dared all opposition and defied all\nhostile power in the championship of the cause of his persecuted\ncountrymen and co-religionists.\n\nHowever men may differ as to the wisdom, policy, or honesty of\nO'Connell, none will deny that he was a man of stupendous intellect and\nindomitable perseverance. In everything he was gigantic. In physique,\nmental attainments, courage, virtues, and even in his errors, he was\ndecidedly great. There was nothing small or dwarfed about him; and\nas, a popular leader while living, he seemed to hold in his hand the\ncontrol of the masses of his countrymen; so, when dead, the very\nmention of his name is enough to awaken the gratitude and evoke the\nadmiration of millions of the present generation, whose advent into\nthe world succeeded his demise. Not only in Ireland was he trusted,\nbeloved, and revered, but on the continent of Europe and in this\ncountry his name was associated with the cause of civil and religious\nliberty, and his every movement watched with interest by all classes.\nAnd when at length, worn down by his excessive labors in behalf of\nfaith and liberty, he yielded up his soul to his Creator, his piety\nand patriotism became the subjects of unqualified encomiums from the\nnoblest and most distinguished orators in both hemispheres. Surely\nso great an embodiment of zeal and genius, well directed, deserves a\nfitting chronicler.\n\nBorn of a house never remarkable before nor since his time for\nattachment to creed or country; educated far from the influences of\nhis native land, we find him returning to it just as he had completed\nhis majority, an accomplished scholar and a barrister, with nothing to\ndepend upon but his own labors for support, yet full of ambition and\neager for distinction. Had he followed the traditions of his family,\nhe would have settled down quietly to the practice of his profession,\nand in course of time, doubtless, would have become wealthy and a\nuseful assistant to the hostile power that controlled the destinies\nof his nation, as too many of his professional brothers had already\ndone. But the young lawyer, to the dismay of many of his relations,\nsoon showed that he was made of sterner stuff. He could not \"bend the\npregnant hinges of the knee, that thrift might follow fawning.\" He had\narrived home in time to witness the horrors of '98; he had seen his\nfellow-Catholics, even then four-fifths of the population of Ireland,\nbowed down to the very dust, sneered at, reprobated, and, on their own\nsoil, denied every social, commercial, and political right to which as\nfreemen they were entitled; and, with a courage that never deserted\nhim, and a capacity for labor that was truly remarkable, he ranged\nhimself on the side of the proscribed, and took up the gauntlet cast\ndown to the oppressed by the powerful and unscrupulous faction which\nthen, as now, represented British supremacy in Ireland.\n\nHis first appearance in public, being then but twenty-three years old,\nwas in 1799, when the question of a legislative union between Ireland\nand England convulsed the former and deeply moved the public mind of\nthe latter country. At a meeting in Dublin, he denounced the measure in\nterms so bold, clear, and forcible that those who listened to him had\nlittle difficulty in foreseeing his future eminence and usefulness to\nthe national cause. The scheme of Pitt and Castlereagh was, however,\ncarried out, the Irish parliament was destroyed, and the Catholics\nsaw themselves at the beginning of the century not only without a\ndomestic legislature, but shut out from all representation, not only\nin the united Lords and Commons, but even in the most insignificant\ncorporation and local boards.\n\nWhere, then, could the ardent young patriot, gifted, enthusiastic,\nand impatient of the restrictions placed upon himself and his\nfellow-countrymen, find an audience and an outlet for the fiery\neloquence that heaved and burned in his soul? Clearly in popular\ngatherings and in the courts of law. But the people at that time\nwere so timid, nay, so degraded, that they dared not assemble in any\nforce to protest against the tyranny that had for so many generations\nenslaved them; or, if a few hundreds did assemble together, the sight\nof a magistrate, or the presence of some truculent follower of the\ncastle, like the infamous Maj. Sirr, was sufficient to disperse them,\nwhile the few Catholic noblemen and gentry yet left were as timid as so\nmany hares. The Irish Catholics of that epoch, so long trodden under\nfoot, and deprived absolutely of political power and landed interests,\nwere not like the Catholics of to-day, who, in all thankfulness be it\nsaid, are triumphantly bearing aloft the banner of the church when so\nmuch of Europe is trailing it in the mire of infidelity and communism.\nThen Wolfe Tone, once their secretary, in his _Memoirs_, and Wyse, in\nhis _History of the Catholic Association_, likened them to the servile\nJews, and described them as deficient in manliness and self-respect.\nThey crawled at the feet of a hostile government, says the latter,\nfawned on their Protestant neighbors, and felt honored by being even\nnoticed by persons of that creed, even though in every respect their\ninferiors. Such people had very little business in the civil courts to\ngive, and what little they had they gave to those who loathed their\ncreed and despised themselves.\n\nO'Connell soon saw that nothing could be effected in the way of\npopular demonstrations with such unpromising materials. He therefore\nadopted another and a wiser course. The courts became his fulcrum,\nand his eloquence the lever, by which he sought to raise the spirit\nof the nation. Term after term, year after year, his potent voice was\nheard ringing through the halls of justice by an astonished bar and\ndelighted and electrified audiences, in the defence of the victims of\nlandlord tyranny or official persecution. His arguments to the bench,\nand his harangues to the jury, were always full of fire, audacity, and\nlogic, and were seldom, even in the face of unmitigated prejudice,\nunsuccessful. Pathos and humor, wit and vituperation, strong appeals\nto the patriotism of his hearers, and stern denunciations of the\nrashness and folly of some of his compatriots, were with him invariably\nmingled with sound common sense and unerring legal acumen. So great,\nindeed, was his success as a pleader in criminal cases, so unlimited\nhis resources in difficult motions, and so general his triumphs over\nignorance and bigotry, that, before most of his fellow-practitioners\nhad earned their first fees, he found himself in the enjoyment of a\nlucrative practice, and, what to him was an object of much greater\nimportance, the spokesman of the degraded majority, and the oracle\nof his people. His forensic efforts were not confined to judges and\njuries exclusively. He lost no opportunity of throwing into his legal\narguments and speeches some remarks for the benefit of the masses who\nalways throng Irish courts--remarks which never failed to elicit the\nwildest delight and the most hearty applause.\n\nIn this indirect way he was gradually infusing into his countrymen\nthat spirit of manhood which so powerfully moved himself. As an\nevidence of this, we may quote an extract, though a long one, from\nhis speech in defence of Magee, editor of the _Evening Post_, then\nthe most influential advocate of Catholic rights in Ireland. In\n1813, Magee was prosecuted for a libel on the Duke of Richmond, the\nretiring lord-lieutenant; and as the crown officers in their speeches,\nand, as it appeared, by previous arrangement, endeavored to give\nto the trial--having first selected a jury to suit themselves--a\npolitical significance, Magee's counsel willingly joined issue\nwith them on their own terms. The array of legal ability on both\nsides was proportionate to the gravity of the question involved.\nFor the government appeared the Attorney-General, Saurin, the\nSolicitor-General, Bushe, and Sergeants Moore, Ball, and McMahon;\nfor the defence, O'Connell, assisted by Messrs. Wallace, Hamilton,\nFindley, and Philips. Saurin, in his opening, alluding to the Catholic\nBoard, of which the defendant's newspaper was the organ, made use of\nthese words: \"If the libel only related to him [Richmond], it would\nhave gone by unprosecuted by me. But the imputation is made against\nthe administration of justice by the government of Ireland, and it\nforms only a part of a system of calumny with which an association of\nfactious and revolutionary men are in the habit of vilifying every\nconstitutional authority in the land.\" The opportunity thus afforded\nO'Connell was instantly and dexterously seized by him to reply with\nmore than his usual boldness and wealth of invective. In the course of\nhis long address to the jury, he said:\n\n  \"My lord, upon the Catholic subject I commence with one assertion\n  of the Attorney-General, which I trust I misunderstood. He talked,\n  as I collected him, of the Catholics having imbibed principles of\n  a seditious, treasonable, and revolutionary nature! He seemed to\n  me most distinctly to charge us with treason! There is no relying\n  on his words for his meaning--I know there is not. On a former\n  occasion, I took down a repetition of this charge full seventeen\n  times on my brief; and yet afterwards it turned out that he never\n  intended to make any such charge; that he forgot he had ever used\n  those words, and he disclaimed the idea they naturally convey. It\n  is clear, therefore, that upon this subject he knows not what he\n  says; and that these phrases are the mere flowers of his rhetoric,\n  but quite innocent of any meaning!\n\n  \"Upon this account I pass him by, I go beyond him, and I content\n  myself with proclaiming those charges, whosoever may make them,\n  to be false and base calumnies! It is impossible to refute such\n  charges in the language of dignity or temper. But if any man\n  dares to charge the Catholic body, or the Catholic Board, or any\n  individuals of that Board, with sedition or treason, I do here, I\n  shall always in this court, in the city, in the field, brand him as\n  an infamous and profligate liar!\n\n  \"Pardon the phrase, but there is no other suitable to the occasion.\n  But he is a profligate liar who so asserts, because he must know\n  that the whole tenor of our conduct confutes the assertion. What is\n  it we seek?\"\n\n  \"_Chief-Justice._--What, Mr. O'Connell, can this have to do with\n  the question which the jury are to try?\"\n\n  \"_Mr. O'Connell._--You heard the Attorney-General traduce and\n  calumniate us; you heard him with patience and with temper--listen\n  now to our vindication!\n\n  \"I ask, What is it we seek? What is it we incessantly, and, if\n  you please, clamorously, petition for? Why, to be allowed to\n  partake of the advantages of the constitution. We are earnestly\n  anxious to share the benefits of the constitution. We look to\n  the participation in the constitution as our greatest political\n  blessing. If we desired to destroy it, would we seek to share\n  it? If we wished to overturn it, would we exert ourselves\n  through calumny, and in peril, to obtain a portion of its\n  blessings? Strange, inconsistent voice of calumny! You charge us\n  with intemperance in our exertions for a participation in the\n  constitution, and you charge us at the same time, almost in the\n  same sentence, with a design to overturn the constitution. The\n  dupes of your hypocrisy may believe you; but, base calumniators,\n  you do not, you cannot believe yourselves!\n\n  \"The Attorney-General--'this wisest and best of men,' as his\n  colleague, the Solicitor-General, called him in his presence,--the\n  Attorney-General next boasted of his triumph over Pope and Popery;\n  'I put down the Catholic Committee; I will put down, at my good\n  time, the Catholic Board.' This boast is partly historical, partly\n  prophecy. He was wrong in his history--he is quite mistaken in\n  his prophecy. He did not put down the Catholic Committee; we gave\n  up that name the moment that this sapient Attorney-General's\n  polemico-legal controversy dwindled into a mere dispute about\n  words. He told us that, in the English language, 'pretence' means\n  'purpose.' Had it been French and not English, we might have\n  been inclined to respect his judgment; but in point of English,\n  we venture to differ with him. We told him, 'Purpose,' good Mr.\n  Attorney-General, is just the reverse of 'pretence.' The quarrel\n  grew warm and animated. We appealed to common sense, to the\n  grammar, and to the dictionary; common sense, grammar, and the\n  dictionary decided in our favor. He brought his appeal to this\n  court, your lordship, and your brethren unanimously decided that in\n  point of law--mark, mark, gentlemen of the jury, the sublime wisdom\n  of the law--the court decided that, in point of law, 'pretence'\n  does mean 'purpose'!\n\n  \"Fully contented with this very reasonable and most satisfactory\n  decision, there still remained a matter of fact between us. The\n  Attorney-General charged us with being representatives; we denied\n  all representation. He had two witnesses to prove the fact for\n  him; they swore to it one way at one trial, and directly the\n  other way at the next. An honorable, intelligent, and enlightened\n  jury disbelieved those witnesses at the first trial; matters were\n  better managed at the second trial--the jury were better arranged.\n  I speak delicately, gentlemen: the jury were better arranged, as\n  the witnesses were better informed; and, accordingly, there was\n  one verdict for us on the representative question, and one verdict\n  against us....\n\n  \"Let me pledge myself to you that he imposes on you when he\n  threatens to crush the Catholic Board. Illegal violence may do it,\n  force may effectuate it; but your hopes and his will be defeated\n  if he attempts it by any course of law. I am, if not a lawyer, at\n  least a barrister. On this subject I ought to know something, and I\n  do not hesitate to contradict the Attorney-General on this point,\n  and to proclaim to you and to the country that the Catholic Board\n  is a perfectly legal assembly; that it not only does not violate\n  the law, but that it is entitled to the protection of the law;\n  and in the very proudest tone of firmness, I hurl defiance at the\n  Attorney-General!\n\n  \"I defy him to allege a law or a statute, or even a proclamation,\n  that is violated by the Catholic Board. No, gentlemen, no; his\n  religious prejudices--if the absence of every charity can be called\n  anything religious,--his religious prejudices really obscure\n  his reason, his bigoted intolerance has totally darkened his\n  understanding, and he mistakes the plainest facts, and misquotes\n  the clearest law, in the ardor and vehemence of his rancor. I\n  disclaim his moderation, I scorn his forbearance. I tell him he\n  knows not the law, if he thinks as he says; and if he thinks so, I\n  tell him to his beard that he is not honest in not having sooner\n  prosecuted us, and I challenge him to that prosecution.\"[77]\n\nThose were brave words, such as the ears of the English officials were\nunused to hear, but which found a responsive echo in the hearts of\nmillions of the oppressed Catholics, degraded and enthralled as they\nwere at that time. On the first day of its publication, ten thousand\ncopies of the entire address were sold, and in a short time it was\nto be found in nearly every house and place of public resort in the\ncountry. It was also translated into French and Spanish, and eagerly\nread and commented upon on the continent. In fact, this trial may be\nconsidered the true initial point of the great Catholic movement which\nculminated in emancipation sixteen years afterwards.\n\nTo a man of less indomitable will and less transcendent legal\nabilities, a course such as O'Connell had adopted would have been\nutterly ruinous. Then, as now, but to a far greater extent, the Irish\njudges were the mere creatures of the castle, and their least frown or\nsneer was considered sufficient to blast the prospects of any young\naspirant for professional honors, even if he were only suspected of\npatriotic leanings. But in the future Emancipator they met their\nequal, not only in point of legal knowledge, but their superior in\nmoral courage and in that mental force which, like a torrent, swept\neverything before it. The following anecdotes, told of O'Connell\nwhile in active practice, illustrate his method of dealing with the\ngovernment jurists:\n\n  \"Happening to be one day present in the courts in Dublin, where a\n  discussion arose on a motion for a new trial, a young attorney was\n  called upon by the opposing counsel either to admit a statement\n  as evidence, or hand in some document he could legally detain.\n  O'Connell stood up, and told the attorney to make no admission.\n\n  \"'Have you a brief in this case, Mr. O'Connell?' asked Baron\n  McCleland, with very peculiar emphasis.\n\n  \"'I have not, my lord; but I shall have one when the case goes down\n  to the assizes.'\n\n  \"'When _I_ was at the bar, it was not _my_ habit to anticipate\n  briefs.'\n\n  \"'When _you_ were at the bar, I never chose _you_ for a model;\n  and now that you are on the bench, I shall not submit to your\n  dictation.'\n\n  \"Leaving the judge to digest this retort, he walked out of the\n  court, accompanied by the young attorney.\n\n  \"At a case tried at the Cork assizes, a point arose touching the\n  legality of certain evidence, which O'Connell argued was clearly\n  admissible. He sustained his own view very fully, reasoning with\n  that force and clearness, and quoting precedent with that facility,\n  for which he was distinguished. But it was to no purpose. The\n  court ruled against him, and the witnesses were shut out. The\n  trial was of extraordinary length, and at the close of the day the\n  proceedings were not ended. On the following morning, when the case\n  was about to be resumed, the judge addressed O'Connell:\n\n  \"'I have reconsidered my decision of yesterday,' said his lordship,\n  'and my present opinion is that the evidence tendered by you should\n  not have been rejected. You can, therefore, reproduce the evidence\n  now.'\n\n  \"Instead of obsequiously thanking him for his condescension, as\n  another would have done, O'Connell's impatience broke out:\n\n  \"'Had your lordship known as much law yesterday as you do to-day,'\n  said he bitterly, 'you would have spared me a vast amount of time\n  and trouble, and my client a considerable amount of injury. Crier,\n  call up the witnesses.'\"[78]\n\nThe career of the great criminal lawyer--for his civil business was\ncomparatively small--lasted for more than a generation, and his success\nwas uniform and uninterrupted, while his fees in the aggregate,\nfor that time, were enormous. \"A single fact,\" says the author just\nquoted, \"will demonstrate the confidence which the Irish public placed\nat this period in the professional abilities of O'Connell. In the\nautumnal assizes of 1813, twenty-six cases were tried in the Limerick\nRecord Court. In every one of these O'Connell held a brief. He was\nlikewise retained in every criminal case tried in the same city. His\nprofessional career was equally triumphant and extraordinary in the\nautumn assizes of Ennis; while in Cork and his native province, Kerry,\nit was that year, if possible, exceeded. At this golden period of\nhis life, his prosperity, flowing from his brilliant abilities, and\nhis popularity, springing from his country's gratitude, rendered his\nposition at the bar in the highest degree enviable.\"\n\nBut it was not as a jurist or an advocate that O'Connell was destined\nto hand down his name to posterity covered with imperishable glory. He\nonly used his great professional success to further two ends. Like a\ntrue patriot, and, _\u00e0 fortiori_, unlike the politicians of to-day, he\ndesired first to establish his own independence before attempting to\nobtain that of his countrymen, knowing well that poverty, associated\nwith ambition, is too often the means of leading men, otherwise honest,\ninto the commission of acts not always honorable or meritorious. Then,\nalso, as we have before intimated, he desired, under the protection\nof the court, to instil into the hearts and souls of the dejected\nCatholics a spirit of manliness and courage by his burning appeals to\ncourts and juries--words which, if uttered out of court, would have\nentailed on him endless prosecutions and proscription.\n\nStrictly speaking, O'Connell cannot be considered as the leader of\nthe Irish Catholics till 1820, when Henry Grattan died. That brilliant\norator and inflexible patriot, though a Protestant, always enjoyed\nthe confidence and esteem of the persecuted masses; and whether in or\nout of Parliament, in College Green or St. Stephen's, his conduct was\never such as to command their respect and affection. O'Connell, on the\ncontrary, up to that date, was unable to control for any length of\ntime the feeble movements which, during the previous decade, had been\nmade by the Catholic body to obtain some redress of their grievances.\nHis audacious denunciation of the government, and his contempt for the\nadvocates of half measures, frightened away such lukewarm Catholics as\nLords Fingal, Trimleston, and French; while his superior foresight,\nskill, and perhaps arrogance, frequently led him into disputes with the\nless clear-headed and more violent of his other associates. A portion\nof the national press, also, looked coldly upon the burly lawyer,\nfearing his ambition; while many of the clergy and bishops hesitated\nto yield implicit confidence to a man who was once a freemason, and\na good deal of whose leisure time, it was said, was spent amid the\n_convives_ of the capital. The \"Catholic Committee,\" which was mainly\nhis creation, was established in 1808, and easily suppressed by the\ngovernment, after a useless existence of less than three years. Its\nsuccessor, the \"Catholic Board,\" was equally powerless, and even\nmore given to internal dissensions; and after its demise, in 1814,\nnine years elapsed, during which the Catholics, divided, dispirited,\nand despairing, made no effort whatever for their rights, unless the\nforwarding of an odd petition to the English Parliament might be called\nso.\n\nIn fact, the generation that had witnessed the horrors of '98 and\nthe wholesale perfidy of the men who planned and passed the act of\nunion, were not fit to carry on a manly, determined agitation: fear had\nbeen driven into their very marrow, and the badge of slavery was worn\nwith a calmness that closely resembled contentment. It required a new\ngeneration to conduct such a movement with success, and a leader to\npoint the way to victory.\n\nTime at last brought both. The first sign of returning life in the\npeople was evinced upon the occasion of a relief bill having been\nintroduced into the House of Commons in 1821, and passed by that body\nby nineteen majority. Though of course defeated by the Lords, its\npartial success, and the unexpected support it received from some of\nthe more distinguished members, had a salutary effect on the public\nmind in Ireland, and aroused hopes that had long lain dormant in the\nbosom of the Catholic party. Meetings began to be held in different\nparts of the provinces, and at length a _Catholic Association_ was\nformed in Dublin, April 28, 1823. Its founder was O'Connell, then\nin his prime, physically and mentally; his reputation as an orator\nand a statesman beyond question; his impetuosity mollified, if not\nsubdued; and his judgment matured by long experience of actual life.\nAt first the association numbered but a few individuals; so few,\nindeed, that after it had been a year in existence, it was difficult\nto get the necessary quorum of members to attend its stated meetings;\nbut a combination of circumstances almost providential, and certainly\nunexpected, occurred, which gave the movement an irresistible impulse.\nThe hierarchy of Ireland unanimously endorsed the movement; the\nclergy not only approved of it, but were active in extending the\norganization; the poet Moore dropped the lyre, and took up the pen\ncontroversial; the illustrious \"J. K. L.\" thundered through the press;\nwhile the halls of Parliament rang with the eloquence of Brougham,\nMackintosh, and Sir F. Burdett. The rent or revenue to conduct and\ndisseminate a knowledge of the principles of the association flowed in\nwith unparalleled generosity, sometimes as much as ten thousand dollars\nbeing received weekly by the treasurer. O'Connell was the head and\nfront, the vivifying principle, organizer, and counsellor of this grand\nuprising of an enslaved people; and his efforts were as untiring as his\nadvice was judicious and well timed.\n\nAt length the government, the supporters of Protestant ascendency,\nbecame alarmed, and at the session of 1825 of the British Parliament a\nbill was introduced to suppress the association. That body immediately\ndelegated O'Connell and R. L. Sheil to attend the bar of the House, and\noffer their testimony as to the perfect legality of the organization.\nThey attended, but were not heard, though admitted to seats in the\nbody of the chamber. Still, they were ably represented by Brougham\nand other influential members. Speaking of the two delegates, the\n_Edinburgh Review_ of that day well said: \"No men in circumstances so\ndifficult and delicate ever behaved with greater temper and moderation,\nor more recommended themselves to all parties by their fairness and\nthe conciliatory manner of their proceedings. Of necessity ignorant\nof the men with whom they were called upon to act, they could not\navoid falling into some errors.... The sanguine temper which made\nthem give ear to the hope [of emancipation] so unaccountably held out\nby some persons, is to be reckoned the chief of these mistakes; for\nit led to far too much carelessness about the blow to be levelled at\nthe association.... When the bill was prepared for putting down the\nassociation, a debate ensued, not, perhaps, paralleled in parliamentary\nhistory for its importance and the sustained excellence which marked\nthe whole compass of its duration. Four whole nights did this memorable\ncontest last, if contest it might be called, where all the strength\nlay, except that of numbers, on one side. The effect produced by\nthis debate out of doors and within the Parliament itself was truly\nimportant. The whole range of Irish policy was discussed, all the\ngrievances of Ireland were openly canvassed, the conduct of the\ngovernment freely arraigned, and such a death-blow given to the cry\nof 'No Popery!' and the other delusions of the High-Church party that\nintolerance lost more ground that night than it had ever hoped to\nregain by the alarm which the association enabled it to excite. The\nconduct of that body was most triumphantly defended, and it appeared\nplainly that the peace of Ireland had been restored by its exertions\nand maintained by its influence.\"\n\nNevertheless, the act passed and the association was dissolved, but\nonly to reappear in another form. The cause of emancipation had gained\nmany and powerful friends, not the least of whom was the editor of the\nquarterly just quoted. A new _Catholic Association_ was formed the\nsame year, and the work of arousing the supine masses went bravely on.\nMeetings were held simultaneously in the various centres of population,\nat one or more of which O'Connell was generally present; for he\nseemed ubiquitous. The patriotic newspapers teemed with speeches,\ncommunications, and extracts, all directed to the same purpose. The\ncountry was in a state of tremendous fermentation, to a degree that\nit was thought impossible it could go further, till the Emancipator\nhimself, by a masterly stroke of policy, which could only have been the\ninspiration of genius, resolved to get himself elected to Parliament,\nand \"carry the war into Africa.\" Ireland was now thoroughly aroused and\norganized; so he resolved, if he could not convince or persuade England\nto do her justice, at least to shock the latter into something like\nequity, or expose her to the world as an oppressor and a hypocrite.\nHe had seen what beneficial effects had followed the debate on the\n\"Algerine Bill,\" and he was determined not to rest till all Europe, all\nChristendom, should become familiar with the wrongs of the Catholics.\nIn 1828, a vacancy occurred in the representation of Clare. O'Connell\npresented himself as a candidate, was against all odds elected, and\nimmediately proceeded to London.\n\nEvents, however, hurried on so fast that he had not time to present\nhimself to the Commons before the great measure for which he had so\nlong struggled, and for which millions had prayed for years, had\npassed. On the 22d of January, 1828, the Duke of Wellington was\nappointed First Lord of the Treasury. Towards the end of that year,\nthe Catholic Association was voluntarily dissolved, in conformity to a\npreconcerted plan between the Irish Catholics and the British Ministry,\nhaving first passed unanimously the following resolution:\n\n  \"That, as the last act of this body, we do declare that we are\n  indebted to Daniel O'Connell, beyond all other men, for its\n  original creation and sustainment, and that he is entitled, for\n  the achievement of its freedom, to the everlasting gratitude of\n  Ireland.\"\n\nOn the 13th of April, 1829, the Emancipation Act received the royal\nsignature, the bill having passed the House by an overwhelming vote,\nand the Lords by one hundred and four majority.\n\nMany persons fondly thought that this law had laid the fell spirit of\nProtestant bigotry for ever; but it was not so. The snake was only\nscotched, not killed. It required another blow to render it completely\ninnoxious. O'Connell, who had been elected before the bill passed,\nclaimed a right to a seat in the Commons, even though a Catholic, and\nin support of that claim presented himself early in the session. The\nscene that ensued is thus described by an eye-witness:\n\n  \"It is impossible to convey a perfect idea of the silent, the\n  almost breathless attention with which O'Connell was watched and\n  perused, when, in compliance with the request of the speaker, he\n  advanced to the table. So large a number of peers had never been\n  previously seen in that House. Two members of the aristocracy\n  accompanied O'Connell, and, as a matter of form, introduced him\n  to the House. Their names were Ebrington and Dungannon. As he\n  passed the bar of the House, every eye was fixed on him. The\n  first oath tendered to O'Connell was that of the supremacy, which\n  he was seen, by the silent and watching multitude, to wave away\n  and refuse. They heard him say: 'I apply to take my seat under\n  the new act. I am ready to take the oath directed to be taken by\n  Roman Catholic members. I do not feel that I am bound to take\n  _these_ oaths.' As he uttered these last words, he passed his\n  hand over the oaths which he objected to, and which were affixed\n  to pasteboards. 'You will be good enough,' added O'Connell, 'to\n  inform the speaker that I do not think I am bound to take these\n  oaths.' The chief clerk gathered up the pieces of pasteboard, and\n  hurried up with them to the speaker, where he was seen pointing\n  out to that functionary the oaths which O'Connell refused to take.\n  The speaker then rose and said that, unless the new member took\n  the old oaths, he must withdraw. The speaker alluded to those\n  blasphemous oaths whose injustice was so flagrant that they had\n  been just repealed. O'Connell, it is said, requested that the oath\n  of qualification, stating that he possessed six hundred a year,\n  should be administered to him; but this was likewise refused.\n  During all this time, the speaker's manner and expression of\n  countenance towards O'Connell, on whom he fixed his regards, were\n  extremely courteous, but the declaration that he must withdraw firm\n  and authoritative. O'Connell looked round, as if expecting support;\n  but this failing, he bowed, and stood facing the speaker in perfect\n  silence. At this moment, Brougham was seen to rise; but before he\n  could address the house, the speaker exclaimed 'Order!' and again\n  intimated to O'Connell that he must withdraw. The latter bowed\n  respectfully, and, without uttering a single syllable, withdrew.\n  After his departure, Brougham, who was still on his legs, addressed\n  the house in a subdued tone, and, after some discussion, the debate\n  was postponed.\n\n  \"May 18, 1829, was a memorable day in the history of O'Connell's\n  eventful life. Peel, rising in the House of Commons on that day,\n  moved that O'Connell should be heard at the bar--a motion which\n  was carried. Accordingly, he advanced to the bar, attended by\n  Pierce Mahony--the whole house regarding him with the most intense\n  interest. He addressed the house in a long and elaborate speech,\n  in which he clearly demonstrated his right. His courteous manner\n  and temperate address conciliated, in some degree, the good opinion\n  of the members. He exhibited that flexibility of mind, that power\n  of accommodating himself to his auditory, which formed his most\n  remarkable attribute. When he concluded, the question was taken\n  up by the lawyers, who endeavored to explain the meaning of the\n  new act to the very men who had passed it. As the aristocracy had\n  previously determined that O'Connell should not sit, the members of\n  the lower house, who always do their bidding, rejected O'Connell's\n  claim.\n\n  \"Retiring with Pierce Mahony by his side, O'Connell endeavored to\n  recover the seat which he had occupied previously to his appearance\n  at the table. But to his surprise, he found two gentlemen in\n  possession of it. They were Frenchmen, but spoke English like\n  natives. One of these men afterwards reigned in France as Louis\n  Philippe. The other was his son, the Duke of Orleans.\n\n  \"The following day, O'Connell appeared for the third time at the\n  bar of the House. He was told by the speaker that unless he took\n  the oath of supremacy, the House would not permit him to take his\n  seat.\n\n  \"'Are you willing to take the oath of supremacy?' asked the speaker.\n\n  \"'Allow me to look at it,' replied O'Connell.\n\n  \"The oath was handed to O'Connell, and he looked at it in silence\n  for a few seconds; then raising his head, he said: 'In this oath\n  I see one assertion as to a matter of fact, which I _know_ to be\n  untrue. I see a second assertion as to a matter of opinion, which\n  I _believe_ to be untrue. I therefore refuse to take this oath.' A\n  writ was immediately issued for a new election.\"\n\nHe was again triumphantly elected for Clare, and from thenceforth till\nhis death occupied a seat in the House, representing at various times\ndifferent constituencies. Of his conduct as member of Parliament,\nhowever his contemporaries might have differed in opinion, either\nthrough partiality or prejudice, posterity will do him the justice of\naccording to him a wonderful versatility of talent, a conscientious\ndesire to forward the interests of his country, an unswerving courage\nand dignity in meeting the taunts and sneers of Tory and Whig alike\nagainst his compatriots--a process of reasoning then much in vogue\namong English politicians. From Peel, Russell, Disraeli, and Sipthorpe\ndownwards, no man, among the seven hundred or so that are supposed\nto represent the commons of Great Britain and Ireland, ever dared to\nraise their crest against Catholics or Irishmen, but, swifter than the\nflight of a falcon on a heron, the Liberator pounced upon him, and,\nmetaphorically, tore him to pieces. In the debates on the Reform Bill,\nthe Poor Law Act, and the tithe question, he was generally found on\nthe side of popular rights and free government; and if, as has been\ncharged, he sometimes leaned towards the Whigs, it was because he\naccepted their measures as the lesser evils.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[76] _A Life and Times of Daniel O'Connell, with Sketches of his\nContemporaries, etc._ 2 vols. Dublin: John Mullany. 1867.\n\n[77] _Life and Speeches of Daniel O'Connell, M.P._ New York: J. A.\nMcGee. 1872.\n\n[78] _Life and Times of Daniel O'Connell._ (Anonymous.) Dublin. 1867.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRIEST.\n\n  \"And the people were waiting for Zachary.\"--S. LUKE i. 21.\n\n\n    As morning breaks, or evening shadows steal,\n    Duties and thoughts throng round the marble stair,\n    Waiting for Him who burneth incense there,\n    Till He shall send to bless them as they kneel.\n    Greater than Aaron is the mighty Priest\n    Who in that radiant shrine for ever dwells;\n    Brighter the stones that stud His glowing vest,\n    And ravishing the music of His bells\n    That tinkle as He moves. The golden air\n    Is filled with notes of joy that dance and run\n    Through every court, and make the temple one.\n    --The lamps are lit; 'tis past the hour of prayer,\n    And through the windows is their lustre thrown--\n    Deep in the holy place the Priest doth watch alone.\n\n                                                        --_Faber._\n\n\n\n\nGRAPES AND THORNS.\n\n\nBY THE AUTHOR OF \"THE HOUSE OF YORKE.\"\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nMARRIAGE BELLS.\n\nThat green and sequestered domain which Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger had looked at\nacross the water-lilies and peopled with his fancies, which, indeed,\nhe had visited, and was perfectly familiar with, was not so far out\nof the world as it appeared. It was in a great triangle made by three\nrailroads, and there was a station-house a mile back from the pond by\nwhich the tenants of the cottage held easy communication with the two\ncities near. Still, the place was not very accessible from without;\nfor this mile of country road had been made by simply driving over\npasture and field, and through alder-woods, till a track was visible,\nand then continuing to drive in the same track. After coming through\nthe alder-swamp, the road became two yellow-brown lines across the\ngreensward, and ended in a grove that completely hid the barn built\nin it. Between these two yellow-brown lines, at regular distances,\nwere yellow-brown spots, showing where the horse had stepped. Dobbin\nappeared to always step precisely in his own tracks.\n\nIt was seldom that any one drove over this road except old Mr. Grey,\nwhose horse and wagon were, after their kind, quite as old as himself.\nMrs. Macon, zealously collecting useful articles for the new convent,\nhad driven there in her light phaeton, and spent two hours rummaging\nthe attics with Mrs. Grey, and talking over the relics they found; that\nis, Mrs. Grey explained, and her visitor listened. She had gone away\nwith bundles piled up to her chin.\n\nOne afternoon late in August, Mr. Grey harnessed Dobbin to the\nwagon--\"tackled\" Dobbin, he would have said--and started for the\nrailroad station. He had almost reached the alders, which seemed to bar\nthe way, when he drew the reins and listened. If it had been Mrs. Grey,\ninstead of her husband, she would have driven straight on, for she was\nperfectly deaf.\n\nThese alders leaned over, and, in summer, completely hid the road, and\nwhatever went through there had to breast a tide of leaves. It had\nnever occurred to Mr. Grey to cut the twigs away, nor, apparently,\nhad it occurred to Dobbin to fret against them. They jogged on\nuncomplainingly, never in a hurry, and lived and let live. Mr. Grey's\nphilosophy was that every person in the world is appointed to do just\nso much, and that, as soon as his work is accomplished, he dies. He\npreferred to do his part in a leisurely manner, and live the longer.\n\nThe sound he listened to was a faint noise of wheels and hoofs, in,\nor beyond, the alders. For two carriages to meet in that place would\nbe a predicament more perplexing than that of the two unwise men and\nthe two wise goats on the narrow bridge we have all read of; because\nhere neither could turn back, nor walk over the other, and if one\nshould be killed, still that would not clear the track. So the driver\nwaited, his mouth slightly open, to hear the better, and the lash of\nhis old-fashioned whip hanging motionless over his shoulder. The old\nwhite horse dropped his nose, and went to sleep, and the creaking and\nrattling wagon looked as if it had made its final stand, and meant to\ngo to pieces where it was.\n\nThere was just sound enough to show how still it was. Some wild\ncreature under a rude cage on the lawn snarled lowly to itself, there\nwas the swift rustle of a bird's wings through the air, and the roll\nof a train of cars lessened to a bee's hum by distance. The pond was\nglassy, the rails shone hot beyond it; farther still the sultry woods\nheaved their billows of light and shade; and, farthest of all, over a\nlittle scooped-out valley, a single mountain stood on the horizon.\n\nThere was, indeed, a carriage among the alders, but by no means such\nan equipage as that which awaited it. It was like a fairy coach in\ncomparison, with a glitter of varnish and metal, and snowy-white lining\nthat shone like satin, and beautiful horses that pranced from side to\nside as they felt the soft, brushing leaves and twigs against their\ndainty coats, and pushing into their very eyes. The mice on the box\nwore glossy hats, and appeared to be very much disgusted with this trap\ninto which they had fallen. To the birds overhead the whole must have\nlooked like something swimming in a sea of green leaves.\n\nThe fairies in the coach were not fully visible from any point, but\na clear voice rose presently from the submerged cushions. \"There's a\nsufficient road underneath, John,\" it said. \"Drive where you see the\nalder-tops lowest. There are no roots, if you keep the way. It is only\noverleaning branches.\"\n\nIn a few minutes they emerged, and drew up beside the wagon. Its\noccupant did not make the slightest reply to the bright salutation\nof the two ladies. It was not his custom to salute any one. He merely\nwaited to see what would be said.\n\n\"O Mr. Grey!\" says Annette, \"if I had a pair of strong shears, I would\ncut a peep-hole, at least, through that jungle. Did you get my letter?\"\n\nHe nodded, with a short \"Yes,\" looking with calm scrutiny at the two\nyoung women.\n\n\"Well?\" continued Miss Ferrier.\n\n\"Elizabeth is out on the pond,\" he said; \"but the old woman will blow\nthe horn for her. She'll show you the flowers; and you can have 'em\nall. I can put them aboard of any train you settle on.\"\n\nThere was a moment of silence; for Mr. Grey had condensed the whole\nbusiness into a few words, and there was really no more to say. Annette\nhad written him to save all his flowers for her wedding, and this was\nhis answer.\n\n\"Are you going away?\" she asked, rather needlessly.\n\n\"I'm going to meet the next up-train,\" he answered, and began to tug at\nhis reins, and chirrup at Dobbin.\n\nThey left him making great efforts to get under way again, and drove\nnoiselessly on.\n\n\"What a peculiarly condensed sort of man he is in his speech!\" remarked\nMiss Pembroke.\n\n\"Condensed!\" exclaimed the other. \"His talk reminds me of some one\nwhose head and limbs have been cut off. It takes me by surprise, and\nleaves me astonished. I always feel as if something ought to be done.\"\n\nSo one carriage creaked into the alders, and the other sparkled up to\nthe house door.\n\nThis door stood open, and within it sat an old woman, her hands folded\nin her lap, her eyes looking out over the water. She had a placid face,\nand looked refined. A sweet, faint smile greeted her visitors, and her\nvoice was sweet, and was very low, as the voices of some deaf persons\nare.\n\n\"Elizabeth has gone out on the water,\" she said. \"I will call her.\"\n\n\"Don't rise!\" exclaimed Annette quickly, preventing her. \"I'll get the\nhorn for you. I know where everything is here.\"\n\nThe old lady understood the action, though she had not heard the words,\nand sank back into her seat again.\n\n\"She feels for everybody's pain,\" she said gratefully, speaking to\nherself.\n\nAnnette tripped lightly across the sunny, silent room, and took down\nfrom a nail beside the chimney a large ox-horn suspended there. With\nsimple politeness, the old lady obeyed her visitor's wish, and did\nnot rise even when the horn was placed in her hand. She merely leaned\nforward, and, placing it to her lips, blew a loud and prolonged blast\nthat sounded far over water and forest.\n\n\"That will bring her,\" she said, and gave back the rustic instrument\nfor Annette to return to its place.\n\nThe two then strolled down to the water-side to wait for the lady of\nthe lake. They seated themselves on a mossy rock close to the water,\nunder the shade of the only tree left there. It was an old pine-tree,\nof which the main part was decayed, but one strong branch made a shade\nover them, and held firmly all its dark-green fasces in token of a\nsovereignty it would not abdicate while life remained. Beside the rock,\nin the warm sunshine, stood a group of Japan lilies.\n\n\"I don't like them,\" Annette said. \"They are beautiful in their way,\nbut they look cruel and detestable. They seem to me like a large pink\nand white woman who poisons people.\"\n\n\"My dear,\" said Miss Pembroke, as she bent her head over the flowers,\n\"it would be well if you could contrive to shut the battery of those\nnerves of yours once in a while.\"\n\n\"It might be well if I could be changed into one like you,\" Annette\nresponded; but immediately corrected herself. \"No! And I do not believe\nthat the most unfortunate and discontented person in the world would\nbe willing to change his individuality with another. It is only his\ncircumstances he would change, and be still himself, but at his best.\nPerhaps that is what will keep us contented in heaven, though we may\nsee others far above us: each will be himself in perfection, with all\nthe good in possession that he is capable of holding, and will see that\nhe cannot be different without being some one else.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Honora dreamily.\n\nIt may be that she felt unconsciously a little of that superiority\nwhich the calm assume over the troubled, though the calm may be of\nthe pool, and the trouble of the ocean, or both a mere question of\ntemperament. She leaned over the lily, and examined the red clots\non its petals; how they rose higher, and strained upward toward the\ncentre, till by their passionate stress they drew up the milky flower\nsubstance into a stem to support them; as though they would reach the\nslender filaments that towered aloft over their heads. Two or three\ntiniest red spiders were picnicking on the fragrant white ground among\nthese stems, and did not seem to even suspect the presence of a large\nblack spider, with extravagantly long legs, which walked directly over\nthe flower and them in two or three sextuple strides.\n\n\"The petal they stand on must seem to them a soft and snowy-white\nmoss,\" drawled Miss Pembroke, half asleep with the heat and the\nsilence. \"I should think the perfume of it would be too strong for\ntheir little noses.\"\n\n\"Perhaps the particles of fragrance are too large for their little\nnoses. Or, perhaps, they have no noses,\" responded Miss Ferrier,\ngravely.\n\nA faint, responsive murmur of assent from the other.\n\nAnnette tossed twigs into the water, and watched the dimples they made,\nand which way they floated. \"That is a wild fox up under that cage,\"\nshe said. \"It is cruel to keep it there. I shall free it when we go\nback.\"\n\n\"Perhaps Mr. Grey is going to stuff its skin, and may not like to lose\nit,\" Honora answered, having finished her examination of the lily. \"I\nhave heard that he is quite a naturalist, and has specimens of every\nanimal, and insect, and plant about.\"\n\nAnnette tossed a pebble this time with energy. \"I hate naturalists,\"\nshe remarked. \"I always fancy that they have bugs in their pockets.\"\n\n\"Bugs in their pockets! That would be uncomfortable,\" was the placid\ncomment.\n\n\"For the bugs, yes!\" said Annette; then, after a moment, added,\n\"Whenever it is a question of tormenting what Lord Erskine called the\n'mute creation,' I am always for the plaintiff. Who is to be profited\nby knowing about bugs and beetles? It is a contemptible science, and, I\nrepeat, a cruel one. I never can like a woman or a man whom I have once\nseen sticking pins through beetles, and butterflies, and bats; and I\nwould as lief have a human skull for an ornament in a room as a stuffed\nskin of anything. I shall set that fox free this instant. I observed it\nas I came past, and it looked like a person going crazy. Its eyes were\nlike fire and there was froth round its teeth.\"\n\nMiss Pembroke looked up in alarm, for Annette had risen. \"Do be\ncareful!\" she said. \"His bite would kill you. Don't you remember that\nDuke of Richmond who was bitten by a fox, in Canada, and died of\nhydrophobia a day to two afterwards? He was playing with it, and it\nsnapped at his hand.\"\n\n\"I'm not going to play with it, but to free it,\" said Annette, and\nwalked rapidly across the green. \"I've found one fault in Honora,\"\nshe muttered. \"She is sweet and good to a certain length, but her\nsympathies are circumscribed.\"\n\nThe cage of strong withes was securely fastened to the ground with\nwooden pins, and the door was tied with a slender chain. The fox was\nfurthermore secured by a rope which held one of his legs. He faced\nabout and glared at his liberator, while, from the outside, she cut the\nrope with her pocket-knife. His eyes were like balls of fire, but he\ndid not snap at her. He did not trust her, but he had perhaps a doubt\nthat she meant him well.\n\nThe leg free, Annette slipped the knob of the chain, and opened the\ndoor.\n\n\"In honor of the Creator of men and beasts, and S. Francis of Assisi,\ngo free now and for ever,\" she said.\n\nThe creature stood motionless one instant, then, with the rush and\nspeed of an arrow, it shot through the opening, flew across the green,\nand leaped into the water, that hissed as though a red-hot coal had\nbeen dropped into it. Annette ran, laughing and full of excitement,\nback to the rock, and watched the swimmer. Only his nose and long tail\nshowing, he made fiercely for the shore, his whole being concentrated\nin the one longing for freedom.\n\n\"If he should run into a cage on the other side, I believe his heart\nwould burst with the disappointment,\" Annette said, standing up to\nwatch him. \"Bravo! There he is, my dear brother, the fox.\"\n\nHe leaped up the farther shore and over the track, and rushed headlong\ninto the broad, free woods.\n\n\"Won't he have a story to tell!\" said Annette, seating herself; \"that\nis, if he ever stops running. You may depend on it, Honora, I shall be\na great heroine among the foxes; and as years go by, and the story is\npassed down from generation to generation, I shall undergo a change in\nthe picture. My hair will grow to be golden, with stars in it, and my\neyes will be radiant, and they will put wings on me, and I shall be an\nangel. That's the way the myths and marvels were made. But how they\nwill get over my sawing off the rope with a dull pen-knife is more than\nI can tell.\"\n\n\"The spirit will be true, dear, if not the letter,\" Honora answered,\nsmiling. \"What signifies a little inaccuracy in the material part? That\nwill be turned to dust before the story reaches the winged period.\"\n\nMiss Ferrier had something on her mind which she shrank a little from\nspeaking of, but presently mentioned in that careless manner we assume\nwhen we care more than we like to own:\n\n\"I've been wondering lately whether it would be silly in me to have my\ngenealogy looked up. It seems a little top-heavy to have one's family\ntree all leaves and no roots, though mine is not so in reality. My\nfather and mother were both very poor and ignorant when I was born; but\nmy great-grandfather was a French gentleman. He became poor in some\nway, and had no idea how to do anything for himself. I dare say he\nwas very weak, but he was immensely genteel. He and his sons lived in\na tumble-down old stone house somewhere near Quebec, and ate oatmeal\nporridge out of painted china bowls, with heavy spoons that had a crest\non them. There they moaned away their existence in a state of resigned\nsurprise at their circumstances, and of expectation that the riches\nthat had taken to themselves wings would fly back again. There was one\ndesperate one in the family, and he was my grandfather. He grew tired\nof shabby gentility, and set out to work. The others cast him off; and\nI suppose he wasn't very energetic, or very lucky, for he went down. He\nmarried a wife from the working class, and they had no end of children,\nwho all died sooner or later, except my father. My grandfather died,\ntoo--was glad to get himself out of sight of the sun; and my poor\nfather--God be merciful to him!--stumbled on through life in the same\ndazed way. All he inherited was the dull astonishment of that old\nFrenchman who could never be made to realize that riches would not\nsome day come back as they had gone. Of course\"--Annette shrugged her\nshoulders, and laughed slightly--\"it would be necessary to drop some\nof the later details. That is the way people do. Build a bridge over\nthe chasm into the shining part. Miss Pembroke, what do you think of my\nunearthing my great-grandfather, and setting him up in my parlors for\npeople to admire? Wouldn't it be more interesting than a stuffed fox?\nI am of his ancestry\"--her laughter died out in a flash of pride. \"If\nthey had any fire worthy their blood, I have it. Some spark was held in\nabeyance, and I have caught it. I would like to go back and search out\nmy kindred. Well! do you think me vulgar?\"\n\nHonora looked at her earnestly. \"No, Annette; but you are condescending\ntoo much. You are coming nearer to vulgarity than I ever knew you to\nbefore. Lineage is something, is much, and those who can look back on a\nnoble and stainless ancestry are fortunate, if they are worthy of it.\nI do not wonder that they are pleased to remember their forefathers.\nBut character is more, and does not need ancestry. It is sufficient to\nitself. What, after all, is the real advantage of belonging to a high\nfamily? It is that one is supposed to inherit from it high qualities.\nIf one has the qualities without the family, it is far higher. It\nis the kind of character that founds great families--that natural,\nnewly-given loftiness. I should be sorry if you allowed yourself to\ntake a step in this matter, Annette.\"\n\n\"You can easily say all that,\" Annette replied, half pleased and half\nbitter. \"You have a past that you can look to with pride.\"\n\n\"With pride!\" echoed the other. \"I do not understand you. If you mean\nMrs. Carpenter, I certainly like to think of her; but her qualities\nwere entirely personal. I have nothing to be ashamed of in my family,\nand I am thankful for that; but, also, I am not aware that there is\nanything to be proud of. It is a merely negative feeling.\"\n\n\"But,\" Annette said, \"your people have always been well off, and some\nwere very rich, and they were educated.\"\n\n\"And you think me capable of pluming myself on that--of being proud\nof an ancestry of prosperous traders and merchants who were passably\neducated!\"\n\nHonora flushed, and drew herself up involuntarily, with an awakening\nof that invincible personal haughtiness which is more soaring than any\nmere royalty of blood.\n\n\"I never give it a thought, except in a negative way. They merely did\nwhat decent people with ordinary sense and capacity are obliged to do.\nNo, Annette, don't fancy that I can walk on such small stilts. If it\nwere an old historical name, now, one that painters had illustrated\nand poets sung, that would be fine. If there had been great warriors\nand mighty rulers, there would be a chance for pride to come in. Or,\nbetter, if it were some hero or benefactor to the race, whom I could\nlook back to; or if it were a poet. I always fancy some grace surrounds\nthe children of a poet. They may not sing, they may be personally\ncommonplace; but, like the broken vase,\n\n\"'The scent of the roses will hang round them still.'\"\n\n\"I think you must be descended from a poet,\" Annette said, smiling.\n\n\"And so, child,\" concluded Honora, laying her hand on her companion's\narm, \"don't condescend to go into the past for some reason why you\nshould be respected; find it in yourself. I think it right to tell\nyou now what might otherwise sound like flattery. I, and many better\njudges than I, think you uncommon and admirable. You have made little\nmistakes--as who has not?--but they were never mean ones. Don't be led\ninto pettiness now.\"\n\nAnnette blushed.\n\n\"What set me talking of ancestry?\" she exclaimed. \"It's a dusty\nsubject, not fit for this fresh, clear place. It belongs to the town.\nHow quiet and lovely it is here! I would like to come often. In the\ncity, I can't hear myself think.\"\n\nThey sat a while without saying anything, and looked over the water. A\nshower was travelling across the distant mountain, trailing in a dim\nsilver mist from sky to earth. It sailed nearer, so that drops from the\nedge of it dimpled the pond not far away.\n\nA boat came toward them, propelled by a pair of strong arms. Elizabeth\nhad heard her grandmother's summons, and was coming home. Her little\nboat was piled full of boughs of the wild cherry. Strings of its fruit,\nlike strung garnets, glowed through the green leaves. With this was\na tangled mass of clematis. She had hung a long spray of the vine\nover her head and neck, and its silvery-green blossoms glistened in\nthe loose rings of her short, black hair, which it pushed over her\nforehead, and almost into the laughing eyes beneath. Through this vine,\nand the blouse that covered but did not hide them, the working of\nher supple shoulders could be seen. Her smooth, oval face was deeply\nflushed with health, exercise, and warmth.\n\nShe was perfectly business-like in her manner, and attended strictly\nto what she was doing. Even in passing before the young ladies, and\nlooking directly in their faces, though her lips parted in a smile,\nshe made no other sign of recognition. She brought her boat round in a\nsmooth circle, not without pride, apparently, in displaying her skill,\npushed it into a tiny cove, where the long, trailing grass brushed both\nsides, sprang lightly ashore, and tied it to the mooring-ring.\n\nThen she made her half-embarrassed salutation, and stood wiping away\nthe perspiration that lay in large drops on her forehead, and in little\nbeads around her mouth.\n\nIf these three young women had been changed into flowers, the rower\nwould have been a peony, Honora a lily, and Annette--but there is\nno flower complex and generous enough to be her representative. Be\nher symbol, rather, the familiar one of the orb just rounding into\nshape out of chaos. She was less well balanced than Honora, merely\nbecause there was so much more to balance. Her freak of searching out\nan ancestry would never have been acted on, even if her friend had\napproved it. It was one of those thoughts which need only to be put\ninto words in order to be dismissed. Annette had rid herself of a good\nmany foolish notions in this way, and had been growing wiser than her\ncritics by the very acts which they took as proofs of her weakness.\n\nMiss Pembroke had discovered this, for she looked lovingly. Others\nwere astonished to find themselves awed to-day where they had mocked\nbut yesterday, and professed that they knew Annette Ferrier only to be\npuzzled by her.\n\nIt sometimes happens to people that illusory thoughts and feelings,\nwhich, pent in the mind, have an appearance of reality, and even of\nforce, perish in expressing themselves, as the cloud breaks in thunder.\n\nThere was another difference between these two: Annette had one of\nthose souls that are born nailed to their cross.\n\nIt is usual with hasty and superficial judges, people who, as Liszt\nsays, \"desire to promulgate laws in spheres to which nature has denied\nthem entrance,\" to show what they fancy is a good-natured contempt for\nthese discontented beings who cannot accommodate themselves to life\nas it is. They mention them with an indulgent smile, and seem to take\npleasure in wounding still further these sensitive souls, not aware\nhow clearly they display their own presumptuous selfishness. The ease\nwith which they content themselves with inferior aims and pleasures,\nthey dignify by the name of philosophy and good sense; and they presume\nto censure those who, tormented by a vision of perfection, and feeling\nwithin themselves the premature stirring of powers that can be employed\nonly in a higher state of existence, seem so imperfect only because to\nbe perfect they must be superhumanly great. There are two ways in which\nthis divine discontent may be silenced: the soul may degrade itself,\nand treat its ideals as visionary; or it may find rest in God. But no\nordinary piety suffices; only a saintly holiness, flowing in and around\nthe troubled soul like a sunny and peaceful sea, can lift and bear it\nsmoothly on to that land where nothing sacred is mocked at, and the\nsmiles are awakened by no sight of another's pain.\n\nAnnette Ferrier had made this much progress, that she had learned to\nrely on no one for a sympathy that would satisfy her, and had owned to\nherself that her heart required other and nobler aims and motives than\nthose which had occupied her. She was half aware, or would have been,\nif the thought had not been rejected as treasonable, that if she were\nnot already engaged to Lawrence Gerald, nothing would induce her to\naccept him as her future husband. But she had accepted him, and there\nwas no longer room to doubt or to choose, or even to think of doubting\nor choosing. It lacked but a week to their wedding-day, and she was\nmaking her last preparations. What was worth doing at all was worth\ndoing well, she thought, and resolved to make the occasion a festival\none.\n\nThe three walked up the green together, Elizabeth between the two young\nladies. Miss Pembroke stepped quite independently, her hands folded\nlightly together; Annette held by the end of the clematis wreath that\nstill hung over the young girl's shoulders, and looked at her with a\ncaressing smile.\n\n\"Did you buy the little writing-case we were speaking of when I was\nhere last?\" she asked.\n\n\"Well, not exactly,\" was the hesitating answer.\n\n\"Not exactly! That means that you have engaged it, or got one that does\nnot suit, and must be exchanged.\"\n\nMiss Ferrier had dropped the wreath, and was engaged in gathering up\nthe cloud of pale blue muslin that flowed around and behind her, and\ndid not observe the smile on the girl's face.\n\n\"No,\" said Elizabeth, gathering courage from her visitor's kindness.\n\"You see, when I sat down and looked at the half-eagle you gave\nme, I thought it seemed a pity to go right off and spend it for a\nwriting-case. I could have that, if I wanted to, so I didn't feel quite\nso anxious about it; and there were other things I wanted just as much.\nIt would be nice to have a little clock in my room, and five dollars\nwould buy one. So since I could have that, too, I felt easier about not\nhaving it. Then, I would like a larger looking-glass. Well, I kind of\nthought I had it, since I could buy it if I would. And I could get any\none of the half a dozen other things I wanted, making about ten in all.\nBut when I knew that I could have either whenever I chose, I didn't\nfeel in a hurry to get anything; and I was so sure of each one that it\nseemed to me as if I had them all. So I just kept the five dollars;\nand while I keep it, it is as good as fifty to me. When I spend it, it\nwill be only five dollars, and I shall want nine things dreadfully, and\nbe sorry I hadn't bought one of them instead of what I did get.\"\n\nAnnette dropped her gathered-up skirts from her hands to throw her arms\naround the young rustic's neck, and kiss her astonished face.\n\n\"You dear little soul!\" she cried, in an ecstasy, \"how quickly you have\nfound it out!\"\n\nElizabeth blushed immensely, for she was not used to being kissed.\n\"Found out what?\" she asked.\n\n\"Why, that nothing in the world is very desirable except what you can't\nget.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" The girl tossed her head back, and laughed ringingly. \"I found\nthat out as long ago as I used to cry for mince-pie to eat, and then\ncry with stomach-ache after I had eaten it. Grandfather used to tell me\nthen that if there is anything in the world that we want so much we cry\nto get it, it will be sure to make us cry still more after we have it.\nI never forgot that. Grandfather knows a great deal about everything,\"\nshe concluded, with an air of conviction.\n\n\"Did you ever see a creature learn so easily?\" Annette said to Honora.\n\"She begins life with all the wisdom of experience.\"\n\nHonora sighed as she answered, \"She reminds me of something dear Mother\nChevreuse said the last time she came to see me: 'Nothing is worth\nworking for but bread and heaven.'\"\n\nThey had reached Mr. Grey's floral treasure-house by this time, and the\nflowers absorbed their attention.\n\n\"Bushels of asters!\" exclaimed Annette, pausing outside the door, and\nglancing along the garden-beds. \"And they are almost as handsome as\nroses. Those will do for the balconies and out-of-the-way places. And,\nElizabeth, I want you to cherish every pansy as if it were a jewel. I\ndon't care about the piebald ones, but the pure purple or pure gold are\nquite the thing. And now, Honora, step in here, and own that you never\nbefore saw fuchsias. You remember Edgar Poe's hill of tulips sloping\nto the water, like a cataract of gems flowing down from the sky? That\nPoetical creature! Well, here's a Niagara of lady's ear-drops.\"\n\nWhen at length they had started, and were driving down to their\nalder-bath again, Honora leaned out of the carriage, and looked back.\n\n\"What a lovely place this would be to spend a honeymoon in!\" she said\nsoftly, as if to herself.\n\n\"Which, yours or mine?\" asked Annette.\n\nHonora blushed. \"I was thinking of honeymoons in the abstract,\" she\nreplied.\n\nElizabeth stood on the lawn, and looked after the carriage as long as\nit was in sight; and when it was no longer in sight, she still gazed at\nthe green wall that had closed up behind it. Perhaps she was thinking\nwhat a fine thing it must be to drive in a pretty carriage, and have\ngauzy dresses trailing away behind one like clouds; or may be she was\nrecollecting what they had said to her, and how that delicate, airy\nlady had kissed her on the cheek, and laughed with tears in her eyes.\n\nWhile she gazed, deeply occupied with whatever dream or thought she was\nentertaining, the alders parted again, and a man appeared, hesitating\nwhether to come forward, yet looking at her as if he wished to speak.\nElizabeth did not much like his looks, but she advanced a step to see\nwhat he wanted. No harm had ever come to her there, and she had no\nthought of fear. Besides, she would have considered herself perfectly\nwell able to put this person to flight; for his slim, little figure and\nmean face were by no means calculated to inspire either fear or respect.\n\nEncouraged by her advance, the man came forward to meet her.\n\n\"My grandfather will soon be home, if you want him,\" she said directly,\nholding aloof.\n\nThe stranger did not want to see him; he merely wished to ask some\nquestions about the place which she could answer.\n\nThey were very trivial questions, but she answered them, keeping her\neyes fixed intently on him. He wanted to know what they raised there;\nif it was very cold in winter; if it was very hot in summer; if they\nhad many visitors there; if she was much acquainted in Crichton; if she\nhad a piano; if she could play; if she knew any good music-teacher. And\nperhaps she had seen Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger?\n\nNo, she had not seen him.\n\n\"Oh! perhaps you have met him without knowing,\" the man said with\nanimation, in spite of an assumed carelessness. \"Seems to me I saw him\ncome here this summer. Don't you remember a man whose buggy broke down\nbeyond there, and he came here for a rope?\"\n\nThe girl's eyes brightened. \"Oh! is that a music-teacher?\" she asked.\n\"His voice sounds like it, or like what a music-teacher's ought to\nbe. Yes, I remember him. He got on to the wrong road driving up to\nCrichton, turned off here instead of going straight on, and something\nbroke. I gave him a rope, and he went away.\"\n\n\"Let me see; there was somebody else here at the same time, wasn't\nthere?\" he asked, with an air of trying to recollect. \"Wasn't there a\nwoman here getting things for the new convent?\"\n\nThe disagreeable eagerness in her questioner's eyes chilled the girl;\nbut there seemed no reason why she should not answer so insignificant a\nquestion. She did so reluctantly. \"Yes, Mrs. Macon was here.\"\n\n\"And her carriage was standing at the door?\" he added, nodding.\n\n\"Seems to me you're very much interested in our visitors,\" said\nElizabeth abruptly, drawing herself up a little.\n\nThe man laughed. \"Why, yes, in these two. But I won't ask you much\nmore. Only tell me one thing. Did you see this Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger come up\nto the door, and go away from it?\"\n\n\"I saw him come up, I didn't see him go away,\" she said.\n\nThe truth was that Miss Elizabeth had admired this stranger\nexceedingly, but had not wished him to suspect it. So instead of\nfrankly looking after him as he went out, she had turned away, with an\nair of immense indifference, then rushed to the window to look when she\nthought him at a safe distance.\n\n\"Then you didn't see him when he passed by the phaeton that stood at\nthe step?\" pursued the questioner.\n\nShe shook her head, and pursed her lip out impatiently.\n\n\"He had a shawl over his arm when he came. Did you notice whether he\nhad it when you saw him going away?\" was the next question.\n\n\"I don't know anything about it,\" she said shortly; but recollected\neven in speaking that she had said to herself as she watched the\nstrange gentleman going, \"How does he hold his shawl so that I can't\nsee it?\"\n\n\"Now, one more question, and I have done,\" the stranger said. His\nweak, shuffling manner had quite disappeared, and he was keen and\nbusiness-like. \"Was there anybody else about the house who saw this\nman?\"\n\n\"Yes; grandfather was in the garden; but he didn't come near him.\"\n\n\"What part of the garden? In sight of the door?\"\n\n\"I won't tell you another word!\" she exclaimed, turning away. \"And I\nthink you'd better go.\"\n\nWhen she glanced back again, the man had disappeared. She felt uneasy\nand regretful. Something was going on which she did not understand, and\nit seemed to her that she had done harm in answering those questions.\n\n\"I wish I had gone into the house when I saw the prying creature,\" she\nsaid to herself; \"or I wish I had held my tongue. He's got what he came\nfor, I can see that.\"\n\nHe had got what he came for, or very nearly.\n\n\"Shall I waylay the old man, and question him?\" he thought; and\nconcluded not to. \"If he knows anything, he will tell it at the proper\ntime.\"\n\nThe green boughs brushed him with their tender leaves, as if they would\nhave brushed away some cobwebs from his sight, and opened his eyes to\nthe peace and charity of the woods; but he was too much absorbed in one\nignoble pursuit to be accessible to gentler influences. What he sought\nwas not to uphold the law; what he felt was not that charity to the\nmany which sometimes makes severity to the few a necessity. His object\nwas money, and charity lay dead in his heart with a coin over each eye.\n\nThat evening Miss Ferrier and Lawrence Gerald talked over their\nmatrimonial affairs quite freely, and in the most business-like manner\nin the world. They discussed the ceremony, the guests, the breakfast,\nand the toilette, and Annette displayed her lace dress.\n\n\"It is frightfully costly,\" she owned; \"but I had a purpose in making\nit so. I shall never wear it but once, and some day or other it will\ngo to trim a priest's surplice. You see, I ordered the pattern to that\nend, as nearly as I could get it, and not have it made for me. There\nwas no time for that. The ferns are neutral; but the wheat is perfect,\nyou see, and that vine is quite like a grape-vine. I shall wear a\n_tulle_ veil.\"\n\nShe threw the cloud of misty lace over her head.\n\n\"Why, Annette, it makes you look lovely!\" Lawrence exclaimed.\n\n\"I am glad you think so,\" she responded dryly, and took it off again.\n\nLawrence was seated on a tabouret in Annette's own sitting-room, which\nno one else was allowed to enter during these last days of her maiden\nlife. It had been newly furnished after her own improved taste, and\nthe luxury and elegance of everything pleased him. He was still more\npleased to see her so well in harmony with it. He was beginning to find\nher interesting, especially as he found her indifferent and a little\ncommanding toward him.\n\n\"And now, Lawrence,\" she said, folding carefully the beautiful Alen\u00e7on\nflounce, \"you have some little preparation to make. You know you must\nbe reconciled to the church.\"\n\n\"I have nothing against the church,\" he said coolly.\n\n\"The church has something against you, and it is a serious matter,\" she\nurged, refusing to smile. \"You haven't been to confession for--how many\nyears? Not a few, certainly. No priest will marry us till you go.\"\n\n\"I suppose a minister wouldn't do?\" remarked the young man, with the\ngreatest hardihood, seeming mildly doubtful about the question.\n\n\"Now, Lawrence, don't talk nonsense,\" Annette begged. \"When one is\ngoing to be married, one feels a little sober.\"\n\n\"That's a fact!\" he assented, with rather ungallant emphasis.\n\nShe colored faintly. Her gentle earnestness might have touched one less\ncareless. \"It is beginning a new life,\" she said; \"and if it were not\nwell begun, I'm afraid we should not be happy.\"\n\nThe young man straightened himself up, and gave his moustache an\nenergetic twist with both hands--a way he had when impatient.\n\n\"Well, anything but a lecture, Ninon,\" he exclaimed. \"I'll think the\nmatter over, and see if I can rake up any transgressions. I dare say\nthere are plenty.\"\n\n\"You will speak to F. Chevreuse about it?\" she asked eagerly.\n\nHe nodded.\n\n\"And now sing me something,\" he said. \"I haven't heard you sing for an\nage. Is there anything new?\"\n\nShe seated herself at the exquisite little piano, well pleased to be\nasked. Here was one way in which she could delight him, for he grew\nmore and more fond of her singing. Annette's was a graceful figure\nat the piano, and she had the gift of looking pretty while singing.\nHer delicate and expressive face reflected every light and shade in\nthe songs she sang, and the music flowed from her lips with as little\neffort as a song from a bird.\n\n\"Here is 'The Sea's Answer,'\" she said.\n\nLawrence settled himself into a high-backed chair. \"Well, let us hear\nwhat the sea answered. Only it might be more intelligible if one first\nknew what the question was, and who the questioner, and why he didn't\nask somebody else. There! go on.\"\n\nAnnette sang:\n\n    \"O Sea!\" she said, \"I trust you;\n      The land has slipped away;\n    Myself and all my fortunes\n      I give to you to-day.\n    Break off the foamy cable\n      That holds me to the shore;\n    For my path is to the eastward,\n      I can return no more.\n    But ever while it stretches--\n      That pale and shining thread--\n    It pulls upon my heart-strings\n      Till I wish that I were dead.\"\n\n    Then the sea it sent its ripples\n      As fast as they could run.\n    And they caught the bubbles of the wake,\n      And broke them one by one;\n    And they tossed the froth in bunches\n      Away to left and right,\n    Till of all that foamy cable\n      But a fragment lay in sight.\n    And on the circling waters\n      No clue was left to trace\n    Where the land beyond invisibly\n      Held its abiding-place.\n\n    \"But, oh! \"she cried, \"it follows--\n      That ghostly, wavering line--\n    Like the floating of a garment\n      Drenched in the chilly brine.\n    It clings unto the rudder\n      Like a drowning, snowy hand;\n    And while it clings, my exiled heart\n      Strains backward to the land.\"\n    Then the sea rolled in its billows.\n      It rolled them to and fro;\n    And the floating robe sank out of sight,\n      And the drowning hand let go.\n\n    \"O Sea!\" she said, \"I trust you!\n      Now tell me, true and bold,\n    If the new life I am seeking\n      Will be brighter than the old.\n    I am stifling for an orbit\n      Of a wider-sweeping ring;\n    And there's laughter in me somewhere,\n      And I have songs to sing.\n    But life has held me like a vise\n      That never, never slips;\n    And when my songs pressed upward,\n      It smote me on the lips.\n\n    \"And, Sea,\" she sighed, \"I'm weary\n      Of failure and of strife;\n    And I fain would rest for ever,\n      If this is all of life.\n    Thy billows rock like mothers' arms\n      Where babes are hushed to rest;\n    And the sleepers thou dost take in charge\n      Are safe within thy breast.\n    Then, if the way be weary,\n      I have not strength to go;\n    And thy rocking bosom, Ocean,\n      Is the tenderest I know.\"\n\n    Then the sea rose high, and shook her,\n      As she called upon its name,\n    Till the life within her wavered,\n      And went out like a flame.\n    And stranger voices read the Word,\n      And sang the parting hymn,\n    As they dropped her o'er the ship's side\n      Into the waters dim.\n    And the rocking ocean drew her down\n      Its silent ones among,\n    With all her laughters prisoned,\n      And all her songs unsung.\n\nThere was silence for a little while when the song ended; then Lawrence\nexclaimed, with irritation, \"What sets people out to write such things?\nThe whole world wants to be cheered and amused, and yet some writers\nseem to take delight in making everything as gloomy as they are. Why\ncan't people keep their blues to themselves?\"\n\nThe singer shrugged her shoulders. \"You mistake, I think. I always\nfancy that melancholy writing proves a gay writer. Don't you know that\nschool compositions are nearly always didactic and doleful? When I was\nfifteen years old, and as gay as a lark, I used to write jeremiads at\nschool, and make myself and all the girls cry. I enjoyed it. When a\nsubject is too sore, you don't touch it, and silence proves more than\nspeech.\"\n\nLawrence kept the promise he had made, though he put its fulfilment\noff as long as possible. The morning before his wedding-day he was\nat early Mass, and, when Mass was over, went into F. Chevreuse's\nconfessional. It would seem that he had not succeeded in \"raking up\"\nmany transgressions, for ten minutes sufficed for the first confession\nhe had made in fifteen years. But when he came out, his face was very\npale, and he lingered in the church long after every one else had left.\nGlancing in from the sacristy, after his thanksgiving, F. Chevreuse saw\nhim prostrate before the altar, with his lips pressed to the dusty step\nwhere many an humble communicant had knelt, and heard him repeat lowly,\n\"_Enter not into judgment with thy servant; for no one living shall be\njustified in thy sight_.\"\n\nThe priest looked at him a moment with fatherly love and satisfaction,\nthen softly withdrew.\n\nThe spiritual affairs of her future husband attended to, toilet,\ndecoration, ceremony, reception, all planned and arranged by one brain\nand one pair of hands, Annette had still to school and persuade her\nmother to a proper behavior. She, the daughter, had conquered Crichton.\nThey no longer laughed at nor criticised her, and were in a fair way\nto go to the opposite extreme, and regard her as an authority on all\nsubjects. For the Crichtonians had the merit of believing that good\ncan come out of Nazareth, and could become enthusiastic over what\nthey conceived to be an original genius victoriously asserting its\nindependence of a low origin and of discouraging circumstances.\n\nBut the mother was, and ever would be to them, a subject of quenchless\nmirth. Her sayings and doings, and the mortification she inflicted on\nher daughter, were an endless source of amusement to them.\n\n\"Now, do keep quiet this once, mamma,\" Annette begged pathetically.\n\"You know I shall not be able to hover about and set people to rights\nwhen they quiz you. You will have to take care of yourself. Don't trust\nanybody, and don't quarrel with anybody.\"\n\nFor once the mother was disposed to yield entire obedience. She had\nbegun to assume that mournful face which, according to Thackeray, all\nwomen seem to think appropriate at a wedding; and there was far more\ndanger of her being inarticulate and sobbing than of her showing either\npugilism or loquacity.\n\n\"I'm sure I sha'n't feel much like saying anything to anybody when\nI see my only daughter getting married before my eyes,\" she said\nreproachfully.\n\n\"Suppose you saw your only daughter growing into an old maid before\nyour eyes, mamma,\" said Annette, laughing, and patting her mother on\nthe shoulder. \"Would you like that any better?\"\n\n\"Well,\" Mrs. Ferrier sighed, \"I suppose you may as well be married,\nnow you've had the fuss of getting ready. All I care about is your\nhappiness, though you may not believe it. I'm no scholar, and I know\npeople laugh at me; but that doesn't prevent my having feelings. You\ndeserve to be happy, Annette, for you have been a good child to me,\nand you were never ashamed of me, though you have tried hard to make\nme like other folks. I couldn't be anything but what I am; and when I\nhave tried, I've only made a greater fool of myself than I was before.\nBut for all that, I'm sorry I've been such a burden to you, and I'm\ngrateful to you for standing by me.\"\n\nThis was Mrs. Ferrier's first confession of any sense of her own\nshortcomings, or of her daughter's trials on her account, and it\ntouched Annette to the heart.\n\nThe outside world, that she had striven to please and win, faded away\nand grew distant. Here was one whom she could depend on, the only one\non earth whom she could always be sure of. Whatever she might be, her\nmother could not be estranged from her, and could not have an interest\nentirely detached from hers.\n\n\"Don't talk of being grateful to me, mamma,\" she said tremulously. \"I\nbelieve, after all, you were nearer right than I was; and I have far\nmore reason to be ashamed of myself than of you. I have been straining\nevery nerve to please people who care nothing for me, and to reach\nends that were nothing when reached. It isn't worth the trouble. Still,\nit is easier to go on than to turn back, and we may as well take a\nlittle pains to keep what we have taken much pains to get. I'm sorry I\nundertook this miserable business of a show-wedding. It disgusts me. A\nquiet marriage would have been far better. But since it is undertaken,\nI want it to be a success of its kind.\"\n\n\"Oh! as to that,\" Mrs. Ferrier said, \"I like the wedding. I don't like\nto see people get married behind the door, as if they were ashamed of\nthemselves. You don't marry every day, and it may as well be something\nuncommon.\"\n\nThey were conversing more gently and confidentially than they had for\na long time; and the mother appeared to greater advantage than ever\nbefore, more dignified, more quiet. Annette pushed a footstool to the\nsofa, and, sitting on it, leaned on her mother's lap.\n\n\"Still, I do not like a showy marriage,\" she said. \"It may do for two\nyoung things who have parents and friends on both sides to take all the\ncare, while they dream away the time, and have nothing to do or think\nof but imagine a beautiful future. For serious, thoughtful people, I\nthink the less parade and staring and hurly-burly there is, the better.\nBut then, that quiet way throws the two very much alone together, and\nobliges them to talk the matter over; and Lawrence and I would find it\na bore. We are neither of us very sentimental.\"\n\nShe spoke gently enough, but there was a faint touch of bitterness in\nher voice that the mother's ear detected.\n\n\"I don't know why he shouldn't like to talk the matter over with you,\"\nshe began, kindling to anger; but Annette stopped her.\n\n\"Now, mamma, there must be an end put to all this,\" she said firmly.\n\"And since there is no other way, let me tell you the true story of my\nengagement. You seem to think that Lawrence was very anxious to get me,\nand that he has made a good bargain, and ought to be grateful. Well,\nperhaps a part of the last is true; but the first is not. I've got to\nhumiliate myself to tell you; but you will never cease to reproach him\nunless I do.\" A burning blush suffused her face, and she shrank as if\nwith a physical pain. \"Lawrence knew perfectly well that I liked him\nbefore he ever paid the slightest attention to me; and when he began\nto follow me ever so little, I encouraged him in a manner that must\nhave been almost coaxing. He knew that I was to be had for the asking.\nOf course, I wasn't aware of this, mamma. Girls do such things, like\nsimpletons, and think nobody understands them; and perhaps they do not\nunderstand themselves. I am sure that Lawrence was certain of me before\nI had the least idea what my own feelings were. I knew I liked him,\nbut I never thought how. I was too romantic to come down to realities.\nOf course, he had a contempt for me--he couldn't help it--though I\ndidn't deserve it; for while he thought, I suppose, that I was trying\nto win him for my husband, I was only worshipping him as superior and\nbeyond all other men. If girls could only know how plainly they show\ntheir feelings, or rather, if they would only restrain and deny their\nfeelings a little, they would save themselves much contempt that they\ndeserve, and much that they do not deserve. So you see, mamma, Lawrence\nmight at any time, if you reproach him, turn and say that I was the one\nwho sought him, and say what is half true, too. I didn't mean to, but\nI did it for all that. Now, of course, it is different, and he really\nwants to marry me. He is more anxious than I am, indeed. But the less\nsaid about the whole matter the better. When I think of it, I could\nthrow myself into the fire.\"\n\n\"Well, well, dear, don't think about it, then,\" the mother urged\nsoothingly, startled by the passion in Annette's face. \"It doesn't\nmake much difference who begins, so long as both are willing. And now,\ndon't torment yourself any more, child. You're always breaking your\nheart because you have done something that isn't quite up to your own\nnotions. And I tell you, Annette, I wouldn't exchange you for twenty\nHonora Pembrokes.\"\n\nAnnette leaned on her mother's bosom, and resigned herself with a\nfeeling of sweet rest and comfort to be petted and caressed, without\ncriticising either grammar or logic. How mean and harsh all such\ncriticisms seemed to her when brought to check and chill a loving heart!\n\n\"Mamma,\" she whispered, after a while, \"I almost wish that we were back\nin the little cabin again. I can just faintly remember your rocking me\nto sleep there, and it seems to me that I was happier then than ever\nsince.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Mrs. Ferrier sighed, \"we were happier then than we are now; but\nwe shouldn't be happy to go back to it. I should feel as if I were\ncrawling head-foremost into a hole in the ground. We didn't know how\nhappy we were then, and we don't know how happy we are now, I suppose.\nSo let's make the best of it all.\"\n\nThe wedding proved to be, as the bride had desired, a success of its\nkind. The day was perfect, no mishap occurred, and everybody whom the\nfamily had not invited themselves as spectators. Policemen were needed\nto keep the way clear to the church door when the bridal party arrived,\nand the heavens seemed to rain flowers on them wherever they went.\n\nSeeing Mr. Gerald bend his handsome head, and whisper smilingly to the\nbride, as they entered the church, sentimental folks fancied that he\nwas making some very lover-like speech suitable to the occasion. But\nthis is what he said: \"Annette, we draw better than the giraffe. Why\nhadn't we thought to charge ten cents a head?\"\n\nHer eyes had been fixed on the lighted altar, just visible, and she\ndid not look at him as she replied, \"Lawrence, we are in the presence\nof God, and this is a sacrament. Make an act of contrition, or you will\ncommit a sacrilege.\"\n\nAnd then the music of the organ caught them up, and the rest was like a\ndream.\n\n\"How touching it is to see a young girl give herself away with such\nperfect confidence,\" remarked Mr. Sales, who was much impressed by the\nsplendor of the bride.\n\n\"Give herself away!\" growled Dr. Porson in return. \"She is throwing\nherself away.\"\n\n                            TO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CATHEDRAL OF CHARTRES.\n\n\nThe story of the erection of the Cathedral of Chartres is an epic\nfrom beginning to end. Before it arose in the amplitude and majesty\nwhich the great epoch of Christian art knew how to bestow upon its\nworks, nothing less was required than the greatest courage, the\nmost indomitable perseverance, and a determination of will which no\ndifficulties or reverses could turn from its purpose. The building\nof this cathedral was a struggle against fire and sword, against\nbarbarians and the elements--a long conflict, which in the end left\npiety and devotion victorious.\n\nNo sooner was the era of persecution closed by the conversion of\nConstantine, A.D. 312, than a church was raised over the Druidic\ngrotto, and thronged incessantly by the multitudes of pilgrims who came\nto venerate the sacred image. The wood covering the hill, no longer\npossessing, as formerly, any sacred character, was cut down, in order\nthat the town might extend itself in that direction; and houses began\nforthwith to cluster round the foot of the temple, as if seeking the\nimmediate protection of Mary.\n\nOf this earliest structure it is impossible to give any description,\nas no account of it remains. It was in all probability a basilica\nresembling others of the period, built with much less splendor than\nsolidity, and existed through several centuries until the year 850.\nCharles the Bald was then on the throne, and Frothold was Bishop of\nChartres, being the forty-second prelate of that see. The times were\nvery troubled. Charlemagne had years before gone to his glorious\nrepose, leaving to his degenerate successors a sceptre too heavy for\ntheir feeble arms to wield--a vast empire without cohesion, and which,\nlacking the firm hand of a sagacious ruler, was already torn with\ndissensions. The incursions of the Northmen, invariably accompanied\nby fire and carnage, were continual upon the hapless kingdom of the\nFranks. Hasting, the Danish chieftain, laid siege to Chartres, which\nwas at this epoch surrounded with strong and solid walls, and held out\ncourageously, well knowing its fate should it fall into the hands of\nthe barbarians. After spending some time in ineffectual endeavors to\neffect a breach, the wily Northman had recourse to craft, causing the\nbishop to be informed that he was ready, with all his followers, to\naccept the Christian faith, and humbly requesting admittance into the\ncity. Scarcely had he entered, when he threw aside the mask; the bishop\nand most of the inhabitants were massacred, the church destroyed, and\nthe city given up to the flames. This exploit was no sooner performed\nthan rewarded as it deserved. Before the savage invaders had time to\nhasten back, laden with plunder, to their vessels, the Franks of the\nsurrounding country fell upon them and slew them without quarter.\n\nSoon the church and the city arose again from their ashes. The new\nsanctuary was but an humble erection. The people gave to God the\nbest they could, but they were impoverished, and in that age of iron\nthe arts had sunk to the lowest condition; moreover, another century\nhad not elapsed before a similar disaster seemed about to befall the\nbuilding.\n\nIn those barbarous ages, the sacking and burning of towns and the\nslaughter of their inhabitants were events always possible, often\nimpending. In the year 911, Chartres was besieged by the fierce Norman\nchieftain, Rollo, at the head of a formidable army provided with\npowerful engines of war. The Dukes of France and Burgundy, with the\nCount of Poitiers, hastening to the succor of the city, gave battle\noutside its walls; but they were hard pressed, and to the anxious\nwatchers on the ramparts seemed likely to be overborne by the foe. The\nbishop, Ganthelm or Gancelin, was not only a warrior in time of need,\nbut was also full of devotion to Mary. In the heat of the combat,\nhe put himself at the head of the Chartrians, taking with him the\nreliquary containing the greatest treasure of his church--the sacred\ntunic of Our Lady--and fell upon the invaders. This vigorous sortie was\nso successful that the Northmen were utterly defeated and with so great\na slaughter that, according to the account of the monk Paul, the river\nwas choked with their corpses.\n\nThe holy tunic just mentioned had been given to Charlemagne by the\nEmperor Nicephorus and the Empress Irene, who previously kept it at\nConstantinople, whither it had been brought from Ephesus in the year\n460, in the reign of the Emperor Leo. Charlemagne, who meditated an\nEmpire of the West, of which the capital should be Aix-la-Chapelle,\nhad at first placed the relic in that city. His successors, being\nunable to carry out his designs, nevertheless recognized the importance\nof preserving so great a treasure to France, and Charles the Bald,\nremoving it from Aix, presented it to the church of Chartres. The\nhistory of this double translation may be seen portrayed in the great\nwindow of the chapel of S. John Baptist; the archives of the cathedral\nand the _Poem of the Miracles_ agreeing with these representations\nin their account of the facts, with regard to which the poet Ma\u00eetre\nNicolas Gilles, writes:\n\n    \"Lors prinrent la sainte chemise\n    A la M\u00e8re Dex qui fut prise\n    Jadis dans Constantinople.\n    Precieux don en fit et noble\n    A Chartres un grand Roi de France;\n    Charles le Chauve ot nom d'enfance.\n    Cil roy \u00e0 Chartres le donna.\"[79]\n\nBut the effects of protection from on high are not such as to permit a\npeople and its rulers to do evil with impunity. Some time afterwards,\nThibault _le Tricheur_--_i.e._ the \"sharper\" or \"cheat\"--_ce chevalier\nfel et enginous_--\"this dangerous and deep-skilled knight,\" as he\nis called in the chronicles of the time, who by some unknown means\nobtained possession of the county of Chartres, made an expedition\nagainst the town of Evreux, which he took by stratagem, and, going on\nfrom thence as far as Rouen, so utterly devastated the country that,\nin all the land through which he had passed, \"there was not heard so\nmuch as the bark of a dog.\" During his absence, the Normans and Danes\ntogether laid siege to Chartres, which they took by assault, and again\nburnt the town, together with the church. Thibault, returning to find\nhis son slain and his town in ruins, went mad with anger and grief.\n\nTowards the close of the IXth century was a period of great calamities\nand sinister predictions. There was a general spirit of discouragement\nand gloom. Men said that the end of the world was approaching, for the\nyear one thousand was close at hand. They built no more churches; for\nto what purpose would it be? Still, Our Lady must not surely be left\nwithout her sanctuary at Chartres, nor could the people themselves\ndispense with it; they set to work, therefore, and the destroyed\nbuilding was speedily replaced by a new one; yet, as they had no hope\nof its long continuance, wood had a larger place in its construction\nthan stone. A few years later, however, when the unchecked course of\ntime had belied the prophecies of popular credulity, it seemed as if\nHeaven itself willed to teach the Chartrians that God and their blessed\nPatroness must be more worthily honored; for in the year 1020, under\nthe episcopate of Fulbert, on the Feast of the Assumption according to\nsome, on Christmas Day according to others, the church was struck by\nlightning, and wholly consumed.\n\nBp. Fulbert was a holy man, and also a man of intelligence and courage.\nHe felt that God had given him a mission. Amid the smoking ruins of\nhis episcopal church, he laid the foundations of a noble structure\nwhich should be fitted to brave the injuries of time, and not be\nliable, like the former ones, to the danger of conflagration. In order\nto carry out his design, Fulbert needed treasure. He at once devoted\nall his own fortune to the work, and then appealed to his clergy, who\nimposed on themselves great sacrifices to satisfy their generosity; the\npeople of his diocese also aiding eagerly with their contributions.\nNot satisfied with all this, he addressed himself to the princes and\nnobles of France, and especially to King Robert, who has been called\nthe father of religious architecture, and who could not fail to take a\nlively interest in the erection of a sanctuary to Our Lady of France.\nThe princes of the whole Christian world were in like manner invited\nto assist in the undertaking, and the King of Denmark in particular\nsignalized himself by his munificence.\n\nGifts arriving from all parts, Fulbert was enabled to commence the\nworks, as he had desired, on very large proportions, and to push them\nforward with so much activity that in less than two years the crypt\nwas finished--this crypt which is probably the largest and finest in\nthe world, and which is still admired as a marvel of the architecture\nof the XIth century. This sanctuary of _Notre Dame de Dessoubs-terre_,\nor \"Our Lady of Underground,\" more worthy than any which had preceded\nit of the Druidic Virgin, was then opened to receive, through long\ncenturies, successive generations of the faithful. Nevertheless, this\nwas but the root of the majestic tree which was to rise and expand\nabove this favored spot. Fulbert devoted the remaining years of his\nlife to the work, so that when he died, in 1029, it had made great\nprogress; and, being continued with equal energy by Thierry, his\nsuccessor, was considered sufficiently advanced to be consecrated in\n1037, although still requiring much for its completion.\n\nAfter the death of Thierry came a period of marked relaxation in\nactivity. Several bishops in succession made no progress in the\nerection. S. Yves, one of the most illustrious prelates who ever filled\nthe episcopal throne of Chartres, confined himself principally to the\ninterior adornment of the cathedral. Munificent gifts from Maude, Queen\nof England, enabled him to replace the ancient and already dilapidated\nroof by one of lead. A new impetus being given to the undertaking,\nin 1115 were laid the foundation of the two spires, so remarkable\nand so well known to the world. In 1145, the works were in full\nactivity, and it was wonderful, observes Haymond, Abbot of S. Pierre\nsur Dive, to see with what ardor, perseverance, and piety the people\nset to work to bring about the completion of their church. \"What a\nmarvellous spectacle!\" he writes. \"There one sees powerful men, proud\nof their birth and of their wealth, accustomed to a life of ease and\npleasure, harnessing themselves to the shafts of a cart, and dragging\nalong stones, lime, wood, and all the materials necessary for the\nconstruction of the sacred edifice. Sometimes it befalls that as many\nas a thousand persons, men and women, are harnessed to the same wagon,\nso heavy is the load; and yet so great a silence prevails that there is\nnot heard the faintest murmur.\"\n\nIt was chiefly during the summer season that these labors were carried\non. At night, tapers were lighted and set on the wagons, while the\nworkers watched around the church, singing hymns and canticles. Thus it\nwas at Chartres that the custom, afterwards so prevalent, began of the\nlaborers assembling together to pass the night as well as the day near\nthe building in course of erection.\n\nThe old spire being at last completed, and the new one reaching to\nthe height of the roofs, in 1194 another fire broke out, the cause\nof which was unknown. It had seemed as if a strange fatality pursued\nthe pious undertaking, were not every event providentially permitted\nor arranged. The faithful of those days so understood this fresh\ncatastrophe, acknowledging that it was the chastisement of Heaven for\nthose sins from which, in spite of their zeal, the toilers in this work\nhad not always kept themselves free. It is easy to comprehend that,\nnotwithstanding all precautions, these large and prolonged assemblages\ncould not have been without great dangers. Some considered the disaster\nas a manifestation of the divine will that the work was not carried on\nto a sufficient degree of perfection; while others again regarded it\nas an effect of the jealous hatred of the arch-enemy, and, according\nto the historian Mezeray, declared that demons, under the form of\nravens, had been seen flying over the cathedral, with red-hot embers\nin their beaks, which they let fall upon the sacred edifice. This time\nthe destruction was immense. Nothing was saved but the crypt and the\ntwo spires, with the connecting masonry forming the western portal.\nThe latter, not having as yet been joined to the main building, were\nunharmed by the flames.\n\nHistorians of the XVIth century and later do not mention this fire, and\nsuppose the edifice which at present exists to be almost entirely the\nwork commenced by Bp. Fulbert--an error only to be accounted for by the\nmost complete ignorance of the laws of ecclesiastical architecture.\nContemporary writers, as, for instance, William le Breton and Rigord,\nmonk of S. Denis, as well as Robert of Auxerre, who adds that a portion\nof the town was also consumed, are unanimous as to the date and\nprincipal particulars of the disaster.\n\nMelchior, the legate of Pope Celestine III., was at Chartres at the\ntime of its occurrence, and it was he who revived and sustained the\nspirit of the people, overwhelmed as they were at first by their\ncalamity. Assembling them around the ruins of their church, he did\nhis utmost to console and cheer them, winning from them the promise\nto raise a cathedral which should not have its equal in the world,\nand which should be built entirely of stone, so as to render its\ndestruction by fire impossible.\n\nThe impulse was easily given. At the conclusion of the legate's\nstirring address, the bishop, Regnault de Mou\u00e7on, and all the canons\nof the cathedral, gave up their revenues for the space of three years\ntowards the expenses of the building, as may be seen in the _Po\u00e8me des\nMiracles_ of Jehan le Marchant; Philip Augustus adding his offerings\nto those of the clergy with a royal liberality. The towns-people,\nalso, considering that their misfortune was not so great by far as it\nmight have been, seeing that the reliquary containing the sacred tunic\nof Our Lady was saved, thanks to the devotion of certain courageous\nmen, who bore it from the burning church into a place of safety, felt\nbound to show their gratitude by depriving themselves of part of their\npossessions in favor of the work.\n\nA powerful and irresistible current of devotion seemed in those days\nto carry along with it the hearts of men; and the enthusiasm of the\nCrusades having been chilled by reverses, the religious sentiment of\nthe people found its outlet in another channel--raising sanctuaries of\nwhich the magnificence should be a marvel to succeeding ages.\n\nMoreover, it must not be forgotten that, in those ages of faith and\nfervor, the fabulous sums which would be required in our days for\nsimilar erections were not necessary, even taking into account all\nproportions with regard to the respective value of money. The time\nhad not then arrived for none but master-masons, working for ready\nmoney only, and of that a free supply; they who had nothing but their\nstrength and good-will cheerfully gave the alms of their toil, thus\nsharing equally with the rich and great in forwarding the enterprise.\nEverywhere architects arose, ready to translate into stone the\nreligious thoughts and aspirations of the time, which was not a period\nof popular enthusiasm only, but that in which Christian art was\nrapidly expanding into its most remarkable development, and replacing\nthe heavy and massive edifices of the Romano-Byzantine style by those\npossessing a boldness, freedom, and splendid gracefulness hitherto\nunknown.\n\nWhere was found the marvellous genius capable of conceiving and\nexecuting the plan of the Cathedral of Chartres?--this man who,\ncareless of human fame, and careful only to work for God, has left\nno record of his name, and is called by Jehan le Marchant simply _li\nmestre de l'\u0153uvre_.\n\nThe \"master of the work\" for three years wrought with incredible ardor.\nThe idea had sprung from his mind complete, and he longed to see it\nrealized in its colossal harmony. It is only in the crypt, in the old\nspire, and in the western portal, spared by the fire of 1194, that\nthe ancient style is to be recognized; everywhere else the art of the\nXIIIth century triumphs, and we behold the poem of stone as it was hewn\nout in the first purity of its beauty.\n\nAt the end of three years resources failed, and the work could not go\non. \"Then,\" says the poet Jehan, with all the simplicity of a medi\u00e6val\nchronicler--\"then the Holy Virgin prayed her divine Son to work fresh\nmiracles in her Cathedral of Chartres, in order that the increase of\nalms and offerings might be such as to secure its completion:\"\n\n    \"La haute Dame glorieuse\n    Qui voloit avoir merveilleuse\n    Iglise, et haute, et longue, et l\u00e9e,\n    Si que sa per ne fust trov\u00e9e,\n    Son douz Fils pria doucement\n    Que miracles apertement\n    En son Eglise \u00e0 Chartres feist,\n    Que tout le peuple le veist,\n    Si que de toutes parts venissent\n    Gens qui offerendes tous feissent,\n    Que achev\u00e9e fust siglise,\n    Qui estoit \u00e0 faire emprise.\"[80]\n\nMiracles, which in this place had at all times been numerous and\nremarkable, and which we might cite by thousands, are said to have now\ngreatly multiplied. Those which at that period excited the enthusiasm\nand gratitude of the people to the highest degree were the cures of a\nterrible malady very common in the middle ages, and known by the name\nof the \"burning sickness.\" The unfortunate persons who were attacked\nby it, besides being consumed by fever, suffered internally as if\nfrom torture by fire, while outwardly their bodies were covered with\nfrightful ulcers, of which the pain was intolerable. The victims of\nthis malady came from all parts for relief and healing to Our Lady\nof Chartres. According to Jehan le Marchant and other contemporary\nwriters, the disease never failed to disappear, either during or\nimmediately after the _novena_ which it was customary for each sufferer\nto make in the church.\n\nThis increase of favors revived the ardor of the faithful. Gifts and\nthank-offerings were made in great abundance, and the building of the\nchurch went on, with what vigor may be gathered from the fact that,\nin little more than twenty years afterwards, the cathedral was built\nand covered with what William le Breton calls its _merveilleuse et\nmiraculeuse_ roof of stone. It is in the year 1220 that he writes:\n\"Entirely rebuilt anew in hewn stone, and completed by a vaulted roof\nlike the shell of a tortoise, the cathedral has no more to fear from\nfire before the day of judgment.\"\n\nThe new tower received a spire like that of the old, excepting that it\nwas constructed of wood and lead, and destined to perish in the very\npartial fire of 1506, to be replaced by the beautiful and delicately\nsculptured steeple of the XVIth century, still so greatly admired. The\nporches were finished,[81] as well as the sculptures, in their finest\ndetails, and the windows put in. On the 17th of October, in the year\n1260, the edifice was complete, and on this occasion the Bishop of\nChartres, Pierre de Maincy, seventy-fifth successor of S. Aventine,\nsolemnly consecrated his cathedral, in presence of the king, S. Louis.\n\nDescription, however picturesque, is utterly inadequate to convey\na worthy image or idea of a Gothic cathedral in all the mysterious\nfulness, richness, and variety of its details. Chartres must be seen,\nmust have received many quiet hours of contemplation, before its\nmagnificences will have shown to what heights Christian art was raised\nby Christian devotion in those early centuries of enthusiasm and of\nfaith.\n\nAnd yet we cannot leave the reader at the threshold without inviting\nhim to glance with us rapidly, and therefore most imperfectly, within.\n\nHow grand is the perspective which opens upon the view, when, looking\nfrom the \"Royal Gate\" towards the sanctuary, the eye takes in this\ntriple nave, with its forest of pillars, amongst which fall, in\nrich and softened splendor, warm rays of light and color from the\nhigher windows! All the dimensions are on a scale of grandeur. In its\nelevation, the cathedral is divided into three parts, the idea of the\nBlessed Trinity ruling this arrangement. The arcades, springing from\nthe ground, form the first line, under the triforium, which forms\nthe second, while above this rises the third height, containing the\nclerestory windows, which are lofty, double lancets, each surmounted\nby a rose. The lower walls are pierced by simple lancets of very\nlarge size. To the right and left of the nave are aisles without side\nchapels; but in the double aisle which is carried round the choir\nare seven apsidal chapels, of which the centre one, dedicated to Our\nLady, is the most important. The pillars of the nave are massive in\ntheir proportions, to bear the weight of the lofty superstructure.\nThere are sixteen circular or octagon pillars round the choir, with\nwell-sculptured capitals; and in the centre of the transept rise four\ncolossal pillars, around which cluster a number of smaller ones, which\nare carried up to the spring of the roof. The latter was the most\nbeautiful in the world, and was called _the Forest_, being constructed\nof fine chestnut-wood, which time colors with a sort of golden hue,\nand which attracts neither dust nor spiders. The roof of St. Stephen's\nHall at Westminster gives a good idea of what this must have been,\nwith its exquisite fan tracery and graceful pendants, until, on the\nfourth of June, 1836, the whole was destroyed by fire. The iron roof by\nwhich it has been replaced, though excellent in its kind, is far from\napproaching the worth and beauty of the ancient _For\u00eat_.\n\nThe church is paved throughout with large slabs of stone, not one\nof which is a _grave_-stone, as would be the case in almost every\nother cathedral, under the pavement of which are buried numbers of\necclesiastics and other persons; but this is virgin earth, wherein no\nsepulture has ever taken place. We give the reason in the words of\nSebastian Rouillard: \"The said church has this pre-eminence as being\nthe couch or resting-place of the Blessed Virgin, and in token thereof\nhas been even until this day preserved pure, clean, and entire, without\nhaving ever been dug or opened for any burial.\"\n\nThe choir is the largest in France, and one of the most splendid in\nexistence, notwithstanding the unfortunate zeal of the chapter in\nthe year 1703 to alter and disfigure its medi\u00e6val beauties according\nto their own ideas, which appear to have been warped to the lowest\ndegeneracy of \"Renaissance.\" Happily, however, the prodigious expense\nto which they put themselves resulted in but a partial realization\nof their plan, in which ancient carving and mural frescos were swept\naway to give place to gilding and stucco, marble and new paint, to say\nnothing of kicking cherubs and arabesques gone mad. It was at this\ntime that the groups representing the annunciation of Our Lady and Our\nSaviour's baptism were placed at the entrance of the choir, which, even\nif they were the work of a more skilful hand, instead of being that of\na very mediocre artist, would yet be out of harmony with the church;\nand the same may be said of the group, in Carrara marble, of the\nAssumption, which rises behind the high altar, and which is the work of\nthe celebrated Bridan, who finished it in 1773.\n\nWhen, two centuries before, the choir was still without enclosure,\nthe XVIth century provided for it one of the rarest specimens of late\nGothic art ever seen. Jehan de Beauce, who had been charged with\nthe building of the new spire, was chosen to make the designs and\ndirect the work; and though he died whilst it was still unfinished,\nhis plan was carefully carried to its completion. In this marvel of\nconscientious labor there are forty groups, each containing numerous\nfigures, nearly the size of nature, representing the Legend of Mary\nand the principal events in the life of Our Lord. Around these groups\ncluster pillars and arches, turrets, crocketed spires, everything that\ncan help to give them, as it were, a framing and background as full and\nelaborate as possible, while all sorts of odd and Lilliputian creatures\nare playing in and out of the pediments, or clinging to the columns\nin the most capricious and fantastic manner. Besides these forty\nprincipal subjects, the enclosure is further enriched with thirty-five\nmedallions, the first of which represents the siege of Chartres by\nRollo, followed by subjects from the Holy Scriptures, and then, strange\nto say, by others taken from heathen mythology! The pagan spirit of\nthe Renaissance was already daring to invade the sanctuaries of the\nCatholic faith.\n\nBefore proceeding to mention other architectural details, two of the\nespecial treasures of the cathedral require some further notice.\nBesides the Druidic Virgin, of which we have already given the history,\nand whose chapel has, since the Revolution, been carefully restored, as\nwell as the twelve other subterranean chapels of this marvellous crypt,\nthere is in the upper church another statue, almost equally venerated,\nwhich dates from the first years of the XVIth century, and is called\n\"Our Lady of the Pillar,\" from the columnar pedestal on which it\nrests. This figure is enthroned, and adorned with gold and painting of\ngood execution, as far as may be seen under the abundant vestments of\nlace, silk, and gold with which the loving piety of pilgrims, greater\nin devotion than good taste, delights to load this statue, of which\nthe dark but beautiful face has an expression of great sweetness and\nbenignity, as well as that of the divine Child, whose right hand is\nraised in benediction, while his left rests upon the globe of the world.\n\nIt was to this venerable image of _Notre Dame du Pilier_ that the\nSovereign Pontiff, Pius IX., granted the signal favor of a solemn\ncoronation, which took place on the last day of the month of May, 1855,\nin the presence of seven prelates and a concourse of clergy and people\nso immense that the church could not contain the multitudes. The dogma\nof the Immaculate Conception had just been promulgated, and a special\njubilee in honor of Our Lady of Chartres had been granted by the Holy\nFather, and the whole city was in a state of indescribable joy.\n\nWith regard to the vestment of Our Blessed Lady, to which allusion\nhas so frequently been made, and which appears to be of indisputable\nauthenticity, we will give the remainder of its history up to the\npresent time. When this was presented to the cathedral by Charles the\nBald, it was enclosed in a chest of cedar-wood covered with gold. The\nveneration with which the precious relic was regarded did not allow of\nthe chest being opened without necessity, and its form was naturally\nsupposed to be that of a tunic or undergarment. Numbers were made\nafter the imaginary pattern, and, after being laid upon the reliquary,\nwere greatly valued as pledges of Our Lady's protection, especially by\nthose about to become mothers. As to one detail, however, everybody was\nmistaken, the vestment not being by any means of the form supposed.\nThis was for the first time discovered in 1712, when, by order of the\nbishop, Mgr. de Merinville, the coffer, which was falling to pieces\nfrom extreme age, was opened with the most extraordinary care and\nprecautions. A kind of gauze, embroidered with silk and gold, enveloped\nthe sacred relic, which proved to be a veil of great length, woven\nof linen and silk. It was then, in presence of Mgr. de Merinville and\nother witnesses, enclosed in a chest of silver, and placed again in\nthe ancient reliquary, which had been strengthened and repaired. This,\nbeing most richly ornamented with precious stones, was, in December,\n1793, carried off by the men of the Revolution, who took the relic to\nParis, and submitted it to be examined by the members of the Institute,\nwithout giving them any information respecting it, and anticipating\nfrom their verdict a triumphant proof of its being nothing more than a\ncheat and deception of \"the priests.\" It was with less satisfaction,\ntherefore, than surprise that they were informed by the learned members\nthat, \"although they found it impossible to give the exact age of the\nfabric, it was evidently of very great antiquity, and the material was\nidentical with that of the long, folding veils anciently _worn by women\nin the East_.\" Owing merely to this character of remote antiquity, it\nwas allowed a place among the curiosities of a museum. When the Reign\nof Terror was over, certain pious persons obtained possession of it,\nbut had the want of judgment to divide it, giving larger or smaller\nportions to different churches and individuals. In 1820, Mgr. de\nLubersac succeeded in collecting several of these portions, and, after\nhaving had them carefully authenticated, he placed them in a reliquary\nof coral, which has since, by Mgr. Clausel de Montals, been replaced by\none of greater richness, so arranged as to allow the precious relic to\nbe visible.\n\nWe must, before taking leave of the cathedral, bestow at least a\npassing glance upon its glorious windows. Here and there one has been\nbroken by revolutionary or other anti-religionists, one or two others\nhave had a deep-toned color clumsily replaced by one of brighter hue\nby certain of the aforesaid XVIIIth century canons, who required more\nlight to read their office; but, on the whole, they are in admirable\npreservation. We can linger but to read some few of the characters of\nthis vast book of light, which is justly called by the Council of Arras\n\"The Bible of the laity\"; for months would be insufficient to decipher\nits glowing pages.\n\nThere are one hundred and thirty-five large windows, three immense\nroses, thirty-five roses of a middle size, and twelve small ones. These\nare almost all of the date of the XIIIth century, and are the gifts of\nkings, nobles, ecclesiastics, burgesses, and workmen of every trade, as\nmay be seen in each window, which usually contains a kneeling figure of\nthe donor. The great roses are marvellous in their splendor. That of\nthe north transept, which, from being the gift of S. Louis, is called\nthe Rose of France, represents the glorification of the Blessed Virgin,\nwho occupies the centre, bearing in her arms her divine Son. The five\ngreat windows beneath the rose make the complement of the subject. In\nthe centre is S. Anne, with Our Lady as an infant. On the right and\nleft stand Melchisedech and Aaron, types of our Lord's priesthood;\nDavid and Solomon, the types of his royalty.\n\nThe southern rose was given by the Count of Dreux, and has for its\nsubject the glorification of our Lord, which is also that of the\nsculpture over the western entrance. In the centre window of the\nfive below is the infant Saviour in the arms of his Mother, while to\nthe right and left are the four greater prophets, bearing on their\nshoulders the four Evangelists, to symbolize the support which the\nNew Law receives from the Old. The western rose represents the Last\nJudgment. The three splendid windows beneath it are more ancient than\nthe rest, and are said by those who are learned in stained glass\nto date from the XIIth century at the latest. One of these is the\nfar-famed \"Jesse Window,\" in which the tree of Jesse bears among the\nverdure of its branches the royal ancestors of Our Lord; the second\nrepresents scenes from his life, and the third those of his passion and\ndeath; while above appears the resplendent figure of Mary, known by\nthe name of _Notre Dame de la Belle Verriere_, and justly celebrated\nfor its admirable beauty. In the seven great windows of the apse, Mary\nis still the centre. In those of the choir occur amongst others the\nfigures of S. Louis, S. Ferdinand of Castile, Amaury IV., Count of\nMontfort, and Simon de Montfort, his brother. The lower windows are\nfilled with scenes from the Holy Bible and the _Golden Legend_, and\ncontain a great number of figures of small size, while the higher ones\nare principally occupied by grand and separate figures of prophets,\napostles, and saints.\n\nStanding in the middle of the transept, one sees the extremities\ndarkened by the great masses of the porches, but above them shine the\ngreat roses, whose rainbow hues play upon the entrance of the choir;\nthe aisles and chapels are softened by that sort of half-luminous\nobscurity in which we find ourselves on entering the church; but the\nshadows flee more and more before the light, which, ever increasing,\nstreams down in torrents as we approach the centre of the cross,\nmaking the sanctuary resplendent with emerald and ruby rays. And this\nmarvellous picture has ever-changing aspects, beauties ever new,\naccording to the hour of the day, the brightness of the sun, and the\nseason of the year. Reader, when _in propri\u00e2 person\u00e2_ you make your\npilgrimage to Notre Dame de Chartres, you will feel how poor and how\ninadequate has our description been, and, with the Presence that is\never there, will own that it is heaven in all but the locality.\n\nWe will conclude our sketch with a few historical notices of interest,\nwithout which it would be incomplete.\n\nAlthough we have lived to see occasionally something approaching to a\nrenewal of the ancient throngs of pilgrims, and notably so on the last\n27th-30th of May, when a multitude of more than sixty thousand persons,\nincluding twelve prelates, besides six hundred other ecclesiastics, two\ngenerals, one hundred and fifty officers, and one hundred and forty\nmembers of the National Assembly, went from Paris and various parts\nof France on a pilgrimage to Chartres, still this does not recall the\ncontinuous concourse of former days, when it often happened that the\ntown was not large enough to contain the crowds of strangers, so that\non the eve of certain festivals it was necessary to allow great numbers\nof them to remain all night for shelter in the church itself. The\nparvis of the cathedral, which slopes downwards from the choir to the\nwestern door, rendered easy the cleansing process which followed in the\nearly morning, when floods of water were thrown upon the pavement.\n\nThis eager devotion of the common people has in it something more\ntouching even than the innumerable visits of the rich and great to this\nchosen shrine. In the course of the XIIth century, Chartres numbered\namong its pilgrims no less than three popes and five kings of France;\nPhilip Augustus being accompanied by his queen, Isabella of Hainault,\nwho came to ask Our Lady's intercession that she might have a son.\nWhereupon, says William le Breton, even whilst the queen was making her\nprayer, the candles upon the high altar suddenly lighted of themselves,\nas if in token that her request was granted, and which accordingly came\nto pass.\n\nBefore the completion of the church, it had been visited by two\nprincesses greater for their sanctity than for their rank--namely,\nBlanche of Castile, the mother of S. Louis, and the gentle and pious\nIsabelle, her sister. They were followed not long afterwards by the\nholy monarch himself, who, on his first visit, was accompanied by\nHenry III., of England, and on his second, in 1260, was present at the\nconsecration. Philip the Fair, who attributed his success at the battle\nof Mons en Puelle entirely to the protection of Mary, came thither to\ndo her homage by offering the armor he had worn in the combat; and in\nlike manner Philip of Valois, after the victory of Cassel, gave to\nthe church of Chartres his charger and his arms. And when the times\ndarkened over France, and her king, John the Good, was the prisoner\nof Edward III., the latter refused to listen to the entreaties of the\nDauphin and the Papal legate that he would grant peace on reasonable\nterms, although \"the Father of Christendom had again and again with\nhis own hand written letters to the English king, calling on him to\n'forbear from the slaughter of souls redeemed by the Blood of Christ'\";\nsuccess had made him relentless, and, leading on his victorious army,\nhe laid siege to Chartres. We learn from Froissart, among other\nchroniclers, how Our Lady signalized her power, not only in saving the\ncity, but in leading, humble and submissive, the lion of England to\nher feet: \"For there befell to the King of England and all his men a\ngreat miracle: a storm and thunder so great and horrible came down from\nheaven on the English host that it seemed as if the end of the world\nwere come; for there fell down stones so great that they killed men\nand horses, and so that even the boldest trembled.\"[82] ... \"Thereupon\nthe King of England, leaping down from his saddle, and stretching out\nhis arms towards the church of Our Lady at Chartres, devoutly vowed\nand promised to her that he would no longer refuse to grant peace upon\nany terms consistent with his honor.\" When, therefore, he entered the\ncity, it was not as a warrior, but as a pilgrim; for he repaired at\nonce to the cathedral, in company with the Prince of Wales, the Duke\nof Lancaster, and many other English knights, and shortly afterwards\nsigned the Peace of Bretigny.\n\nCharles V., having revived the glory of the French arms, was not\nunmindful of his gratitude to Our Lady of Chartres, to whom on two\noccasions he made a pilgrimage barefoot, prostrating himself before the\nsacred image; \"considering,\" as he declares in his letters-patent, \"the\nsplendid, great, and notable miracles which our Lord God works day by\nday in the said church,\" and praying for the peace and prosperity of\nhis kingdom.\n\nOne other fact connected with the kings of France ought not to be\nomitted--namely, the sacring of Henri IV., which, instead of taking\nplace at Rheims, according to, we believe, invariable precedent, was,\nby his own special desire, solemnized in the church of Our Lady of\nFrance at Chartres, when he made, as it were, a second abjuration by\nthus publicly declaring himself to be henceforth a devoted client of\nthe Blessed Virgin. \"Thus,\" observes the Abb\u00e9 Hamon, _Cur\u00e9_ of S.\nSulpice, \"Protestantism, which had flattered itself with the hope of\nmounting on the throne of France, was broken at the feet of Our Lady of\nChartres, where also paganism had expired before it in the defeat and\nsubsequent conversion of Rollo.\"\n\nWere we to attempt to name the saints who have gone as pilgrims to\nChartres, from S. Anselm and S. Thomas \u00e0 Becket to S. Francis de\nSales, S. Vincent de Paul, M. Olier, and the Blessed B. Labr\u00e9, the\nenumeration would be endless; and though it would require, not pages,\nbut volumes, to recount the favors obtained by the intercession of\nthe Blessed Virgin for her city, we cannot refrain from selecting a\nfew well-authenticated historical facts in addition to those already\nmentioned.\n\nIn the year 1137, Louis le Gros, having great cause of displeasure\nagainst Thibault, Count of Chartres, resolved to chastise him in a\nsignal manner, and advanced against his city, with the resolution to\nraze it to the ground. The inhabitants were in the utmost terror and\ndistress, knowing their helplessness before the power of the irritated\nmonarch. The bishop, Geoffrey de Lieues, causing the reliquary\ncontaining Our Lady's tunic to be taken from the church, carried it in\nprocession with his clergy and people outside the gates, and advanced\nto the royal tent. At this sight, the anger of the king subsided. He\nfell on his knees before the sacred relic, which he then devoutly\nfollowed, entering alone into the city, not to destroy it, but to grant\nit special privileges.\n\nMore than four centuries later, in 1568, Chartres was besieged by the\nHuguenots under Cond\u00e9. They opened a heavy fire against the Porte\nDrouaire, above which gate the Chartrians placed an image of the\nBlessed Virgin. This greatly excited their fury, and their utmost\nendeavors were used to shoot it down. But the sacred image remained\nuntouched, though every stone near it was shattered. The rampart was\nnevertheless so far weakened as to be unable longer to stand against\nthe powerful artillery. A large breach was opened, towards which the\nbesiegers crowded, that they might carry fire and desolation into the\ncity. But while the defenders believed that all was lost, the whole of\nthe population not in arms was praying in the cathedral. In the very\nmoment of their success, the enemy lost courage; the trumpets sounded a\nretreat, and the Huguenot army left the city, never to return. It was\nin memory of this signal deliverance that a chapel was raised between\nthe Porte Drouaire and the river Eure, dedicated to \"Our Lady of the\nBreach,\" and which, after being destroyed in 1789, was in 1844 rebuilt.\n\nWhenever Chartres has been threatened with pestilence or famine it has\nbeen customary for the bishop and dean of the chapter to bear the holy\ntunic in procession from the cathedral to the Abbey of Josaphat, in the\nmidst of an immense concourse of the faithful, kneeling in the dust,\nwith heads uncovered. Even in our own time there has been a recurrence\nof these expiatory solemnities. The cholera, which in 1832 made so many\nvictims in Paris, appeared also in Chartres, and deaths multiplied in\nthe city. But no sooner had the inhabitants, with all the religious\npomp and devotion of ancient days, borne the venerated relic through\nthe streets, imploring her succor who had for ages proved her right to\nthe title of _Tutela Carnutum_, than the plague was stayed. All the\nsick were cured, and two more deaths only occurred--the deaths of two\npersons who had publicly insulted the procession on its way. A gold\nmedal was struck on this occasion, having the following inscription;\n\"Voted to Our Lady of Chartres, by the inhabitants of the city, in\ngratitude for the cessation of the cholera immediately after the solemn\nprocession celebrated to obtain her powerful intercession, on Sunday,\nthe 26th of August, 1832.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[79] \"Then they took the holy garment, which had belonged to the Mother\nof God, formerly in Constantinople; and a great king of France made of\nit a precious and noble gift to Chartres--Charles the Bald, so called\nfrom his name of infancy. This king presented it to Chartres.\"\n\n[80] \"The high and glorious Lady, who willed to have the church all\nmarvellous, and high, and long, and large, so that its equal nowhere\nmight be found, prayed sweetly to her gracious Son that manifest\nmiracles might be wrought in her church at Chartres for all the people\nto behold, so that from all parts there might come persons who should\nmake offerings wherewith the church might be finished as it was\nundertaken to be done.\"\n\n[81] Except certain parts of the side portals, some of the statues of\nwhich are of the XIVth century, the three gables, the chapel of S.\nPiat, that of Vend\u00f4me, and the enclosure of the choir.\n\n[82] _Les Grandes Chroniques_, tom. iv. ch. 46.\n\n\n\n\nIN THY LIGHT SHALL WE SEE LIGHT.[83]\n\n\n    The moon, behind her pilot star,\n      Came up in orb\u00e8d gold:\n    And slowly near'd a fleecy bar\n      O'er-floating lone and cold.\n\n    I look'd again, and saw an isle\n      Of amber on the blue:\n    So changed the cloudlet by the smile\n      That softly lit it through.\n\n    Another look: the isle was gone--\n      As though dissolv'd away.\n    And could it be, so warmly shone\n      That chaste and tender ray?\n\n    I said: \"O star, the faith art thou\n      That brought my life its Queen--\n    In her sweet light no longer now\n      The vapor it has been.\n\n    \"Shine on, my Queen: and so possess\n      My being to its core,\n    That self may show from less to less--\n      Thy love from more to more.\"\n\n    A touch of the oars, and on we slid--\n      My cedar boat and I.\n    The dreaming water faintly chid\n      Our rudeness with a sigh.\n\nLAKE GEORGE, September, 1873.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[83] PS. XXXV.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SEE OF S. FRANCIS OF SALES.\n\n\nThe \"arrowy Rhone\" and Lake Leman have become in modern literature\nthe counterparts of the classic Anio and Nemi of antiquity. Peculiar\nmemories cluster about their shores; they have been the intellectual\nbattle-field of systems, even while poets and dreamers were seeking\nto make a Lethe of their enchanted waters; and perhaps on no other\nnorthern spot in Europe has God lavished such beauties of color, of\natmosphere, of outline, and of luxuriant vegetation. Geneva rivals\nthe south in its growth of orange, oleander, and ilex, in its lake\nof sapphire hue, its sunsets of intense variety of color, and its\nprofusion of white villas, homes of summer luxuriance, and temples of\ndelightful idleness. The clearness of the mountain air, the irregular\noutlines of the smaller hills, the view of the Alps beyond--above\nall, that of Mont Blanc--the quantity of hardy Alpine flowers, the\ndusky, medi\u00e6val beauty of the town, and the unmistakable energy of its\nsturdy-looking inhabitants, denote the northern character of Geneva.\nThe old Cathedral of S. Peter, where Calvin's chair is now the greatest\ncuriosity and almost the greatest ornament (so bare is the church),\nand the new Cathedral of Notre Dame, a building hardly large enough\nfor the now numerous Catholic congregation of Geneva, speak of the\nchange that has come over the town in the last four hundred years. The\nreligious phases that have come and gone in this small and seemingly\ninsignificant spot form an epitome of the religious history of Europe.\nThe age of faith, the age of fanaticism, the age of indifferentism,\nhave reigned successively in Geneva. In the XIIIth century, as in\nmany an earlier one, High Mass was sung at S. Peter's, and monks or\ncanons sat in the stalls which yet remain in the choir; in the XVIth,\nCalvin and Beza sat in plain black gown, teaching justification by\nfaith alone, and burning Michael Servetus for tenets that disturbed\nthe new \"personal infallibility\" of the Reformers; in the XIXth,\nSocinianism is the creed of the \"national\" church, and Catholics,\nEvangelicals, and Anglicans have each handsome and roomy buildings,\ncrowded on Sundays, and adorned with every outward sign of freedom of\nworship. Catholics form half the population of the canton, and nearly\nhalf that of the city itself. There are few conversions, however, so\nthat this proportion does not sensibly increase. Many of the suburbs\nare entirely Catholic. The diocese extends to many Savoyard parishes,\nwhich are, of course, altogether Catholic. Until the recent outbreak\nagainst perfect liberty of conscience, when that liberty was to be\napplied to the old church, the position of Catholics, clergy and laity,\nwas comparatively satisfactory; the bishop (of whom we shall speak\nlater) was universally beloved by his people, respected by his liberal\nopponents, feared by his illiberal enemies; the moderate party in\npolitics, consisting of the class corresponding to an aristocracy, and\nall of them men of polite bearing and strong religious (Evangelical)\nconvictions, were always on the side of Catholics in upholding their\nprivileges as citizens of the state, voters, and freeholders; the two\nchurches, S. Germain on \"the hill,\" and Notre Dame on the plain (among\nthe new hotels and villas), besides other chapels on the Savoy side of\nthe lake, and the new suburb of Plainpalais, were always crowded, and\nthere were many schools for rich and poor under religious teachers. The\nSisters of Charity had a house, to which tradition pointed as the house\nof Calvin; and many English visitors knocked at their door, to beg to\nbe allowed a peep into the courtyard, where they would pluck a blade\nof grass as a memento or _relic_. These have now been suppressed; the\nclergy, who were originally salaried by the state, have been thrown\non their own resources; the bishop has been sent beyond the frontier.\nHe is said to have remarked to the Holy Father, _\u00e0 propos_ of this\nmeasure: \"Your Holiness sent me to Calvin; Calvin sent me to Voltaire\n(the bishop's retreat is Ferney); but I have great hopes of outliving\nthem both.\"\n\nStill, we would fain insist upon the great difference between this\nmark of intolerance and the old rules of the Calvinistic theocracy.\nThe _Conseil d'Etat_ does _not_ represent Calvin and his personal\nfanaticism; it speaks a language of its own, and one which Calvin\nhimself would be horrified to listen to--the language of state\nsupremacy defying God. If Calvin were alive, he would no doubt feel a\nhearty satisfaction in burning Mgr. Mermillod; but he would have as\ngreat a relish for the burning of Prince Bismarck. Calvinism was at\nleast sincere in its fanaticism; the Bismarckian animus is not even\nthat of a fanatic, but of a _cynic_. So it is not the spirit of the\npale, nervous reformer of the XVIth century that is responsible for\nthe recent outrage against freedom of conscience at Geneva; but a\nspirit more potent, more ambitious, more grasping, and, above all, more\nfarseeing--the spirit of open infidelity boasting of its material power\nof repression.\n\nOf the political attitude of Geneva we need not speak, further than\nto say that its acknowledged neutrality, and the intellectual culture\nof its inhabitants, have given it a new life, and made of the focus\nof the only \"Reformation\" that had any sincerity or inherent strength\nin it a new focus of peaceful and dignified repose. From the _champ\nclos_ of Calvinism, it has become the arena of the world, especially of\ndiplomacy, and the city of refuge of all exiles, royalist, Mazzinist,\nand social. Among the latter came one who has contributed to Geneva's\nglory--Byron, the gifted prodigal, who is among poets as the \"morning\nstar\" once was among angels. We meant, however, to speak rather of one\nof Geneva's citizens than of the historic city itself; though such are\nthe manifold charms of the place that only to name it is a temptation\nto plunge at once into a thousand speculations as to its past and a\nthousand theories as to its future.\n\nMgr. Mermillod, the successor of S. Francis of Sales, is a native of\nCaronge, a suburb of Geneva, and was born of a Catholic family, poor\nin the world's goods, and obscure in its estimation. He has a vivacity\nrather French than Genevese, but with a solid foundation of that more\nserious character which distinguishes his countrymen. As an orator,\nhe is hardly second to the Bishop of Orl\u00e9ans, Mgr. Dupanloup; as a\nlecturer to pious women on the duties of womanhood, he is superior\nto most ecclesiastics. In the guidance of souls, the enlightened\ndiscrimination between what is in itself wrong, and what harmless if\ndone in a proper spirit, he seems to have inherited the special gift of\nS. Francis of Sales in directing women of good family, living at court\nor otherwise, in the world. His singular prudence and the graciousness\nof his manner are essential helps to him in the prominent position he\nholds towards modern governments, and the daily contact which confronts\nhim with modern sentiment. He is the weapon expressly fashioned for\nthe last new phase into which the eternal struggle against the world,\nthe flesh, and the devil has entered. Like S. Francis, he wraps his\nstrength in gentleness, and carries out the _suaviter in modo, fortiter\nin re_. In conversation, of which he is fond--for his is not the\nmonastic ideal of holiness--he is sprightly, witty, and accurate. His\npower of crystallizing ideas into a _mot_ is quite French, and the\nchildlike joyousness of his demeanor is no less so. The word ascetic\nseems to imply the very antipodes of his nature; and yet his private\napartment, which we were once privileged to see, is almost like a\ncell. Here is a description of it, gathered from the impressions\nof two worthy visitors: \"I felt,\" says one, \"in this little _buco_\n(hole) as if I were in the cell of a saint, and examined everything\nwith veneration. That little _prie-Dieu_, so simple in its build,\nwhich daily witnesses the prayers and sighs of the pastor, anxious\nfor his flock and the souls entrusted to him by God; of the Christian\nhumbling himself and praying for his own needs.... Perhaps some day\nthis little room will be visited as S. Charles Borromeo's is now at\nMilan. I am favored in that I know it already. Two purple stocks and\nthe tasselled hat alone recalled the _bishop_, while the framed table\nof a 'Seminarist's Duties,' taken in connection with the simplicity,\nnay, poverty, of the room, might make one think it the habitation of a\nyoung cleric.\"\n\nAnd another account adds: \"What a memory to have seen this room, so\nnarrow, so humble, so evidently the home of a saint! We shall always\nbe able to fix the picture of the bishop in our memory, night or day,\npraying or working, at all times; ... and that beautiful print of\nBlessed Margaret Mary Alacoque, and that tiny _prie-Dieu_!\"\n\nThe bishop's library, his ordinary working-room, was also a very simple\nretreat, and often fireless in the coldest days of winter. The house\nstood next door to the cathedral, and the rest of the clergy, four or\nfive in all, lived there in community. Among them was the old vicar,\nthe second priest to whose charge the reconstituted parish of Geneva\nhad been entrusted before being raised to the dignity of a bishopric.\nIt was very touching to watch this old man lovingly deferring to the\nyoung bishop, who was formerly but a curate under him, and rejoicing\nas a father in the elevation of one of whose fitness for the episcopal\noffice he, above all, had reason to be certain.\n\n\"No man securely commands but he who has learned well to obey.\"[84]\nAnother of the clergy was a very remarkable man, the type of a\ncharacter found nowhere in these days save under the cowl of the monk,\nand even among religious probably nowhere save in the Benedictine\nOrder. He was the bishop's private secretary, and his right hand in\nthe business of the diocese. He belonged to the Reformed Benedictines\nof Solesmes, and was a friend and spiritual subject of Dom Gu\u00e9ranger,\nauthor of the invaluable _Liturgical Year_, the beautiful _History of\nS. Cecilia_, and other works. It was only by a special dispensation\nthat he was allowed to hold his present position and live outside his\ncloister; but having, in early life, been the schoolmate of the bishop,\nand being eminently fitted to wield ecclesiastical sway, this privilege\n(which was none to him, however) had been obtained by Mgr. Mermillod.\nHe was called rather by the title of his religious profession, _le\np\u00e8re_, than by his name in the world--a name since become known as\nthat of the author of a learned and voluminous _Life of S. Dunstan_.\nHe was, as it were, a stranded pilgrim in this age of compromise--a\nstern, heroic soul cast in the giant mould of the XIIIth century;\nrather a Bernard of Clairvaux than a Francis of Sales; in learning a\ndescendant of Duns Scotus, and a disciple of Aristotle; an ascetic, a\nscholastic, a rigid disciplinarian, an unerring director. In person\ntall, dignified, spare of form, with keen, eagle glance, clear-cut,\nlargely-moulded features; in dress simple to rusticity, and a fit model\nfor an old monkish carving at the foot of a pulpit or on the boss of an\narch.\n\nThey completed each other, these two saintly characters, the bishop\nand the monk, bound together in a mystic marriage for the production\nof spiritual children for God and the church; and the contrast between\nthem seemed, as it were, typical of that other union of distant ages,\none with another, for the furtherance of a principle ever the same,\nwhether its accidental exponent be Peter the fisherman, Hildebrand the\nReformer, Bernard the monk, Francis of Sales, the gentle bishop, or\nPius IX., the yet more gentle and more persecuted Pope.\n\nOur stay at Geneva covered three-fourths of a year, so that we grew\nfamiliar with the beauties of the neighborhood in its different\naspects of summer, autumn, and winter. It would be difficult to\nchronicle every detail of these beauties of earth, sky, and water,\nwhich, as the seasons brought them severally into prominence, seemed to\nform a series of cabinet pictures for memory to dwell upon ever after.\nThere is nothing like a long stay in one place to make one feel its\nloveliness; the transient wayfarer among the most enchanting scenes\nsees not a quarter as much natural beauty as the constant dweller in\na less favored spot. In the wild rush, named with unconscious satire\na _tour_, the traveller sees a kaleidoscopic mixture of incongruous,\ndiscordant beauties, and of each in detail he sees but one phase,\nsometimes an abnormal one, sometimes an obscured one, and not seldom\nhe sees but the vacant place where this beauty should be. His opinions\nare hastily formed, and, strange phenomenon! the more hastily the more\nineradicably, and they are often erroneous, or at least one-sided. A\nman looking for the moon during the week when the moon is new, and\nconcluding, therefore, that no moon exists or is visible at any time,\nwould not be a rasher tale-teller than he who asserted that because\nhe passed twenty-four hours in Venice during a fog, therefore the sun\nnever shone in the Adriatic city; or that since in a week's scamper\nthrough the environs of Naples he never came across a beautiful woman,\ntherefore the type of the Grecian goddess was extinct among the women\nof Parthenope. Sweeping statements are as invariably wrong as they\nare temptingly easy to make; it is needless to say how intellectually\nabsurd they are. Give your experience _as_ your experience, and you\nwill have contributed something to the sum total of acquisition\non any given subject; but do not give it as the only, absolute,\nindisputable, and final result of research. All knowledge is but\npartial; it is subject to all kinds of qualifications. Few men can\nspeak with authority of more than a grain of it at a time, and it is\nequally unwise and undignified to put yourself in the position of the\nPharisee whom the lord of the feast directed to give place to a guest\nof worthier and seemlier station. But this is a digression. We began by\nsaying that long residence in one place is the true way to see, learn,\nand probe its beauties; as well as its resources. Until your heart\n_grows to_ a place, you do not _know_ it, and no place unassociated\nwith family or patriotic connections can teach your heart to _grow to_\nit without long residence. Perhaps there are exceptions, corresponding\nto \"love at first sight,\" but even this in human relations is only an\nexception. We remember one place, seen for one day only, for which\nthis sadder feeling of kinship and yearning grew up in our heart--it\nwas Heidelberg; but intimate knowledge in ordinary cases is the only\nchannel to a great and appreciative love.\n\nGeneva won its way to our love thus, and, more than any one spot we\nvisited--not excepting even Rome--came to represent to the memory the\nhappiest, most peaceful, and most fruitful period of our lives. We\nshall be forgiven if we draw a sketch of the surroundings which are\nassociated with our knowledge of the Bishop of Geneva. In all our\nreminiscences his figure is the central one, and the group of persons\nwho formed our circle of friendship seems naturally to revolve around\nhis person. Our summer life was spent in a shy little villa, invisible\nfrom the high-road, and embowered in groves of pine, chestnut, and\noak; our winter days were passed, perforce, at the uncongenial but\nperfectly appointed H\u00f4tel de la Paix. The party consisted of our\nown family only, with one or two accidental additions from England\nfor a week at a time. The house was slightly built and cottage-like,\nwith a flight of steps on each side, the front stoop being festooned\nwith a jessamine-vine, and the wide, grand drive, flanked by a bed of\nflaming balsam-flowers, sweeping up to the door under the shade of two\nor three massive horse-chestnuts. No room in the house was carpeted,\nand only the drawing-room had a _parquet_ floor. The bed-rooms were\nmiracles of simplicity and cleanliness--milk-white boards, white-washed\nwalls, no curtains to bed or window, and an absence of any furniture,\nsave a narrow bed, a washstand, a dimity-covered table, and one cane\nchair, making them seem so many dormitory sections partitioned off.\nWe made the \"best\" room a little more picturesque, as that of a loved\ninvalid never fails to be, by the help of crimson velvet coverlets,\nblue silk and knitted wool in cushions, a portable easy-chair, muslin\nbed-curtains, and a display of cut-glass bottles with gold stoppers--in\nshort, the contents of an English dressing-case on the pretty,\nwhite-robed table. Books, also, and any pretty thing that struck our\nfancy in the treasure-houses of the town, accumulated here, and made\nof it the choicest room in the house. We had a severer trysting-place\non the ground-floor, where reading was carried on systematically,\nilluminating and ecclesiastical embroidery filled up many an hour,\nand our journals (from which we have already quoted) were compiled.\nBut there was a rarer treasure yet--a chapel. A tiny room, darkened\n_all' Italiana_, with red curtains, and containing a portable altar\nsuitably draped, recalled the oratories of Roman _palazzi_; and here\nwas often seen the tall figure of _le p\u00e8re_ and a little chorister\nfrom Notre Dame, as we had Mass said there generally twice a week. It\nwas a sanctification to the house, and we felt it an incitement in our\n\"labor of love\" of reading and manual work. Another gathering-spot was\nthe wall on the garden side, forming the parapet between the terrace\nand the lower level of meadow-land. There was a whole colony of spiders\nnestled in the miniature grove of jessamine that hid the wall; and,\nas we sat with our books on the steps leading from the terrace, we\nassisted, as it were, at a perpetual natural history lecture _in\nactu_. The webs were generally very perfect, and, as the autumn came\non, the early dews transformed them into a jewelled network, shining\nrainbow-wise, with the loveliest prismatic hues. Sometimes, when they\nwere broken, they seemed like a cordage of diamonds--the tangled ruins\nof some fairy wreck clinging to the mast, represented by a green twig.\nBut there was in the grounds another more sylvan and lonely retreat\nstill--our own especial haunt. It was a damp valley, below the level\nof the high-road, carpeted with periwinkles and decaying leaves, and\nshut out from human observation by a grove of oaks and chestnuts. A\npeculiar darkness always brooded over it, and one might have forgotten\nthe existence of noontide had he spent twenty-four hours in its gloom.\nA little brook ran along the bottom, its waters carrying miniature\nfreight-barks in the shape of half-opened horse-chestnuts or curled\nand browned oak-leaves. If anything so small could bear so lofty a\nlikeness, we should say that this sombre valley was akin to a Druidical\ngrove.\n\nOur outdoor pleasures were few, as the world understands them; they\nmostly consisted of long drives into the interior, where we would\noften pass dignified, melancholy-looking iron portals, let into a wall\nfestooned profusely with the Virginia creeper, and giving a glimpse\nof some deserted, parklike expanse of meadow. Other less pretentious\nentrances showed a wilderness of roses, flowering shrubs, and vines,\nbut always in contrast with the luxuriant Virginia creeper, which\nnowhere else in Europe grows in such perfection. A variety of shades\nabsolutely Western greets the eye and delights the imagination; the\nhues of the Indian summer seem concentrated in this one plant, and,\nfrom its rich glow, an artist can easily guess what a forest of\nindefinitely multiplied trees, painted in the colors of this creeper,\nwould look like. Two of our visitors were welcome additions to our\nparty and sympathetic sharers in our pleasures--one, a lady well known\nfor her energetic and active charity, whose presence in any place\npointed invariably to some hidden work of mercy to be performed there,\nand whose mission just then was to comfort a lonely and despairing\nwidow under peculiarly trying aggravations of her sorrow; the other\nan artist whose name in his public capacity has already appeared more\nthan once in the pages of THE CATHOLIC WORLD, and whose character of\nchildlike simplicity and reverent earnestness has endeared him to us in\nprivate life as a friend and a model.\n\nPeople staying at Geneva--at least, English people--always make a point\nof going through the arduous expedition to Chamouni and the Mer de\nGlace. We do not mean to disparage the spirit which inevitably urges\non our countrymen and countrywomen to put their necks in jeopardy on\nthe slightest provocation; but, turning the adventurous instinct of our\nAnglo-Saxon blood to a better purpose, we chose rather to make two\nor three expeditions to sites hallowed by the presence of the Apostle\nof Geneva--S. Francis of Sales. Mont Blanc could not, from any point\nof view, appear more majestically beautiful than it does from the\nshores of Lake Leman; and we preferred to gaze upon the monarch with\nthe eye of an artist rather than that of a gymnast. We here lean upon\nthe authority of Ruskin, whom we are glad to appeal to in an instance\nwhere his naturally reverential mind makes him a safe and unbiassed\nguide. Our first pilgrimage was to the Castle _des Allinges_, on the\nSavoy side of the lake, a ruin now, but where, in former days, the\nsaint often said Mass in a chapel, which is the only part of the castle\nstill untouched. There is no lack of visitors to this shrine during\nthe summer, and each party is generally accompanied by a priest. We\nwere happy in persuading _le p\u00e8re_ to be our companion, and started\novernight for the village of Thonon. The lake was unruffled, and the\nsun shining tropically, as the little steam boat carried us over the\nwaters. Thonon is a Catholic village, with an ugly church, adorned by\ncarved and gilded cherubs and other unsightly excrescences ambitiously\nstriving to be Michael Angelos and Donatellos. Frogs never can let\noxen alone, especially in art. We slept at the inn, a picturesque and\nproportionately dirty hostelry, very little changed, we should say,\nfrom what it was in the days of S. Francis. It stands on a high terrace\nabove the lake, the top of which terrace forms a drilling-ground;\nfor Thonon has fortifications and the ghost of a garrison. The road\nfrom the boat-landing winds up through stunted vines to a dilapidated\ngateway, and is often dotted by the curious one-horse vehicle of the\ncountry, called _char-\u00e0-banc_--_i.e._ a sort of diminutive brougham\nturned sideways, and hardly capable of holding two persons--a kind\nof side-saddle locomotion rather curious to any one accustomed to sit\nwith his face to the horses. The view over the lake by sunrise the\nnext morning was dreamlike in its beauty--each rounded peak veiled\nin mist, and the motionless waters lying at their base as a floor of\nazure crystal. As we went further up into the mountains, the sun's rays\nflashed on hill after hill, throwing a softened radiance over each,\nand shooting darts of gold across the clear blue of the lake. We met\ncarts laden with wheat-sheaves, and men and boys going to their day's\nwork; passed farms and dairies before coming to the heathery waste that\nseparates the lonely hill-top of _les Allinges_ from the cultivated\nlands below; jolted over the stony path, called, in mockery, a _road_;\nand, having seen in a short two hours' drive as many beauties as we\ncould conveniently remember, arrived at the Chapel of S. Francis. It\nhas been changed since his time, but the altar is said to be the one\nat which he celebrated Mass. The chapel is a white-washed room like a\nrough school-room, fitted up with painted benches and cheap prints; but\nthe feeling that draws so many Christian hearts to this refuge of the\nmissionary Bishop of Geneva hallows the bare walls and open poverty of\nthe chapel, and a spirit seems to rise from the altar recess to rebuke\nany worldly sense of disparagement or even disappointment. The manner\nin which _le p\u00e8re_ said Mass was enough to make one feel the solemnity\nof the occasion and the gratitude that ought to possess one after\nhaving had the privilege, doubtless not to be repeated in a lifetime,\nof praying on this consecrated spot. We all received holy communion\nduring Mass. An old man is stationed at _les Allinges_ as _custos_,\nsacristan, and Mass-server; and his little garden, in full view of the\nlake, makes a pretty domestic picture grafted on to the medi\u00e6val one of\nthe \"ruined castle ivy-draped.\"\n\nS. Francis, so says tradition, often wandered day and night over\nthis mountain on his apostolic missions, and, being once overtaken\nby darkness, found no better resting-place than the fork of a\nchestnut-tree. Wrapped in his cloak, he there went to sleep, lulled by\nthe howling of the wolves, which abounded in that neighborhood. Many\nsimilar stories are told in Savoy of his missionary adventures; one of\nthem recording that one day he presented himself, with two or three\ncompanions, at one of the gates of Geneva. The guard, not knowing him,\nasked who he was, before he would allow him to pass; the saint calmly\nand smilingly replied, \"I am _l'\u00e9v\u00eaque du lieu_\" (the bishop of the\nplace). The guard, concluding he was some foreign visitor, and that\n_Dulieu_ was the name of his diocese or manor, nonchalantly opened the\ngate, and let him in. When the magistracy discovered _who_ had thus\ngot entrance into the city of Calvin, there was a terrible outcry;\nthe too innocent guard was summoned and threatened with death for\nhis gross neglect of his duty, and a hasty search was begun for the\nhated Papist bishop. S. Francis had by that time quietly finished his\nbusiness and left the hostile walls of Geneva. This is not unlike the\nincident related by Cardinal Wiseman in _Fabiola_, where a Christian\nsubstitutes for the watchword _Numen Imperatorum_, without repeating\nwhich he could not pass out to his secret worship in the catacombs,\nthe words similar in sound, though widely different in meaning, _Nomen\nImperatorum_, and succeeds in cheating the guard, who was a Pannonian,\nand whose knowledge of Latin was but elementary. It was probably during\none of these stolen visits that S. Francis administered the sacraments\nto a poor Catholic servant-girl in the cellar of the _H\u00f4tel de l'Ecu\nd'or_--an old inn still standing at Geneva, and where the identical\napartment is now shown.\n\nFrom Thonon we took the boat to Lausanne, on the opposite side of\nthe lake, visited the Castle of Chillon, and returned to Geneva,\nafter another night spent at the Vevay end of Lake Leman; where the\nmountains, purple and rounded; the vegetation, southern in its quality\nand luxuriance; the winding road by the shore--all contribute to remind\nyou of the Bay of Naples and the Sorrento road along the Mediterranean.\n\nLausanne itself, its cathedral, monuments, fortifications, and general\nquaintness of architecture and beauty of position, was the goal of\nanother expedition, in which our English friend, Mr. B----, accompanied\nus, and became our commentator and artistic guide.\n\nThere were many other places we also visited; one of us was\nindefatigable, and followed the bishop to Thonex, where he solemnly\ndeposited a _corpo santo_; to Collonge, where he blessed a new cemetery\nwith all the pomp of ritual, made easy by this village being situated\non Savoyard ground; and to Caronge, where he distributed the prizes at\na girl's school, and gave an excellent and appropriate lecture on the\neducation of women in this century.\n\nBut the most beautiful ceremony of all was the consecration of the new\nparish church of Bellegarde, the French frontier post and custom-house.\nThis village is a mere handful of white-washed cottages dropped among\nthe spurs of the Jura range. The mountains, though not high, have all\nthe beauty of the Alps; their varied outline, their abrupt gorges,\nand their swift torrents being yet more beautiful because embowered\nin a vegetation of softer aspect than the monumental pineries which\nclose-clothe the Alps. Within half a mile of Bellegarde is a curious\nnatural phenomenon--_la perte du Rh\u00f4ne_. The river, here scarcely more\nthan a mountain brook, after struggling through a barren, sandy bed,\nstrewn with boulders of a porous white stone worn by the action of\nthe water into strange shapes of vases, cauldrons, and urns, suddenly\nplunges under an arched entrance in a wall of rocks, and disappears.\nIts subterranean course is some miles long, and it re-emerges, on a\nlower level, a placid, shallow stream. Around the mouth of this unknown\ncavern the scenery is very striking; deep clefts of rock, with fringes\nof Alpine flowers, alternate with thick growths of oak and chestnut;\nand from every peaklet of the mountains some charming pastoral scene\ncomes into view. The new church was a plain white building, of no\narchitectural pretensions, but strong and impervious to the weather.\nThe internal decorations were simple in the extreme; no frog emulation\nhere, as in ambitious Thonon. For once we saw French peasants _au\nnaturel_; they really seemed the fervent, hospitable, unsophisticated\npeople one longs to see. The Jura protects Bellegarde from Geneva;\nthere is no large town near on the French side, and there is neither\nhotel, nor mineral springs, nor iron mines, nor natural resources of\nany kind to attract the acquisitive mind of the XIXth century. So God\nstill reigns undisturbedly in this narrow kingdom--narrow, indeed, if\nmeasured by the numerical strength of its inhabitants, but noble and\nprecious if measured by the worth of each immortal soul which it holds.\nThe people were collected outside the church, as the full ceremonies of\nconsecration were going to be performed, and many of these take place\nbefore the people can canonically be admitted into the interior. A\npriest stood on the natural pulpit of a low stone wall, describing to\nthe faithful the symbolic meaning of each ceremony, as the bishop and\nhis assistants passed round and round the walls, chanting psalms and\nanointing the building, or, entering the portals, inscribed the Greek\nand Latin alphabets in the form of a cross on the floor of the church,\nmade seven crosses on the different internal walls, and recited psalms\nand litanies before each. The men stood in the burning sun, bare-headed\nand motionless, often kneeling in the dust, and singing hymns in French\ncorresponding to the meaning of the Latin prayers; a line of _Gardes\nNationales_, in uniforms rather the worse for wear, and many wearing\nthe Crimean medal, stood opposite the entrance, while an excruciating\nbrass band played with a will a mixture of national and religious airs.\nWhen at last the congregation all poured into the church, High Mass was\nsung, the brass band doing duty in a scarcely less subdued tone than\nbefore, but being as much of an improvement upon the theatrical and\nsensuous exhibitions nicknamed _sacred_ music in many grander churches,\nas a rough but pious print is--religiously speaking--an improvement\non a lascivious Rubens. The sermon (we forget whether preached by the\nbishop or not) was a touching exhortation to the people to remain knit\nin heart and soul to this church, the emblem at once of their hopes\nin the future and their spiritual struggles in the present. In the\nafternoon, the bishop sang solemn Vespers, and towards dusk we all\nreturned to Geneva, happy in having witnessed a ceremony so seldom seen\nin its beautiful entirety. Mgr. Mermillod was throughout the summer\nour frequent guest at the villa, and as we purposed staying through\nthe winter as well, he promised to accompany us to Annecy, in Savoy,\nto visit S. Francis of Sales' tomb and other places hallowed by his\nmemory, on his own feast (29th of January). We started on the eve in\ntwo or three close carriages, with postilions. The road lay over a low\npass of the Savoy Alps; the cold was intense--such as we have never\nfelt in any other temperate climate in Europe, and which nothing but\nthe unexpectedly rigorous winters of the Northern States have surpassed\nin our American experience. The road was lined with trees, and valleys\nhere and there opened a vista which in summer must have been gorgeous.\nIt was scarcely less lovely now. Each slender twig was sharply defined,\nand covered with a clinging garment of frost; the white mist wreathed\nitself round the mountain-tops, falling down the river-sides like\nshadowy waterfalls, and, mingling with the white sky overhead, formed,\nas it were, a vast dome of snow. No noise disturbed the silence save\nthe creaking wheels of our vehicles, and as far as eye could reach\nthere was no sign of life but our own presence. We might have been in\ncloud-land, or below the surface of the ocean, among hedges of gigantic\nwhite coral! After two hours of this elf-like journey, we came to a\nravine over which was thrown an iron suspension bridge, and here the\nintensely earthly resumed its dominion and made itself clearly felt\nin the prosaic necessity of paying toll and listening to profane\nlanguage, rendered yet more uncouth by the Savoyard _patois_.\n\nAnnecy is a little, old-fashioned town, with a cathedral in not much\nbetter taste than the church of Thonon. The place wears a deserted\nlook, and, the cold being terrible, yet fewer of the inhabitants cared\nto be seen loitering in the public squares. We adjourned first to the\ninn (we fear modern pilgrims are less fervent than of old), but could\nget no fire. Grates are unknown, and a miserable stove, badly managed\nand half filled, is the starveling and inefficient substitute. The\nold inn was a characteristic place. We went through the kitchen, the\ngeneral meeting and _table-d'h\u00f4te_ room, to our upper chambers. The\nstaircase was wide enough for a palace, of beautiful carved oak, as\nwas all the wood-work in the house. The next morning the bishop said\nMass for us at the shrine of S. Francis. The building of greatest\ninterest after this is the Convent of the Visitation, a rambling house\nwith a large kitchen-garden, which we crossed to reach it. We were\nshown, through a double grating (the Visitation nuns are enclosed),\nthe various relics which form the spiritual wealth of the convent.\nThey have the original manuscript of S. Francis' _Treatise on the\nLove of God_ written by his own hand, the pen with which he wrote it,\nand a shirt embroidered for him by S. Jeanne Fran\u00e7oise de Chantal.\nIn the lower part of the house, corresponding to the position of a\ncellar, is a little chapel partly hewn in the rock, which serves as\nthe foundation, where S. Francis gave the veil to S. Jane and one\ncompanion, or rather, blessed the first semi-religious costume which\nthe founders of the order wore. This consisted of a black gown and\ncape, and a large, close, white cap in one piece covering the neck and\nshoulders as well as the head. This house then belonged to S. Jane in\nher own right. In the chapel to the right of the altar is a picture of\nher in this dress, and on the other side a description of the simple\nceremony. Later on, when the order was constituted, the dress became\nthoroughly monastic, as it has remained ever since. The cell of S. Jane\nis exactly as she left it; not made into a regular chapel, but, on days\nconnected with her memory or that of S. Francis, Mass is said there at\na temporary altar. Her cloak is kept in a press in the room, and one\nof us was privileged in having it thrown over her shoulders for a few\nminutes by the superioress. The order is not at all austere, but there\nis an immense deal of moral sacrifice imposed by the spirit of the\nrule. S. Francis designed it rather as a discipline of the mind than of\nthe body; and since saints have differed about this point, we are not\nat a sufficient elevation to pronounce upon it. Individually, however,\nwe prefer the spirit of the older and more ascetic orders, as involving\na more complete oblation of the whole being to God; but--to every age\nits own institutions, and, we might add, its own saints.\n\nMgr. Mermillod is surely one of those saints of our day. Indefatigable\nin preaching (once the distinctive duty of a bishop), his own flock\nsometimes complain, not without reason, that he is always away,\npreaching a retreat here, a mission there--Lent in Paris, Advent at\nLyons, etc.; but in the winter of 1866, he fortunately preached five\n_conf\u00e9rences_ at S. Germain, at Geneva itself. The church was in the\nold, hilly part of the town, but neither that nor the difficulty of\napproach--the frost made steep roads impassable that winter, and even\nthe cabs went on runners--seemed to diminish the ardor of the people.\nAll denominations were represented at these evening lectures, and\nthe subject was invariably one accessible to the understanding and\ncommanding the interest of all. One, on the regeneration of fallen\nman, was peculiarly fine; but the arguments were perhaps inferior to\nthe language in which they were clothed. It wound up with a forcible\nperoration on that \"brutal and atheistical democracy which, in its\nmost hideous exponent (the French Revolution of 1793), prostrated\nitself before a courtesan, and knelt before a scaffold. When the\nworship of God perished, the worship of shame was the substitute; and\nwhen the blood of God ceased to flow upon the altar, the blood of man\nbegan to flow on the guillotine.\" The orator's enthusiasm in speaking\nsometimes carried him beyond his argument, and he even lost the thread\nof his similes in the ardor of his utterance. His watch invariably\nstopped before he had been twenty minutes in the pulpit, and this\n_entra\u00eenement_ was all the more vivid from being quite spontaneous, as\nhe never wrote his sermons, but preached extempore from a few scattered\nnotes. How much study he must have gone through at a previous time to\nmake him so polished, as well as so forcible, an orator, we can only\nconjecture.\n\nIn ordinary social intercourse, his charm was chiefly sweetness and\nsprightliness, with a certain happy diction which is a special gift,\nseldom found except among Frenchmen or those to whom French has\nbecome a second mother-tongue. Our long winter evenings at the H\u00f4tel\nde la Paix (the cold having driven us from the villa) were often\nenlivened by his genial presence; other friends, too, came sometimes,\nand one, a Russian and an acute thinker, M. S----, was one of the\nmost welcome. He was blind, but his infirmity only seemed to enhance\nhis powers of conversation, and made his company more agreeable than\nit might otherwise have been. One night, the bishop was speaking of\nLamennais and his more hidden life. There were soul-struggles and\ntemptations assaulting him even in his chosen retreat of La Ch\u00eanaie,\nin the midst of his triumph, when the Christian youth of France\nclustered round him, and sat at his feet as his humble disciples. He\nsometimes fancied himself irretrievably destined to eternal loss,\nand experienced paroxysms of terrible agony. The Abb\u00e9 Gerbet, his\nconfessor, once surprised him in one of these fits of despair, and did\nhis best to strengthen and comfort him; but the demon was not to be\nlaid so easily. The bishop, telling us this, added: \"The three greatest\ngeniuses of France in this age have fallen, the one through pride, the\nothers through vanity--Lamennais, Victor Hugo, and Lamartine.\" The\nconversation having rested upon these two failings, some one quoted the\nsaying that \"The greater part of mankind is incapable of rising to the\nlevel of pride.\" A Russian lady who was present then said: \"Indeed,\none ought to have a great deal of pride to save one's self from petty\nvanity.\"\n\nThereupon M. S---- quickly remarked: \"Oh! therefore, we should burn\ndown a city to prevent fires.\" Our Russian friend was very sharp at\nrepartee. Another evening, when he brought with him a young German,\nthe conversation fell upon Duke Ernest of Saxe-Coburg, Prince Albert's\nbrother. He had lately had an immense forest awarded to him as damages\nfor some losses sustained during the Austro-Prussian war of the\nprevious summer; so S----said:\n\n\"There are people who make arrows out of any wood, but he has contrived\nto make wood out of any arrow.\" This is a French rendering of \"'Tis\nan ill wind that blows no one good\"; but the connection in this case\nbetween an arrow, a weapon typical of the war, and the wood, or forest\ngained in compensation, is better expressed by the French form.[85]\nLater on, some one remarked that in that war the telegraph had been\n_Prussianized_ throughout Germany; and when the young German, S----\n's friend, was trying to give us an idea of Duke Ernest's ticklish\nposition, S---- interrupted:\n\n\"Yes, yes; I know what you mean; in short, he played the part ... of\nthe telegraph!\"\n\nMgr. Mermillod had a winning way of turning everything into a moral,\nand at the same time giving balm to a rebuke and strength to a counsel.\nFor instance, one day, as he visited a sick penitent of his, whose\nmental energy was for ever soaring beyond her physical capabilities, he\nsaid:\n\n\"You will do more good on your sick-bed than you could in the best\nof health in the London _salons_. Remember that Our Blessed Lord lay\nbut three hours stretched upon the cross, and thereby converted the\nworld; while, during his three years' ministry, he scarcely converted a\nhandful of Jews.\"\n\nOn New Year's Eve, 1866-7, gave us a few little books of devotion as\na souvenir, and then, making the sign of the cross on each of our\nforeheads, said:\n\n\"Here are crosses to disperse the crosses of 1866 and frighten away\nthose of 1867.\"\n\nAnother time, on one of his penitents going to him with a load of\ndoubt, uneasiness, almost despair, he gave her the wisest and gentlest\ncounsels, after which he said sympathizingly, comprehending the whole\nin a dozen words:\n\n\"I understand, my child; you go from one extreme to another--from\nsadness to laughter, from melancholy to irony.\"\n\nOnce when some one in his presence expressed a wish that all priests\nwere like him, he answered humbly: \"My dear child, every priest is in\nsome sort an incarnation of the Spirit of God.\"[86]\n\nIt is sad to think of Geneva without the presence of its pastor, so\nadmirably fitted as he is to carry on the work of S. Francis and\nexecute the designs of God in this important see. The faith is most\nvigorous just where the attack is hottest, and it is on the missionary\nbishoprics, flung thus into the warring bosoms of non-Catholic nations,\nthat, humanly speaking, the future--and let us say the triumph--of the\nchurch very much depends.\n\nWith such internal bulwarks as the Benedictine secretary of Mgr.\nMermillod represents, and such external champions as the eloquent,\nenergetic, and enlightened bishop himself, it is not too much to say\nthat not even the faintest heart has reason to dread the fall of the\nrock-built citadel of Peter.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[84] _Following of Christ_, b. 1. c. xx. v. 2.\n\n[85] The original proverb sounds less ponderously: \"Il en est qui font\nfl\u00e8che de tout bois, mai lui, il a fait bois de toute fl\u00e8che.\"\n\n[86] The Catholic reader will not misunderstand the still more forcible\noriginal: \"Tous les pr\u00eatres c'est une petite incarnation du bon Dieu.\"\n\n\n\n\nCATHOLIC LITERATURE IN ENGLAND SINCE THE REFORMATION.\n\n\nIt is not surprising that Catholic literature was at a low ebb for\nmany years after Henry VIII., of evil memory. Deprived of the means of\nknowledge in their own country under Edward VI., Elizabeth, and James\nI., Catholics were compelled to seek education abroad in colleges\nwhere they forgot their mother-tongue and the writers of their native\nland. As to their brethren who remained at home, it was dangerous for\nthem even to possess books, and they seldom had time or opportunity to\nmake themselves acquainted with their contents. A prayer-book, black\nwith use and carefully secreted, was all the library of those who were\nliable at any moment to be ferreted out of vaults and wainscots, and\nhanged, drawn, and quartered for believing in the Papal supremacy. The\nPuritan movement in the time of Charles I. and the Commonwealth was\nhighly unfavorable to literature in general; and the Catholics who\njoined the royal standard were more anxious to wield the sword than\nthe pen. But the fewer the authors who broke the long literary silence\nof the Catholic body in England, the more their names deserve to be\ncherished. We will endeavor, therefore, to make a _catena auctorum_,\nand to offer a few comments on each link in the chain. Though all of\nthem were Catholics at some period or other of their lives, they were\nnot all persistent in their faith nor exemplary in their practice. It\nwill be understood that they are cited in their literary capacity, and\nnot as saints, martyrs, and confessors in a calendar.\n\nRobert Southwell, however, must head the list, as he was both author\nand martyr. He published many volumes in prose and verse, though his\nlife was closed prematurely in his thirty-fifth year. Educated at\nDouay, he labored in England eight years during Elizabeth's reign.\nHe was a member of the Society of Jesus, and he touched the hearts\nof his suffering brethren by his tender and plaintive verse. _S.\nPeter's Complaint, with Other Poems_, appeared in 1593, and _M\u0153oni\u00e6,\nor Certaine Excellent Poems and Spirituall Hymnes_, in 1595, the year\nin which he was hanged, drawn, and quartered at Tyburn, under a false\ncharge of being engaged in a political movement. His real offence\nwas that of the Bishop of Ermeland and the Jesuits of Germany in the\npresent day--his allegiance in spiritual matters to the authority\nof the Holy See. Robert Southwell's memory is still cherished in\nEngland, and it is not long since selections from his poems were read\nto a crowded audience in Hanover Square Rooms, London, by the Rev. F.\nChristie, S.J. They do not rise high in poetic merit, but they are full\nof noble, just, and devout sentiments. \"Time Goes by Turns\" is found in\nmost collections of British poetry. The following are the last stanzas\nof his \"Conscience\":\n\n    \"No change of fortune's calms\n      Can cast my comforts down;\n    When fortune smiles, I smile to think\n      How quickly she will frown.\n\n    \"And when in froward mood\n      She moves an angry foe,\n    Small gain I find to let her come,\n      Less loss to let her go.\"\n\nReligious writings--sermons, meditations, and even works of\ncontroversy--had more importance, in a literary point of view, in\nQueen Elizabeth's reign than they have now. At that time, people read\nlittle; books were few and dear. Books of piety cultivated the mind,\nthough used chiefly to edify the heart. They exercised many persons in\nthe art of reading, who, but for that branch of literature, would have\nread nothing at all. They kept up a habit which was good on secular\ngrounds, apart from the higher spiritual consideration. Looked upon\nin this light, the tracts and letters of such holy men as Campion,\nPersons, and Allen (afterwards cardinal) had a twofold value. Edmund\nCampion was an accomplished scholar. He received his education at S.\nJohn's, Oxford, and being courteous and refined, as well as clever, he\nwas universally beloved. After leaving college, he went to Ireland,\nand wrote a history of that country, which was highly esteemed. Having\nbeen reconciled to the church, he repaired to the new college at Douay,\nthat he might there study theology; and after following the usual\ncourse, he was admitted into the Society of Jesus, and sent to England\nto comfort and strengthen his brethren who were contending for the\nfaith. His friendship for Persons, his publication of a work written\nby that father, entitled _Reasons for not Going to Church_ (that is,\nto the parish Protestant church), and the seizure of a private press,\nwhich a Catholic gentleman had given to the friends, that they might\nwork off edifying books and tracts, led to his apprehension. He was\ndragged through the streets of London, with a paper fixed on his hat,\nstigmatizing him as \"Campion, the seditious Jesuit\" (July, 1581),\nand being tried for treason, of which he was quite guiltless, he was\nbarbarously executed, after suffering the most horrible tortures. The\nlife of Cardinal Allen, if carefully written, would be an important\naddition to English Catholic literature, and involve numerous\nparticulars of thrilling interest respecting the political and domestic\nhistory of the times. His writings lie in the border-land between\ntheology and politics. His _Apology or Defence of the Jesuits and\nSeminarists_ was a reply, written in 1582, to the proclamations of the\ngovernment which denounced the Catholic priests as traitors. Persons\nengaged in the same controversy, dwelling chiefly on the dogmatic and\npractical side of the question. All honor to these heroes of the cross,\nwhom literature as well as religion claims as her own!\n\nIn placing \"Rare Ben Jonson\" among Catholic authors, it is not meant\nto claim him altogether as one of the church's children. In early\nyouth, he bore arms and served a campaign in the Low Countries. His\ntroop being disbanded, he took to the stage; but a hot temper often\nled him into brawls, and in one of these he had the misfortune to\nkill a brother actor. Being in prison, he contracted an intimacy with\na fellow-prisoner, a Catholic priest, which ended in his conversion.\nDuring twelve years he remained a Catholic, and then returned to the\nEstablished Church. It was the only pathway to worldly success, and he\nbecame a favorite with James I., as Shakespeare had been with Queen\nElizabeth. We name them together, for, indeed, they were rivals; yet\nwhat a difference between the texture and the productions of their\nbrains! Ben Jonson was made poet-laureate, and wrote comedies and\nmasques without number. Here and there we find in his works noble\nsentiments worthily expressed, as in that classical drama, _Catiline's\nConspiracy_. We find also rhythmical sweetness, as in the song, \"To\nCelia,\"\n\n\"Drink to me only with thine eyes,\"\n\nand in the \"Hymn to the Moon,\"\n\n\"Queen and huntress, chaste and fair.\"\n\nNow and then he touches a more sacred chord, and such as might suit a\nCatholic lyre, as in the following hymn:\n\n    \"Hear me, O God!\n      A broken heart\n      Is my best part.\n    Use still thy rod,\n      That I may prove\n      Therein thy love.\n\n    \"If thou hadst not\n      Been stern to me,\n      But left me free,\n    I had forgot\n      Myself and thee;\n\n    \"For sin's so sweet,\n      As minds ill bent\n      Rarely repent,\n    Until they meet\n      Their punishment.\"\n\nThe way had been prepared for Ben Jonson's success as a dramatist--not\nto speak now of Shakespeare, Beaumont and Fletcher, Massinger, and\nMarlowe--by the miracle plays or mysteries of the middle ages, similar\nto those which are acted at the present time among the Indians in\nMexico, and the famous Ammergau, or Passion Play, in Bavaria. In\nthese plays, _The Fall of Man_, _The Death of Abel_, _The Flood_,\n_Lazarus_, _Pilate's Wife's Dream_, _St. Catharine's Wheel_, and the\nlike, were brought on the stage with the approbation of the clergy,\nin order that they might bring home the mysteries of the faith to\npeople's heart and imagination, and supply in some measure the place\nof books. The miracle plays had been succeeded in time by moral plays,\nwhich, from the early part of Henry VI.'s long reign, had represented\napologues, not histories, by means of allegorical characters. Vices and\nVirtues, however, did not stand their ground long at the theatre. They\ngradually changed into beings less vague and shadowy, who, while they\nrepresented vices or virtues in the concrete, had, in addition, the\ncharm of resembling real life.\n\nRichard Crashaw's fame as a poet rests mainly on one line, and that in\nLatin; nor was the rest of his poetry of sufficient force and merit to\nenable him always to retain the credit of that single line. It has over\nand over again been attributed to Dryden and other hands. Yet it is\npositively his, and a poem in itself. It is to be found in a volume of\nLatin poems published by Crashaw in the year in which he graduated at\nCambridge (1635). The line is a pentameter--on the miracle at Cana of\nGalilee--and consists of two dactyls, a spondee, and two anapests. It\nis often quoted inaccurately, but we give it exactly:\n\n      _Nympha pudica Deum vidit, et erubuit._\n    \"The modest water saw its God, and blushed.\"\n\nThe author's mind was devotional from his earliest years. He had always\nbeen hearing about religion; for his father preached at the Temple,\nand took part largely in the controversies of the day. There was one\nfavorable feature in the religious polemics of that period--both\nsides professed belief in God and in the Christian religion; now our\nwarfare is with atheists, deists, pantheists, positivists, with whom\nwe have scarcely any common ground. After his election as a Fellow of\nPeterhouse in 1637--about the time that Hampden, Pym, and Cromwell\nhimself were embarking for New England, and were forcibly detained from\nsailing--he became noted in the university as a preacher, and passed\nso much of his time in devotion that the author of the preface to his\npoems says: \"He lodged under Tertullian's roof of angels. There he made\nhis nest more gladly than David's swallow near the house of God. There,\nlike a primitive saint, he offered more prayers in the night than\nothers usually offer in the day. There he penned these poems: _Steps\nfor Happy Souls to climb to Heaven by_.\"\n\nIn 1644, sorrow came to his calm nest; and as he would not sign\nthe covenant, he was driven from the university he loved and from\nsurroundings increasingly dear. Accomplished in Hebrew, Greek, Latin,\nItalian, and Spanish, skilled in drawing, music, and engraving, he\nwas still more noted for his talent in the higher art of poetry. He\nbelonged to what is called the fantastic school of Cowley, which is\nfull of conceits. But \"conceits\" are often original and beautiful ideas\nquaintly expressed. The poetry of conceits was a reflex of the times,\nand is, with all its faults, far preferable to classic platitudes in\nflowing verse.\n\nThe overthrow of the Church of England by the Commonwealth was to\nCrashaw a cause of poignant regret. He could no longer bear to look on\nthe towers and spires of venerable churches given over into the hands\nof bawling, nasal Puritans. He quitted England, and, crossing the\nChannel, found that, in France, he was a member of no church at all.\nHis own communion was extinct, and he was a stranger to the Catholic\nChurch, before whose altars he now stood as an alien. But he had taken\nup his residence in France, and it was not long before he decided\non embracing the faith which that land prized as its most precious\nheritage. After the decisive battle of the Civil War had been fought at\nNaseby, the poet Cowley, who was an ardent royalist, visited Paris, and\nfound Crashaw in great distress. He represented his case to Henrietta\nMaria, the exiled queen of England, and presented him to her. He\nreceived kindness from her majesty, and letters of recommendation to\nher friends in Italy. Having made his way to Rome, he became secretary\nto one of the cardinals, and was subsequently appointed canon of the\nchurch of Our Lady at Loretto. Here he resided during the remainder of\nhis days, and died \"a poet and a saint\" (as Cowley calls him) in 1650,\nthe year after the execution of Charles I.\n\nTwo years after his death, a volume of his posthumous poems was\npublished; and his memory was honored by Cowley in what Thomas Arnold\ncalls \"one of the most loving and beautiful elegies ever written.\"\nHis _Steps to the Temple: Sacred Poems, and other Delights of the\nMuses_, which appeared in 1646, had reached a second edition before his\ndecease, and a third was published in 1670. In 1785, his entire poems\nwere published in London, and included a translation of part of the\n_Sospetto di Herode_ of Marini. His style resembled that of Herbert,\nand a few lines breathing a Catholic spirit shall be quoted from his\nworks. It is called _A Hymn to the Nativity_:\n\n    \"Gloomy night embraced the place\n      Where the noble Infant lay:\n    The babe looked up, and showed his face--\n      In spite of darkness, it was day.\n\n    \"We saw thee in thy balmy nest,\n      Bright dawn of our eternal day.\n    We saw thine eyes break from the east,\n      And chase the trembling shades away.\n    We saw thee, and we blessed the sight:\n    _We saw thee by thine own sweet light_.\n\n    \"She sings thy tears asleep, _and dips\n      Her kisses in thy weeping eye;\n    She spreads the red leaves of thy lips_\n      That in their buds yet blushing lie.\n    Yet when young April's husband-showers\n      Shall bless the faithful Maia's bed,\n    We'll bring the first-born of her flowers\n      To kiss thy feet and crown thy head:\n    To thee, dread Lamb! whose love must keep\n    The shepherds while they feed their sheep.\"\n\nSir William Davenant was another poet-convert to the Catholic Church,\nand his conversion took place nearly at the same time as Crashaw's.\nLike that poet, also, he was in the favor of Queen Henrietta Maria\nduring her exile in France. His life was full of adventure. As a\nchild, he was acquainted with Shakespeare, who frequented the Crown\nInn in the Corn Market, Oxford, kept by his father. That father rose\nto be mayor, and William entered at Lincoln College. Leaving Oxford\nwithout a degree, he became page to the Duchess of Richmond, and\nsubsequently was attached to the household of the poet, Lord Brooke.\nExhibiting a decided talent for dramatic composition, he was employed\nto write masques for the court of Charles I. These light plays, of\nwhich Milton's _Comus_ is the best specimen ever produced, were highly\npopular, and served for private theatricals in the mansions and castles\nof lords and princes. William Davenant had fame enough to be celebrated\nin his time, and to be made poet-laureate when Ben Jonson died; but his\nwritings had not body of thought, original conception, or sweetness of\nexpression enough to preserve them long from oblivion. His ballad, \"My\nLodging is on the Cold Ground,\" seems to have had more of the principle\nof life in it than anything else he wrote. During the Civil War, like\nmany other authors, he flung aside his books, and girded on the sword.\nHe was then known as General Davenant, and he negotiated in the king's\nname with his majesty's friends in Paris. Twice captured, and having\ntwice escaped to France, he nevertheless returned, took part in the\nsiege of Gloucester, and was knighted by the king for his services on\nthat critical occasion. In 1646, we find him in France, in the service\nof the exiled Queen of England, attending Mass, and conforming to the\ndiscipline of the Catholic Church. Living in the Louvre with Lord\nJermyn, he had once more leisure to cultivate his taste for poetry.\nThere he began writing his longest poem, and a very tedious production\nit is.\n\nBut his versatile mind was now occupied by a new scheme. He promoted an\nemigration of colonists from France to Virginia, and, having embarked\nfor the distant settlement, the ship in which he was sailing fell into\nthe hands of one of Cromwell's cruisers. He was captured and taken to\nCowes Castle, and is said to have escaped trial for his life through\nthe kind intercession of his brother poet, Milton. It was not till\nafter two years of imprisonment that he regained his liberty; and\nwhen at last he did so, all his efforts were directed to a revival\nof dramatic performances, which the austere Puritans had entirely\nsuppressed. He succeeded at last in establishing a theatre, and,\ngaining support by degrees, he ultimately restored the regular drama.\nWith the return of Charles II. his difficulties ended. King and people\nalike heaped their favors on him. He died at his house, in Lincoln's\nInn Fields, in 1668, and was buried with distinction in Westminster\nAbbey. He was very handsome, of ready wit and a singularly fertile\nmind; but it is to be supposed that his attachment to the Catholic\nreligion was not by any means a prominent feature in his character and\ncareer.\n\nLike several of those already mentioned, John Dryden is but an\nimperfect link in the chain of English Catholic authors since the\nReformation. It was not till a late period of his life that he entered\nthe true church, but he lived long enough to impress on his works a\ndecidedly Catholic stamp. Indeed, _The Hind and the Panther_, published\nin 1687, some months after his conversion, was looked upon as a defence\nof Catholicism. The hind represented the Roman Church, and the panther\nthe Church of England. It was a singular circumstance, to which, so\nfar as we have observed, attention has never been drawn, that three\npoets-laureate in succession, Ben Jonson, Sir William Davenant, and\nDryden, were converts to Catholicity. The life of the last of these\npoets was too long and too eventful to allow of our recalling even the\nchief occurrences by which it was marked. Suffice it to say that before\nhe was twenty-eight years old he had passed from Westminster School to\nTrinity College, Cambridge, and had acted as secretary to his kinsman,\nSir Gilbert Pickering, who stood high in the Protector's favor,\nand went by the name of \"Noll's Lord Chamberlain.\" On the death of\nCromwell, Dryden wrote an elegy upon him, which was also a eulogy; and\nsoon after the Restoration, he commenced writing for the stage coarse\ncomedies and stilted tragedies. Married to a daughter of the Earl of\nBerkshire, he was appointed poet-laureate, with \u00a3200 a year. This was\nin 1670, the tenth year of the reign of his licentious majesty, Charles\nII.\n\nWhen that sovereign expired (having been reconciled on his death-bed\nto the Catholic Church), Dryden eulogized him as he had eulogized\nCromwell, and in the same poem turned with alacrity to the praises\nof James II. Nor was it long before he embraced the religion of the\nDuke of York. The motives which induced him to take this step have\noften been made the subject of debate. The authority of Lord Macaulay\nis constantly adduced in support of Dryden's venality and insincere\nconversion. But in opposition to this, it must be remembered that\nDr. Johnson and Sir Walter Scott arrived at a different conclusion.\nThe latter biographer of Dryden contends that the poet's writings\ncontain internal evidence of his convictions having been in complete\naccordance with the step he took, and that many external circumstances\ncontributed to make it easy for him to act in the way he thought right.\nDuty and interest are not always at variance; and if Dryden gained by\nthe change in the first instance, when James II. was on the throne, he\nlost eventually many temporal advantages. Having refused to take the\noaths of allegiance or forsake his religion, he was dismissed, under\nWilliam III., from his offices of poet-laureate and historiographer; he\nhad the mortification of seeing Shadwell, the dramatist, whom he had\noften ridiculed, promoted to wear his laurel; and for the rest of his\nlife, he was more or less harassed by the ills of poverty. He educated\nhis children in the faith which he had embraced, and they showed the\nstrongest signs of heartfelt attachment to the person of the Sovereign\nPontiff and the church of which he is the head. One of them entered a\nreligious order, another was usher of the palace to Pope Clement XI.\nIn writing to them both in September, 1697, Dryden said: \"I flatter\nnot myself with any manner of hopes, but do my duty and suffer for\nGod's sake, being assured beforehand never to be rewarded, even though\nthe times should alter.... Remember me to poor Harry, whose prayers I\nearnestly desire.... I never can repent of my constancy, since I am\nthoroughly persuaded of the justice of the cause for which I suffer.\"\nThis is not the language of one who had sold himself for a pension of\n\u00a3100 a year. Dryden did not, like Chillingworth, return after a time to\nthe Established Church. He died in the religion of his choice, and many\nof his poems, particularly the paraphrase of the _Veni Creator_, and\nthe two odes on St. Cecilia's Day, breathe alike the devotion and the\nwell-ordered ideas of a Catholic. There is much force in the closing\nline of this stanza:\n\n    \"Refine and clear our earthly parts,\n    But, oh! inflame and fire our hearts!\n    Our frailties help, our vice control;\n    Submit the senses to the soul;\n    And when rebellious they are grown,\n    Then lay thy hand, _and hold them down_.\"\n\nWhen Dryden, in _The Hind and the Panther_, describes the different\nProtestant sects, he very naturally gives the preference to the Church\nof England, and speaks of her with a becoming tenderness, she having\nbeen the church in which he was nurtured:\n\n    \"The panther, sure the noblest next the hind,\n    And fairest creature of the spotted kind,\n    Oh! could her inborn stains be washed away,\n    She were too good to be a beast of prey!\n    How can I praise or blame, and not offend,\n    Or how divide the frailty from the friend?\n    Her faults and virtues lie so mixed that she\n    Not wholly stands condemned, nor wholly free.\n    Then like her injured lion (James II.) let me speak,\n    He cannot bend her, and he would not break.\n    If, as our dreaming Platonists report,\n    There could be spirits of a middle sort.\n    Too black for heaven, and yet too white for hell,\n    Who just dropped half-way down, nor lower fell;\n    So poised, so gently she descends from high,\n    It seems a soft demission from the sky.\"\n\nDryden's successor on the throne of letters in England was Alexander\nPope, who was also a Catholic, though not a convert. His father, a\nlinen merchant of Lombard Street, London, was a Catholic before him,\nand had been led to embrace the faith by a residence in Lisbon. His\nwere the days of penal laws and various disabilities, among which\nwas exclusion from the public schools and universities. Alexander's\neducation, therefore, was private, and not of a first-rate kind. He\nmay almost be called a self-taught man. He had seen Dryden when a boy,\nand he knew Wycherley, the dramatist, who is here mentioned because\nhe was in the number of those who adopted the Catholic profession\nunder the auspices of James II. Wycherley was, as Arnold calls him,\n\"a somewhat battered and worn-out relic of the gay reign of Charles\nII.\" Macaulay has little respect for him, for the very reason that he\ncould interest us--because he became a Catholic. He styles him \"the\nmost licentious and hard-hearted writer of a singularly licentious and\nhard-hearted school.\" But the gentle Charles Lamb was more indulgent\nto his memory and his works. \"I do not know,\" he says, in the _Essays\nof Elia_, \"how it is with others, but I feel the better always for\nthe perusal of one of Congreve's--nay, why should I not add even of\nWycherley's?--comedies. I am the gayer, at least, for it; and I could\nnever connect those sports of a witty fancy in any shape with any\nresult to be drawn from them to imitation in real life. They are a\nworld of themselves almost as much as fairyland.\"\n\nWe will not pause to discuss the soundness of this criticism; we have\nto do with Pope, and chiefly with his religious character. No one can\nread his \"Dying Christian's Hymn,\" beginning,\n\n\"Vital spark of heavenly flame,\"\n\nwithout being convinced that the author was capable of the deepest\nreligious feeling. The times were not favorable to a Catholic poet,\nnor is it in Pope's writings that we must look for the strongest\nevidence of his faith. The \"Letter of Eloisa to Abelard,\" indeed,\ncould hardly have been written by a Protestant; but it says nothing\nof his personal religion. We find, however, by his correspondence\nwith Racine and others, that though infidelity and gallantry were the\nfashion of his day, he was known among his friends as a _Papist_,\nand that he speaks of himself as such unreservedly. The words of Dr.\nJohnson on this subject are as follows: \"The religion in which he\nlived and died was that of the Church of Rome.... He professes himself\na sincere adherent.... It does not appear that his principles were ever\ncorrupted, or that he ever lost his belief of revelation.... After the\npriest had given him the last sacraments, he died in the evening of the\n30th day of May, 1744.\"\n\nIt is pleasing to reflect that this illustrious poet, so distinguished\nby his deep thought, his affluent imagery, his pathos, his scathing\nsatire and matchless versification, recoiled in his solitude and\nsickness from the false philosophy of his friends, and closed his weary\nand painful existence at the foot of the cross; that he departed hence,\nnot only with laurels on his brow, but with the Viaticum on his lips\nand the church's blessing on his drooping head. But it was not at the\nawful hour of death merely that he began to prize the religion which\nEngland proscribed. There is a little anecdote related of him which\nshows that he had a distinct and warm feeling on the subject long\nbefore he came face to face with the last enemy. He and Mrs. Blount had\nbeen invited on one occasion to stay with Mr. Allen, at Prior Park,\nnear Bath, on a visit. Pope left the house for a short time to go to\nBristol; and while he was absent, it happened that Mrs. Blount, who was\na Catholic as well as himself, wished to attend Mass in the chapel in\nBath, and requested the use of Mr. Allen's chariot for that purpose.\nBut her host, at that time being mayor of the city, had a decided\nobjection to his carriage being seen at the doors of such a place, and\nbegged to be excused lending it. Mrs. Blount felt deeply offended at\nthis time-serving, and, when Pope returned, told him her feelings on\nthe subject. The poet was so incensed at this offence offered to his\nreligion and his friend that he, and Mrs. Martha Blount too, abruptly\nquitted the house.\n\nThere is, happily, no need of our contending for the places which\nDryden and Pope should occupy among literary celebrities. Their\nattachment to Catholicism at a time when it was especially distasteful\nto the English people--during the reigns, we mean, of William the\nThird and Queen Anne--did not detract from the popularity of their\nwritings even while they lived. The striking genius of Dryden as\na translator, his racy language and manly style, have been fully\nappreciated by posterity; and if we put Pope above him in the rank of\npoets, it is because we discover in the latter more profound philosophy\nand rhythmical sweetness. He enjoyed, too, an advantage over his\ndistinguished predecessor in that he was not a convert, but had from\nchildhood been imbued with the doctrines of the ancient faith. The\nCatholic system, even more than he knew, lent force and color to his\nimagination, restrained his philosophic speculations within orthodox\nbounds, and imparted a certain majesty and consistency to his verse,\neven when it was concerned with purely secular topics. It had done the\nlike for Dante, Chaucer, Calderon, and Corneille before him, and it has\ndone the like since for Thomas Moore, as we shall endeavor to show in a\nfuture number.\n\n                            TO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n\n\nCATHOLIC YOUNG MEN'S ASSOCIATIONS.\n\n\nThe saying is becoming almost trite that the Catholic Church has done\nwonders in this country. Its rapid rise, growth, and spread are little\nshort of miraculous. Half a century ago, the church was scarcely known\nhere, save in a misty way, as something very remote and powerless.\nTo-day it stands up as a factor to be counted in American polity.\nIt points to its five or six millions of believers. It points to\nits cathedrals, its magnificent churches, its splendid educational\nestablishments, its parochial schools, its illustrious hierarchy, its\nactive and zealous priesthood, its religious orders and societies\nof men and women, its lay associations for various pious purposes,\nits newspapers, and its multiplying writers. It has seized upon the\nvery genius of this new people. It lags not behind, but keeps apace\nwith their enterprise; and scarcely are the piles driven in for the\nbuilding of a new city or town than the cross is seen above the growing\nsettlement.\n\nProtestants have recognized this fact. They are daily bearing witness\nto its truth. It is but recently that the press, secular and religious,\nwas alive with a discussion on \"The Decline of Protestantism,\" here, in\nthis very land. And the two foes that Protestantism had most to dread\nwere, as all agreed, the one from without--Catholicity; the other from\nwithin--infidelity. It was expected the Evangelical Council would take\ninto consideration the same subject: the best means to be adopted in\norder to beat off those two terrible foes--Catholicity and infidelity.\n\nAll this is well. It is well that the foes of the church should\nthemselves testify to the irrepressible spread of the truth; that\nthey should cut the dividing lines so clearly between Catholicity and\ninfidelity--their Scylla and Charybdis, either of which is destruction\nto them. It is well that the men who within living memory despised\nthe church should now come forward and testify that that church has\nconquered them. That they themselves should thus bear witness to the\nspread of Catholicity and the corresponding decline of Protestantism is\nflattering enough, if mere human feeling were allowed to enter into a\nquestion which involves man's eternal salvation; but it is well, also,\nthat Catholics lay not too flattering unction to their souls.\n\nThey may occasionally point with pardonable pride to their swelling\nnumbers and all that has been indicated above; but at the same time,\nit would be a fatal mistake to imagine that everything has now been\ndone for the church of God; that it has nothing to do but run on\nsmoothly in the eternal grooves fixed for it, sweeping triumphantly\nthrough the country, and bearing away all in its track. A young and a\nnew Catholic generation is coming into possession. It does not know,\nand can scarcely appreciate, at what terrible cost, after what long\nand painful struggles, cathedral after cathedral, church after church,\ncollege after college, school-house after school-house, were built. It\nfinds them there and is content, as an heir finds the woods and the\nfields won inch by inch by the toil and the sweat of his father. If the\nyoung generation would not squander its inheritance, would not see it\ndissipated before its eyes, and slip away out of its nerveless grasp,\nit must be up and doing while the morning of life is on it; tilling,\ntrenching, delving, casting out the weeds, watching for the enemy that\nwould sow tares among the wheat, that it may leave a larger, a richer,\nand a brighter inheritance to its own children when it is gathered to\nthe soil of its fathers--the good soil consecrated by their bones.\n\nYes, a goodly inheritance has fallen upon the young Catholic generation\nof America to-day; and a goodlier yet is in store, to be won by their\nown endeavor. Never in this world's history was there a fairer field to\nfight the battle of God in than in this great country; and never yet,\ntake them all in all, were there fairer foes and less favor to contend\nagainst. But let it be borne well in mind, the battle is a severe one;\nall the severer, perhaps, because the field is so open and Catholics\nare so free. Here in America there is nothing of the glory of martyrdom\nto sustain us--a glory that turns defeat into victory, and by one death\nwins a thousand lives. Ours is not the clash of arms and of battle, but\nof intellect. We have to reason our way along. The cry of \"the decline\nof Protestantism\" is a cry well grounded. The churches are losing\ntheir children. A reaction against Puritanism has set in as decided\nand as disastrous in its results as that which set in in England on\nthe accession of Charles II. The children throw off even the gloomy\ncloak of religion to which their fathers clung long after the many\ndeformities and defects it concealed had shone through the threadbare\ngarment. The thought of young America to-day is, \"Let the doctors\nwrangle about their creeds. All we know or care to know is that we have\nlife, and let us enjoy it while we may.\"\n\nAnd thus the battle of the age is coming to be fought out among and\nby the young--young America Catholic and young America non-Catholic.\nTrue, our ranks are swelling daily, and nowadays principally by native\ngrowth. The birth-rate, if classified as Catholic or non-Catholic,\nis so strikingly in favor of the former as to attract the universal\nattention of the medical faculty. Converts, too, crowd in upon us;\nbut, numerous as they are, they are only driblets compared to the vast\nocean that roars outside. Five or six millions is a mighty number; but\nthere are thirty millions or more left. Were it not remembered that\nGod, although the God of battles, is not always on the side of the big\nbattalions, our hearts might sicken at the mustering of the forces--our\nsix millions surrounded, absorbed, as it were, by that mighty army five\ntimes greater, stretching away dim in its immensity, yet meeting us at\nevery turn, and, directly or indirectly, contesting stubbornly every\ninch of ground.\n\nIt is true that they are broken whilst we are one. They fight under a\nthousand different banners; and even while presenting a united front\nagainst us, they are rending each other in the rear. The deserters from\nour side are few--practically none--and such as do go become objects\nof infamy even to those who make a show of welcoming them. But besides\nthe two directly opposing forces, Catholics, and Protestants of some\nprofessed creed, there is a neutral ground, vaster than either, and\nequally opposed to both--infidelity; and thither is young America\ndrifting.\n\nAnd truly it looks a fair region for a young man to enter. There is\nno constraint upon him beyond the pleasant burden, light to bear, of\nfashionable etiquette. A dress-coat and a banker's account will pass\nhim anywhere. The man under the dress-coat does not matter much; and\nthe inquiry as to how the banking account came into his hands is not\nscrupulously close. He will meet there the lights of modern science\nand literature--men who can trace the motions of the world, and find\nno Mover; who have sifted the ashes of nature, to find only matter;\nwho have analyzed the body of man, to find no soul in him; to whom\nlife is simply life, and death, death. There is the abode of wit, and\nscoffing, and irreligion, and bold speculation, and the unshackled play\nof the undisciplined intellect, and under it all the power to do as you\nplease, because you may believe as you please, provided you sin not\nagainst the laws of etiquette.\n\nNow, the work of the church is to break up that neutral ground, which,\nindeed, is the most formidable of the day. It must keep its own young\nmen from being drawn thither, and win those that are there into its\nbosom. But although in very truth the yoke of Christ is sweet and his\nburden light, it takes a long time to impress that fact upon youth\nin the heyday of life. And with all the power of the prayer of the\nfaithful, with the voice of the preacher, and the attractions of the\nceremonies of the church, there is no merely human agency to win\nyouth like youth itself; no sermon so powerful as the unspoken sermon\npreached by a Christian young man, set in the midst of a world that\npractically knows not Christianity. And this is one great point of the\npresent article.\n\nOur young men and young women who mix daily in the army occupying\nthat neutral territory of infidelity are, or may be made, our best\nmissionaries. There the voice of the preacher never or rarely\npenetrates. His voice is as \"the voice of one crying in the\nwilderness.\" But though the preacher's words may not reach there, the\neffect of his words may be visible in the conduct of those whom his\nwords do reach--the Catholic youth who live and move in the daily world.\n\nHitherto this point has been, perhaps necessarily, much neglected.\nCatholics have not half utilized their forces. They have not made\nuse enough of the young. Indeed, the work of reclaiming them at all\nhas been a severe one, and is still far from even the full means of\naccomplishment; for it may here be noted how Protestants cling to the\ngodless school system, though many of their best thinkers and leading\norgans acknowledge that a system of education founded on no faith at\nall must naturally produce scholars of no faith at all. But it is time\nfor Catholics to see that if they would not only keep their own--hold\nfast to the inheritance that their fathers bequeathed them--but also\nwin more, something more definite must be done to hold together the\nyoung, and unite them in one common cause. If you want missionaries,\nyou must educate them. If you wish the young to be Catholic, not on the\nSunday only, but always, you must take the proper means to that end.\n\nOur meaning is this: Catholicity must not be confined to the churches\nonly. Half an hour's Mass weekly is undoubtedly a great deal when\nrightly heard; but it is, after all, only a portion of the spiritual\nfood necessary to carry a man safely through the week. The poison of\nthe atmosphere of utter worldliness that our young people breathe can\nonly be counteracted by an antagonistic Catholic atmosphere; and this\ncan only be created by having Catholic centres of attraction under\nchurch auspices, where Catholics may meet occasionally to converse, to\nread, to hear a lecture, or to amuse themselves in a healthful manner.\n\nIt is not long since, at the \"commencement season,\" we were listening\nto the young orators of the graduating classes of our various\neducational establishments. Kind eyes looked on as they poured forth\ntheir eloquent ten minutes of benison on the heads of the comrades\nthey were leaving behind them. It was pleasant to hear the words of\nwisdom, of eloquence, and the soundest morality fall from their lips.\nBut the listeners, the admiring parents or friends, felt, nevertheless,\nthat their boys were speaking comparatively from \"the safe side of the\nhedge,\" and that it remained to be seen how far the good thoughts to\nwhich they gave utterance on leaving the college would guide them and\nrule them in the real battle of life that was only then about to begin.\n\nWhat has become of the thousands of young men who have gone out and\ncontinue to go out, year after year, from our colleges? For the most\npart, they are lost to the eyes of those who trained their boyhood.\nThey may continue to hold fast by the principles they imbibed at\nschool, or they may not. In our large cities and towns, there are\nalways more or less of our Catholic college graduates, most of whom are\nunknown to each other, or rarely meet. How different would it be had\nthey places in which to assemble! Something has been done to meet this\nvery striking want. Very many churches have attached to them this or\nthat young men's association, devoted generally to literary pursuits;\nbut for the most part, these excellent associations have not effected\nmuch; not because they have not the right spirit and energy, but purely\nfrom lack of organization, from not knowing exactly what to do or\nwhat not to do, from not being united with fellow-associations, and\ngenerally from lack of funds.\n\nIn New York, for instance, where Catholics boast of half a million of\ntheir creed; where they have so many magnificent churches, some of\nthem with very wealthy congregations; with so many wealthy Catholic\nresidents, professional men, and large business firms; with half a\ndozen weekly newspapers or more--where are the young men? Where is our\nCatholic hall, club, reading-room, library? Nowhere. Nevertheless,\nthere are, in one shape or form, numbers of associations of Catholic\nyouth scattered through the city, and greater numbers of Catholic youth\nstill who do not and will not join them, because they do not find in\nthem attraction enough.\n\nNow, this is a thing worthy of being investigated closely, and remedied\nspeedily. We Catholics ought to be ashamed of ourselves to see what\nthe Protestants have done in the organization known as the Young Men's\nChristian Association, with its splendid reading and meeting-rooms,\ngymnasium, and lecture-hall, where the ablest lecturers of the world\nhold forth and draw the crowds of the city to hear them. Nor does this\nassociation stop here. It has multiplied itself, not only throughout\nthe city, but throughout the country. Branch houses are covering the\nwhole land; and, whatever may be its present or its future, it is\ncertainly admirable in conception and organization. Its honor and\nreputation rest in its own hands.\n\nThere is only one association to which the Catholics of New York,\nspeaking generally, can point as having achieved something; as not\npurely local, but general, in its character; as, in fact, a success,\nthough it is still struggling almost in its infancy. This is the\nXavier Alumni Sodality and its correlative, the Xavier Union. That\nadmirable association, the Catholic Union, is designedly omitted from\nthe present article, which deals only with the young men.\n\nThe Xavier Alumni Sodality was established in New York on December 8,\n1863. It was intended originally, as its name implies, for graduates\nand ex-students of the College of S. Francis Xavier. It began with\nabout half a dozen members. It gradually and very wisely widened\nits scope so as to take in the alumni of any Catholic college who\nmight choose to join, as also merchants in business and professional\nmen. Its objects may best be set forth by quoting from the printed\n\"Constitution\":\n\n  \"I. The encouragement of virtue, Christian piety, and devotion\n  to the Blessed Virgin among educated Catholic gentlemen, the\n  perpetuation of friendships formed by them during their college\n  life, and the promotion of Catholic interests.\n\n  \"II. The means to obtain this end shall be principally the daily\n  practice of certain devotions, the frequent and worthy reception\n  of the sacraments, and religious and social meetings at stated\n  intervals.\"\n\nIn the following sections of the \"By-laws\" we find:\n\n  \"SEC. 14. On the Sunday following December 8, and on a Sunday\n  during Easter-time, there shall be a general communion, at which\n  all members shall be expected to assist. The first general\n  communion shall be preceded by a Triduum, or three days' spiritual\n  retreat.\n\n  \"SEC. 17. In case any member of the Sodality falls sick, the Rev.\n  Father Director and the President (who is elected of and by the\n  members) shall appoint one or more members to visit him.\n\n  \"SEC. 20. There shall be a Requiem Mass for the repose of the soul\n  of a deceased member as soon after his death as convenient. The\n  members of the Sodality are expected to assist at this Mass.\n\n  \"SEC. 22. There shall be a standing committee called the\n  'Committee on Employment,' and consisting of the President and six\n  members of the Sodality, appointed by him at the January meeting.\n  [The members meet on the first Sunday of every month.] Its duties\n  shall be to assist young men to procure mercantile or professional\n  employment.\"\n\nThere are quite a number of special indulgences attached to the\nSodality, whose genuine worth and practical tendencies may be faintly\nimagined from this short statement. Its effects, and the success\nattained by it, may best be judged from the fact that the half a dozen\nmembers of ten years ago have swollen to the number of over four\nhundred, notwithstanding losses by death and by members leaving the\ncity. This number is being increased at every meeting; whilst out of\nthe Sodality has sprung the Xavier Union, which, though established\nonly two years ago, already numbers two hundred members.\n\nTo quote the \"Preamble\" of its printed \"Constitution and By-laws\"--\n\n  \"The Xavier Union was organized in March, 1871, by a number of\n  gentlemen, members of the Xavier Alumni Sodality--a Society\n  established in 1863, and having for its object the encouragement of\n  virtue and Christian piety among the educated Catholic young men of\n  this city [New York], and the promotion of Catholic interests by\n  their united efforts.\n\n  \"From this body, in order to unite its members more intimately,\n  better to carry out its objects, and to effect other desirable\n  ends not strictly within the scope of a purely religious body, the\n  Xavier Union has been formed.\n\n  \"This Union has in view both the mental and moral improvement of\n  its members.\n\n  \"By a regular and proper representation of Catholic questions,\n  by association with men of mature years and study, and by their\n  frequent meetings with each other, it hopes to keep alive among its\n  members a spirit of true Catholicity, and to encourage by example\n  all Catholic young men in fidelity to the teachings and practices\n  of their religion.\n\n  \"It further proposes to promote the study of good books, and to\n  foster a taste for the sciences and arts; but it intends more\n  especially to exert itself in awakening and keeping alive an\n  interest in Catholic history and literature.\n\n  \"While pursuing these ends, it has in view the furnishing its\n  members with every desirable means for their proper recreation,\n  both of mind and body. Thus it hopes, by guarding youth against the\n  temptations of youth itself, and withdrawing it from the no less\n  insidious than dangerous associations of a city, to encourage our\n  educated young men to a proper use of both mind and body, and to\n  make them ambitious to be and do good, that they may exert that\n  influence on society which is to them indeed a duty.\n\n  \"In furtherance of these objects, the Union shall, through its\n  management, provide--\n\n  \"I. A library.\n\n  \"II. A reading-room having all desirable reviews and journals.\n\n  \"III. Literary and musical entertainments.\"\n\nThe best comment on these objects and the desirability of them is to\npoint to the success which has already attended this movement.\n\nThe Union, which is recruited exclusively from the Xavier Alumni\nSodality, rents for its use a building containing a reading-room,\nreception-rooms, billiard-room, and a handsome library of six thousand\nvolumes. It is found already that the accommodations are far too small,\nand a proposal is on foot to erect a building adequate to the growing\nwants of the society, and containing a large hall for the giving of\nlectures and for other purposes. The want of this was found last year,\nwhen, for a series of lectures given under the auspices of the Xavier\nUnion, it was found necessary to hire one of the public halls. Of\ncourse, the question is mainly one of funds.\n\nHowever, here is something practical, tangible, which can point\nto results, and which challenges the attention of all Catholics,\nparticularly of our Catholic young men. The Xavier Alumni Sodality and\nthe Xavier Union have so far done everything for themselves under the\nguidance of their able director. Their work, as may be imagined, has\nbeen very up-hill, for the entrance fees are not large; nevertheless,\nwith the profit of lectures, they have constituted their only source of\nrevenue. In the face of all difficulties, however, there they stand,\nan active and ever-increasing organization of educated young Catholic\nlaymen, with their rooms for reading and amusement, and their library.\nThey form already the nucleus of a great Catholic centre, which, with\na little tact, a little generosity on the part of those who can afford\nto be generous, and who could not be generous for a better purpose, a\nsteady perseverance in the way they have entered upon, may rival any\nclub in the city, may be a rallying-point for the Catholic laity, and\nmay furnish a constant supply of amusement, information, and recreation\nof mind and body for Catholics of all ages, but particularly the young.\n\nSpecial attention has been devoted to these two organizations, because\nthey are, beyond doubt, the most prominent associations of Catholic\nyoung men in New York. Indeed, at the present writing, we know of none\nequal to them in the United States. This is not at all said by way\nof flattery to the societies mentioned; rather by way of reproach to\nthose who have neglected to form similar societies. Educated young\nCatholics are plentiful in most of our large cities; and wherever a\nnumber of educated young Catholics exist, there such societies as the\nXavier Alumni Sodality and the Xavier Union ought to exist, with their\nrooms for association, meeting, reading, and amusement. Much the same\nprogramme, and much the same organization, and much the same aims and\ntendencies, would answer for all. A new and wonderful impetus would\nthus be imparted to Catholic thought, Catholic work, and, above all,\nto Catholic literature and education. An _esprit du corps_ would be\nengendered among our Catholic youth that is sadly wanting at present,\nand that would inevitably tell upon society. Any large Catholic project\nmight be almost instantaneously taken up and discussed throughout\nthe country; and, above all, Catholic young men would find places\nwhere healthy amusement was blended with instruction and blessed by a\nreligious spirit.[87]\n\nNeither need such organizations be restricted, as it were, to any\nspecial class. The Sodality of the Blessed Virgin, of which the Xavier\nAlumni Sodality is a branch, may be made to embrace all classes. It\nwas founded in the Roman College of the Society of Jesus, on December\n8, 1563, exactly three hundred years prior to the foundation of this\npromising offshoot in New York. The society has an eventful history.\nIt began in the Jesuit Colleges, and was restricted to the students.\nIt speedily spread thence throughout the world, embracing all ranks\nfrom the crowned head to the peasant. One branch took up one good\nwork, another devoted itself to some other. It entered the world,\nsociety, the army, everywhere. Popes belonged to it, kings, astute\nstatesmen, great generals, as well as the rank and file, and the\nhumblest craftsmen. Many a saint's name glitters on its scroll. S.\nAloysius Gonzaga, S. Stanislaus Kotska, S. Charles Borromeo, S. Francis\nof Sales, Blessed Berchmans, and many another consecrated in Catholic\nhistory, were all members of the Sodality of the Blessed Virgin Mary.\nSo great was the good it wrought that popes have bestowed upon it many\nrights and privileges. It has had the glory of persecution. Infidel\ngovernments suppressed it from time to time, in France particularly,\nfearing lest it should lead men back to God; for if there is one thing\nmore than another that the devil fears, it is seeing the young go from\nhim wholesale.\n\nNow, this matter is worthy the attention of all Catholics. Enough\ngraduates go out yearly from our colleges, and enough intelligent and\nzealous Catholic young men are scattered through our great cities\nand towns, to take this matter up earnestly, and establish Catholic\nsocieties of this kind for practical, pious, and sanitary purposes.\nThey might embrace in a short time all the Catholic youth of America.\nAs has been seen, the Sodality of the Blessed Virgin Mary is very\nelastic in its constitution, though one in its organization and aims;\nand it may be made to embrace all classes and states of life. It has\nhistory, stability, saintly members, and good works innumerable to\nrecommend it. It has been specially blessed and favored by many popes,\nand it has for its head the Blessed Mother of God, whilst those who\nenroll themselves in it do so as children of Mary.\n\nComing back to the opposing forces here at home--Catholicity,\nProtestantism, and infidelity--we see nothing more powerful to\nwithstand the assault of the latter particularly than Catholic\nsocieties of this nature. The social atmosphere to-day is full of\ninsidious poison. The young unconsciously breathe it from their infancy\nup. The edifice of faith in God was never more persistently assaulted\nby the united forces of the powers of this world. No persecution of\nthe Roman emperors, unless, perhaps, that of Julian the Apostate, ever\nthreatened the religion of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, with a tithe\nof the bitterness and hatred that frown upon it now. Men nowadays do\nnot so much seek out the chiefs of the church, the pontiffs, and the\nbishops as the little children and the young of all ages. In some\ncases, as in Germany, Switzerland, Italy, and Brazil, they add open\nand violent persecution to its secret and more fatal forms. The great\ncry of the age--a good and earnest cry--is for education. Educate the\nmasses! Educate all at any cost! That cry is good in itself, and is as\nold as the church of Christ, and no older. But to it is joined another\ncry: The church is out of date. It cannot educate. It has failed. It\nwill keep the people ignorant and superstitious. That is just the\nright state for the priests. We know that of old. The priests in pagan\ntimes were just the same. They kept the people blind for their own\nsakes. But the newspapers have broken all that up. Men who read their\ndaily _Herald_ or their daily _Times_ know a little too much for that\nnowadays. So out with the priests and their church altogether. We\nwant the children to know how to read, and write, and cipher, and be\nintelligent. If they want religion, they may find it where they can.\nBut religion is quite a secondary consideration nowadays. It used to be\nthe first thing. That was the great mistake. We must now make it the\nlast.\n\nThat is pretty much how the lights of the age--the scientific\napostles--talk. Their opinions are re-echoed in the pages of journals\nwhich, compared to Christian or Catholic, are as a thousand, nay, ten\nthousand, to one; so that they are ever before the public eye in one\nform or other. Consequently, religion is not only thrown out of the\nschool, but, to a great extent, out of the world altogether; nay, if\nthe accounts our Protestant friends give of themselves be true, out of\nthe pulpit also, when preachers preach \"a theology without the _Theos_,\nand a Christianity without Christ.\" It is perhaps only natural, then,\nto find public morality at a sad discount; private morality, on a large\nscale, a thing ugly to inquire into, and commercial morality broken\ndown before commercial gambling. It is not strange to find the loosest\nideas on the marriage tie prevail, and a corresponding disregard of\nthe sanctity of the household and the mutual obligations of husband\nand wife, of father and child, spreading wider and further every day.\nIt is no wonder to find public amusements, as a rule, unfit to be\nwitnessed by the eye of a decent man or woman. It is not surprising\nto see well-dressed crowds listening eagerly to brilliant lecturers,\nwho in mellifluous accents and the chastest English, and in evening\ncostume, pleasantly and quietly, and in the best possible taste, laugh\naway the idea of God and Christianity; and it is no surprise to find\nthe children of those well-dressed crowds growing up and moving about\nthe world, with no sense of Christian morality at all, and at best, to\nuse an ordinary expression, a human sense of what is \"square.\"\n\nRight in the face of this scornful infidelity or shaky faith, it\nis noble to see the Catholic world, especially the young Catholic\nworld, rising up everywhere to proclaim openly, boldly, and with no\nhesitation in the tone, its whole-souled faith in the Roman Catholic\nChurch, its tenets, its doctrines, and its practices. Allusion, as\nwill be understood, is made chiefly to the pilgrimages in Europe, and\nmore particularly to the contingent furnished by Protestant England.\nA pilgrimage, composed of Catholic young men, visited, the other day,\nthe shrine of S. Thomas of Canterbury; another soon after crossed over\nto France, to visit the shrine of the Sacred Heart at Paray-le-Monial;\nand doubtless others will follow. We see it advocated in the Catholic\npress that our young men here do likewise. They would do well; but\nwhether their desire take living form or not, certain it is that in\nthis country they are just as eager to give evidence of their Catholic\nfaith as in any other. And just here, in this proposal to make an\nAmerican pilgrimage to some of the Catholic shrines in Europe, step in\nthe want and necessity of such Catholic organizations, distinct enough\nindividually, but linked together more or less, and springing from a\ncommon centre, to aid effectually in making such a proposal feasible.\n\nComing back to ourselves, the rising Catholic generation may\ncongratulate itself that it has fallen upon good times. It would\nbe well for it to remember that these good times are the result of\nthe labors of their fathers; and that as they were won by incessant\nconflict, so they must be retained. The present generation has not so\nmany odds to contend against. That fact is perhaps as much a danger as\na benefit. The Catholic generation that is passing away had to suffer\nmore or less a social ostracism. The barriers between class and class\nare dwindling down; and to-day, on the whole, a Catholic does not find\nhis religion mark him off from his fellow-citizens as a man to be left\nout in the cold.\n\nThat is no doubt very satisfactory. At the same time, however painful\nmay be this kind of social ostracism, certain it is that the class who\ncome under its ban are more apt to be circumspect in their conduct than\nclasses removed from it. To-day the spirit of liberality is abroad; but\nliberality often means liberalism, which is a very different thing. The\norder of the day is that it does not matter what you are, Protestant,\nCatholic, Jew, or pagan, provided you only act as everybody else acts.\nThis sudden effusion of brotherly love among all castes and creeds is\nno doubt very gratifying, and a vast improvement on old-fogy barriers;\nbut, at the same time, it involves often a sacrifice of principle. It\nis a rank and unhealthy growth, springing from the neutral ground of\ninfidelity, or that unpronounced infidelity known as indifferentism.\n\nCatholics cannot enter the world as non-Catholics. Their religion must\nbe more than a Sunday religion. It cannot be left outside on entering\ntheir office, nor in the hall on entering society. It must accompany\nthem everywhere, not aggressively, indeed, so as to be outwardly\noffensive to the neighbor who does not believe in it, because he does\nnot know it, or because he may not see its effects visible in those\nwho profess to believe in it; its principles must guide them in the\ntransaction of their business, in the amusements or recreation they\ntake, as well as in the confessional or at the altar. Without this,\nit is no religion. Without this unaggressive, but none the less real,\natmosphere of piety, surrounding and emanating from Catholics in the\nworld as well as in the church, the heaviness of the present social\natmosphere can never be lifted. It requires a constant current to\nand fro, and this can only be obtained by the creating of a Catholic\ninfluence right in the heart of the world.\n\nThis is for our young men to do by their societies and associations;\nby knowing each other, meeting together, consulting, and creating a\ntone that will tell sooner or later upon society. Many a fine young\nfellow is lost for pure lack of a good companion. Many a one spends his\nevenings in places and amid society that, if not actually sinful, are\nundoubtedly demoralizing in tendency, because he has no other society\nor place of amusement to enter. It is too hard upon the young to tell\nthem that they must not follow the way of the world, if no better mode\nof recreation is provided for them. The blood of youth is coursing\nthrough its veins, and the heat will find vent, if not in good, then\nin evil. It is the place of all true Christians to help and provide\nthat good, by aiding in the work of building up societies, halls,\nreading-rooms, and libraries for our young people. The blessing will\ncome back upon their own heads in their children, in their children's\nchildren, and in the building up of a sound, moral, Christian tone\namong the young in these days, when it is considered more manly to\ndeny than to inquire; to sneer at all religion than to kneel down and\nadore the God that made us to his own image. With our young men linked\ntogether thus, working together throughout the whole country, showing\nby deeds, and words, and open profession that they are Catholics, those\nwho to-day, in 1873, wonder at the marvellous growth of the church\nwithin the last half-century, if God spares them another half-century,\nmay find their country, if not Catholic, covered, at least, and blest\nfrom end to end, with Catholic homes of learning, piety, and charity;\nwhilst the church may respond to the foolish taunt that is flung at\nher, that her religion is a foreign religion, and her children nursed\nin foreign ideas, by pointing silently to what her children are--by\ncontrasting her Christian sons with the product and growth of an\neducation with God left out.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[87] Besides the two Associations particularly mentioned in this\narticle, there are numbers of others scattered throughout the country.\nIn Brooklyn there is attached to almost every parish church a Young\nMen's Catholic Association. The writer restricts his mention of names\nnecessarily to the two societies which stand forth most prominently in\nNew York, and which give greatest promise of a bright future. If they\ncan be improved upon by others already existing or to come, they would\nprobably be the first to adapt themselves to the improvement. But as\nmatters stand at present, their constitution and organization might be\nvery safely recommended, at least, to embryo associations.\n\n\n\n\nENGLISH SKETCHES.\n\nAN HOUR IN A JAIL.\n\n\nThere is nothing in the exterior of the building to indicate its real\ncharacter, nor is it in any way calculated to strike terror into the\nmind of the beholder whose imagination, fed by early prejudices,\nconnects the idea of a jail with gloomy precincts, drawbridges, and\narmed sentinels pacing before frowning gates. The jail of Reading, the\nchief town of the royal county of Berks, presents the very antithesis\nof all this. This is a gay edifice of variegated red brick and white\nstone, in the style called carpenter's Gothic--a rather appropriate\nname for the jocular mongrel performance it designates, and which is\none of the most surprising hallucinations of the modern architect's\nmind. The building stands close by the Forbury gardens and at the\nback of the Catholic church. The delusion as to the character of the\nplace is not dispelled on entering; the uninitiated stranger might,\non passing the great door, still fancy himself in some free dwelling,\nwhere no abnormal impediments prevented his exit; but crossing the\ncourt, he ascends by a flight of steps to a second gate of ominous\nappearance, and before whose glittering steel bars the spell of\nliberty dissolves. Within this second gate there is another, equally\nformidable, which opens into a broad gallery lighted from the roof and\ncrossed by light bridges at intervals, to which you ascend by a steep,\nladder-like iron staircase. The second story is occupied by the women\nprisoners, the lower one by the men.\n\nAs few of our readers may have had the opportunity or the curiosity\nto go through an English jail, perhaps they would like to do so\nvicariously, as the Shah enjoyed dancing--sitting quietly in his\nchair, while foolish people fatigued themselves for his entertainment.\nWe were accompanied by a young priest, whose ministry had frequently\nled him within the steel gates on another errand than curiosity; and,\nthanks to his friend's (Canon R----) introduction to the governor,\nwe had permission to see every detail of the place. The aspect of\nthe long galleries, with the bright-tiled flooring and white walls\nglancing in the flood of sunshine flowing from the roof, kept up\nthe first impression of cheerfulness. There was nothing so far to\nsuggest unnecessary rigor or broken spirits, still less cruelty\nand demoralization. All was airy and exquisitely clean. Warders\nin official uniforms paced leisurely up and down the corridors and\ngalleries; and though the silence was broken only by their foot-falls\nand our own voices as we conversed with the warder who acted as our\nguide, there was no oppressive gloom in the atmosphere. The cells\nopened on either side of the gallery. They were each lighted by a\ngood-sized window looking on the prison garden and protected by strong\niron bars; in one corner was a complete washing apparatus, with a\nwater-pipe over the basin; in another there was a gas-pipe. The\nfurniture consisted of a small table, a stool, and a stretcher-bed,\nwhich is rolled up during the day. On a shelf were the prisoner's plate\nand mug. The Protestants are allowed the use of their Bible and the\n_Common Prayer-Book_; the Catholics have the Douay edition of the Bible\nand _The Garden of the Soul_; special good conduct is rewarded by the\nloan of story-books. Some of the cells were ornamented with prints from\nthe _Graphic_ and the _Illustrated London News_. A man with a good\nconscience and sound health might live comfortably in one of these\ncells.\n\nThe Reading jail is worked entirely on the isolated system,\neach prisoner being virtually as much alone amidst two hundred\nfellow-captives as if he were the only inmate. It is urged against\nthis system that it frequently leads to madness, total solitude being\nthe most cruel form of punishment, and the one against which the human\nmind is, by its very essence, least calculated to bear up. But the\ntheory applies in its chief force to solitary confinement, where the\nsound of the human voice and the sight of his fellow-creature's face\nnever intrude upon the tomblike silence of the dungeon; where complete\ninaction of the body feeds the despondency of the imagination dwelling\non the one fixed idea of an interminable perspective of silence and\nsolitude. In the case of short periods of incarceration, the separate\nsystem must be regarded as an immense improvement on the old gregarious\none. It prevents the spread of vice, and protects the comparatively\ninnocent subject from being utterly corrupted by the hardened sinner.\nIn France, where the gregarious system is in full force, its effect\nis too plainly visible in the most deplorable results. A youth or a\ngirl goes in a mere novice in iniquity, and, after a short sojourn in\nthe midst of the offscourings of society, comes out utterly depraved.\nNowhere is this truth more lamentably apparent than in those cases\nthat come under the head of _prison pr\u00e9ventive_, where any suspected\nperson, on the smallest amount of evidence, is thrown into these social\nsloughs for weeks, nay, months sometimes, and held in hourly contact\nwith thieves, forgers, burglars, and every species of offender. Strong\nindeed must be the principles, and pure the heart, that come out\nunshaken and unsullied from such an ordeal.\n\nThe men were at work on the day when we arrived at the jail, so we saw\nthe penal system in full operation. The mildest form of hard labor is\nthe oakum-picking. It is performed partly in the open air, partly in\nthe cells, and consists of untwisting old cables, and then tearing them\ninto loose hemp, which is used for caulking the seams of ships.\n\nThe next category was the stone-breaking. One side of a yard is walled\noff into separate compartments, with a railing at each end, and from\nthese the ring of the pick-axe resounds dismally for many hours in the\nday. One of these cages was occupied by a lunatic, who had attempted\nthe life of his brother. The poor fellow was only there for the day,\nawaiting an order for removal to some government asylum for the insane.\nHe stood bolt upright, without leaning against the wall, with his\nhands hanging by his side, and his head bent downwards, the picture\nof melancholy and sullen despair. We noticed with satisfaction that\nthe warder compassionately avoided passing before the poor creature's\nrailing, and did not even speak within earshot of him.\n\nOn re-entering the house, we came into a corridor where the air was\nfilled with a grinding noise of ominous import. On either side of us\nwere cells, where the forced labor in its most severe aspect comes into\nview. Warders were walking slowly up and down, peeping at intervals\ninto the cells through a narrow little aperture in the doors, where\nthe prisoners were undergoing the sentence of the law. Some were\ngrinding corn, others were turning the crankpump. The former is done\nby a machine which it takes all the strength of the workman's two arms\nto keep going. In one of these cells, the door of which was unlocked\nfor us to examine closely, there was a lad of a little over twenty, of\nmiddle height, and with a countenance which, but for the sinister leer\nof the mouth, might have been called mild and almost prepossessing. We\nwere startled to learn that this juvenile criminal had been taken up\nfor highway robbery, with attempt to murder.\n\nThe cell opposite his was occupied by a middle-aged, broad-shouldered\nman, who was turning the crankpump. This is the most severe of all\nthe forms of labor in the jail. To a superficial observer it would\nseem almost easy labor, so smooth is the movement of the crank as it\ngyrates under the clenched hands of the prisoner, his body rising\nand falling in rhythmic movement with the rotation of the crank he\nis propelling; but the strain upon the spine becomes after a while\nintolerable. This man was a very hardened criminal, and had just\nundergone seven days on bread and water in the dark cell, twenty-four\nlashes of the cat-o'-nine tails having proved unavailing; and he was\nstill unsubdued. His misdemeanor in the prison was swearing at one of\nthe warders, and threatening to break his skull against the wall; even\nafter the fearful infliction of the dark cell, he repeated his threat\nto \"do for him.\"\n\nCoarse-matting weaving is another prison employment; it is far less\nlaborious than either of the two preceding, yet working the heavy\nlooms must be a great discipline to unpractised arms. One man's face\nin this category struck us as different from the others; it bore the\nunmistakable stamp of education; we found that the weaver was properly\na man of a better class, and who, with half the ingenuity he had shown\nin getting into his present condition, might have been a well-to-do\nmember of society.\n\nIn the lower basement there are admirably constructed baths, immersion\nin which is compulsory on the prisoners once a month. The dark cell\nabove referred to is also in these lower regions. Refractory subjects\nare consigned to it for three, five, or seven days, as the case may\nbe, for insubordination or idleness. It must be a very obdurate spirit\nindeed, one would imagine, which this awful punishment could leave\nunbroken. The darkness is like that of the grave, so dense that it is\nsuffocating; and when the warder, to show how utterly every ray of\nlight was excluded from the cell, suddenly went out, and locked the\ndouble doors upon us as we stood in the gloom, we all felt a chill\nof indescribable horror creep over us. The ventilation is, however,\nperfect, though we could not see how it was contrived.\n\nThe kitchen department is as bright and as complete in its appointments\nas the rest of the building. Great and desirable reforms have of\nlate been effected in the prison fare, which a few years ago was so\nluxurious as to call loudly for remonstrance from all wise rulers and\nthoughtful men. The thief and the burglar a little time ago fared far\nbetter than the poor working-man struggling to put honest bread into\nhis children's mouths, and infinitely better than the inmate of the\nworkhouse. All this is happily changed, and the hospitality of the jail\nis now proportioned to the quality of the guests. The bread is coarse\nand brown, but sweet and wholesome. Each prisoner gets six ounces of\nit at breakfast, with a pint of gruel; eight at dinner, with a pound\nof potatoes; and on three days in the week three ounces of bacon;\nthe other four he gets cheese instead; at supper, bread and gruel\nagain. The quantity is less for a short-period man, namely, those who\nare condemned for a week or a fortnight; the reason being that the\nconstitution could not resist for a lengthened period the low diet,\nwhich acts with salutary effect on the spirit for a short time. In\nanswer to our inquiries how far the present system or any system acted\nas reformatory on criminals, the warder said he believed it very seldom\nattained that end. A man who once came to jail was pretty sure to come\ntwice. \"When a man gets the name of a jail-bird,\" he said, \"it is all\nover with him; he can never hold up his head again amongst honest folk,\nand so he goes back to his old ways and haunts.\" He added that the one\nchance he had was to go out of the country to a place where he had no\npast to live down; and for this reason he observed that the Prisoners'\nAid Society ought to be upheld by all humane people. It offered the\nonly plank to the shipwrecked that was possible.\n\nAmongst the two hundred prisoners which the jail accommodates, there\nhappens at the present moment not to be a single Catholic. We were\nsurprised to hear this, for we noticed more than once that the men into\nwhose cells we entered cast a wistful look at the young priest who\nwas with us; and when he smiled and nodded to them on turning away,\ntheir faces relaxed into a smile too. Mr. S---- told us that this was\nno uncommon thing; that, as a rule, the prisoners, whatever be their\nreligion, welcome the Catholic priest with a smile, and seem thankful\nfor the chance of speaking to him. The parson, on the contrary, they\nlook on with suspicion, and even with aversion, frequently listening\nin sullen silence to his questions, and refusing to answer them. This\ndoes not betoken any dislike to the Protestant minister personally; it\narises from the fact of his having a sort of official character, and\nbeing thus associated in their minds with the cruel strength of the\nlaw; whereas the priest only comes in the capacity of a helper--one\nwho pities them, and would serve them in body and soul if he could;\nhis errand is purely one of mercy and kindness. Our companion told\nus that this jail has for him many beautiful memories of grace and\nrepentance. He has gone there frequently in the course of the winter to\nhear the confessions of penitents who have approached the sacraments\nin their little cells with sentiments of the most touching humility\nand sorrow. These prodigals are almost invariably Irish. \"Wherever you\nfind a Paddy, you find the faith,\" observed Canon R----; \"and where is\nthe spot on earth where you don't find one?\" To illustrate the truth\nof this remark, he told us a curious anecdote, which was related to\nhim many years ago by the priest to whom it occurred. This priest went\non the mission to America, and for some years his labors lay in the\nwild regions of the far West. The missionary led pretty much the life\nof the children of the virgin forests that he traversed, and where\nthe footprint of the white man was never seen. He rode for miles and\nmiles through the wilderness, feeding, like the anchorites, on what\nhe could gather by the way, and sleeping in the branches of some\nthick-foliaged tree, to the stem of which he tied his horse; and at\ndaybreak he was off on his rambles again. One morning, as he was riding\nthrough a wood in search of food, he descried a little wreath of smoke\ncurling above the trees. He made for the spot, thinking he had come on\na field of labor in the shape of a little colony to be baptized; but,\non approaching, he found only a solitary wigwam, at the door of which\na wild woman was squatting with a brood of small children about her.\nThe good father was exhausted with hunger, and managed, by signs and\na few words of the Indian dialect, to convey this fact to the woman.\nShe rose at once, and placed before him her frugal store. While he\nwas doing justice to it, the lord of the wigwam returned, and great\nwas his amazement to behold the guest whom his lady was hospitably\nministering to. The priest was trying to air his small store of words,\nwhen his host, who was attired in the scanty costume of his tribe,\nwith a plentiful crop of feathers sprouting from his head-gear, after\nsurveying him silently for a moment, exclaimed, \"Your reverence is a\nCatholic priest, I'll be bound, and an Irishman into the bargain!\"\nHis listener nearly capsized with astonishment. But it was neither a\nvision nor a delusion. The wild Indian was himself an Irishman, who,\nwith two older companions, had come to those remote forests many years\nbefore in search of fortune in some form or other; the trio had been\ncaptured by the Indians, who put two of them to death, and only spared\nthe youngest on account of his expertness with the bow and arrow and\nother kindred accomplishments which made him useful to the tribe.\nHe learned in time to speak their language and adopt their mode of\nlife, even to the extent of marrying a wild woman of their race. But\nthe faith of his childhood survived amongst the vicissitudes of this\nstrange career. He welcomed the priest with joy and the reverence of\na genuine Irish heart; and before the missionary left his wigwam,\nhe received the wife into the church, married the pair, baptized\nand instructed the children, and administered the sacraments to the\nfather. Then he sallied forth once more on his life of danger and\nself-sacrifice, which, though it afforded many consoling and romantic\nepisodes, never furnished such another as this. \"Now,\" exclaimed Canon\nR---- triumphantly, \"just tell me if such an adventure as that could\nhappen to any two men under the sun but a pair of Irishmen!\" And no one\ncontradicted him.\n\nBut to return to the jail. We visited the church last. It was the\nsaddest spectacle of all, though the building itself was bright and\njust then full of sunshine. The seats rise in the form of a steep\namphitheatre, almost touching the ceiling at the last tier; and they\nare so contrived that each prisoner is as isolated in his own seat\nas if he were the only one looking up at the bare pulpit, where no\ncrucifix, nor pitying Madonna, nor kindly angel face looks down upon\nhim, but only the wooden box, where the preacher once a week tells\nhim of the message of mercy, and points to the home where the Father\nawaits each prodigal son. There, locked up between four narrow boards\nthat rise high above his head, the prisoner assists at the service on\nSunday. So rigorously is the separate system maintained that the two\nmen who were employed in washing the stairs and floor of the church\nwere masked, so as not to recognize each other even in passing, while\na warden stood by to prevent their exchanging a word together. The men\nare exercised in batches every morning from six to a quarter past seven\nin the prison garden--a dreary place to call by that flower-suggestive\nname. They wear masks, and walk at a distance of four yards from one\nanother, holding a rope with the left hand. Such a system naturally\ndisarms the dangers of agglomeration, and makes mutiny or concerted\nrebellion impossible. The strength of union is not theirs, and they\nare as feeble as if, instead of being two hundred against nine, the\nproportions were reversed. Attempts to escape are almost unknown.\nThe reason of this may be that the inmates are never condemned to a\nlonger term than two years, which would be trebled, both in duration\nand in severity, if the attempt failed; so, in face of such a risk,\nit would hardly be worth while to make it. We did not visit the\nfemale department, which is conducted on precisely the same principle,\nthe only difference being the greater lenity of the enforced labor.\nIt was painful enough to see strong men brought to just humiliation\nfor their misdeeds; but our hearts failed us to look at women in the\nsame position. On the whole, we left the Reading jail with our minds\ndisabused of many illusions concerning the strong hand of the law.\nIts application is as humane and merciful as is compatible with the\ninterests of justice and the professed object of legal punishment.\nThere is nothing to demoralize or to harden a culprit whose misfortune\nit is to undergo a term of durance within its walls. Before, however,\nsuch punishment can be really reformatory, the whole community must\nbe reformed on the highest Christian ideal. We must learn not to\ndespise or unduly mistrust the weak brother who has fallen once, but\nto practically recognize the vital truth implied in the prayer taught\nus by our Master: \"Lead us not into temptation;\" remembering that\nif we have not fallen it is from no merit or strength of our own,\nbut of the gratuitous mercy of God, whose providence has prevented\nus in temptation, and saved us from our own weakness; and that the\nmeasure of our preservation from evil should be the measure of our\ncharity to the fallen. When we have all learned this, we may see our\nprisons reformatory as well as penitential; we doubt if we ever shall\notherwise.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LUTE WITH THE BROKEN STRING.\n\n\n    I took the lute I had prized so much\n      In my day of pride, in my day of power,\n    And wiped the dust with a tender touch,\n      And wreathed it gaily with ribbon and flower.\n    And the tears from my heart were falling fast\n      For the bloom that had faded, the fragrance fled,\n    As I thought of the hand that had wreathed it last--\n      The hand of my darling now cold and dead:\n    And I put it aside with a passionate fling,\n    And something was broken--a heart or a string.\n\n    And again I essayed, when the tears had dried\n      And the tumult of sobs in my bosom was still,\n    To touch it once more with the olden pride,\n      That the hearts that yet love me might hear it and thrill:\n    But a soft low note, with its melting power,\n      A tone of deep pathos, had trembled and gone;\n    And my hopes died out in that silent hour,\n      And left me in darkness and sorrow alone.\n    What wonder, beloved, that I cannot sing\n    A song of the heart with a broken string?\n\n    What worth is the lute when its music hath fled?\n      What worth is the strain when its alto is lost?\n    What worth is the heart with its tenderness shed,\n      And all its warm feelings laid waste by the frost?\n    But love cannot die. There is comfort in this,\n      That Love is eternal, though passion controls.\n    And what, then, is heaven, with its glory and bliss,\n      But the union of hearts and communion of souls--\n    When saints shall be minstrels, and angels shall sing,\n    And lutes shall have never a broken string?\n\n\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\n  THE DIVINE SEQUENCE. By F. M. London: Longmans, Green & Co. 1873.\n\nThis is a small volume, but one replete with thought. It treats of\nthe relation existing between some of the principal doctrines of\nthe faith, with special reference to the office of our Blessed Lady\nas mediatrix of grace. The topics treated, though they are the most\nsublime and mysterious dogmas of faith, are handled with a theological\nprecision and with a depth of contemplative piety which show that the\nauthor has drawn her doctrine from the purest sources, and meditated\non it profoundly within her own soul; for the author of this admirable\ntreatise is a lady, though we refrain from giving her name out of\nrespect to the modesty which has induced her to hide herself behind the\nveil of initials. There are some copies of the English edition--which\nwe regret very much not to see reprinted here--for sale at The Catholic\nPublication House; and we feel sure that if the lovers of the choicest\ngems of spiritual thought and sentiment knew the value of this one,\nthey would lose no time in securing it.\n\n  THE LIFE OF LUISA DE CARVAJAL. By Lady Georgiana Fullerton. London:\n    Burns & Oates. 1873. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication\n    Society.)\n\nThis book is an addition to the sum total of sound Catholic literature.\nWe almost lose sight of the merit of the translator's style in\nadmiration of the motive that led her to undertake the task. The life\nof this holy Spanish woman is strange and pathetic. Her lifelong\nsacrifice of worldly, and, what is more, of national, associations\nfor the sake of an apostleship in England during the dark days of\nthe faith in that country, is indeed a triumph of grace and a heroic\nmodel to all after-ages. Luisa de Carvajal was a woman of rare\nstrength of mind, energy, perseverance, and endurance. Her holiness\nwas that of the champion rather than of the novice. Her mind was\nrichly cultivated. Latin was familiar to her; English she acquired\nafter she was thirty years of age--a feat requiring much patience in\na Spaniard. Her theological knowledge, patristic lore, and minute\nacquaintance with the Scriptures were distinguishing traits of her\nsubsequent self-education. Involved in a tedious lawsuit, her accurate\nmemory, excellent understanding, and unflagging presence of mind\nwere no less remarkable than her sweet temper and great patience.\nAlthough never setting her will in opposition to that of her spiritual\nadvisers, she invariably conquered their objections, and by her very\nhumility proved her superiority. Her vocation to a life of poverty,\nwithout at the same time being called to a conventual life, was a\npeculiar dispensation; and when we think of the greater ridicule that\nattended such an unconventional manner of \"leaving the world,\" we see\nhow much greater the sacrifice was than we at the present day can\nimagine. Her life in England seems a romance of self-devotion, and her\nEnglish biographer has lovingly dwelt upon its interesting details.\nOne pregnant suggestion is made by the translator, which is, that it\nwould be a specially holy work for a woman to undertake to train in\na species of semi-religious community life those young girls whose\nfuture destiny is the instruction of youth in the higher classes. This,\nalthough applicable chiefly to England, and of less significance on\nthis side of the ocean, is a suggestion that deserves more notice than\nit is perhaps likely to get, embedded as it is in the crowded narrative\nof Do\u00f1a Luisa's life. One thing shines forth out of this exceptional\nrecord of a holy and strong woman's days, and it is this--that God\nsomehow or other always removes all obstacles to his _real_ will in his\nown good time. In her youth, Luisa was foiled, by her natural guardians\nand really best-intentioned friends, in her desire to adopt the strange\nlife to which God called her--that of a recluse without a cloister--and\nin a few years these friends were taken away, leaving her her own\nmistress. Later on, when the seemingly Quixotic wish came over her to\nleave Spain to minister to the English martyrs under James I., and\npreach the Catholic faith in London, her long lawsuit, which was urged\nas a reason for giving up this design, suddenly came to a favorable and\n\n\n\n\nTHE\n\nCATHOLIC WORLD.\n\nVOL. XVIII., No. 105.--DECEMBER, 1873.[88]\n\n\n\n\nA TALK ON METAPHYSICS.\n\n\nOne of the greatest obstacles to the spread of philosophical education\nis the false opinion which, through the efforts of a school of low\nscientists, has gained much ground--viz., that metaphysics, the central\nand most important part of philosophy, is only a mass of useless\nabstractions and unintelligible subtleties; a science _\u00e0 priori_,\ntelling us nothing about facts; a dismal relic of medi\u00e6val ignorance\nand conceit; a thing, therefore, which has no longer a claim to hold a\nplace in the world of science. This is a shameless misrepresentation,\nand as such it might be treated with the contempt it deserves; but\nit is so carefully insinuated, and with such an assurance, that it\nsucceeds in making its way onward, and in gaining more and more\ncredit among unreflecting people. We intend, therefore, to give it a\nchallenge. A short exposition of the nature and object of metaphysics\nwill suffice, we hope, to show our young readers the worthlessness of\nsuch mischievous allegations.\n\nWhat is metaphysics? _It is_, answers one of the most eminent\nmetaphysicians, Francis Suarez, _that part of philosophy which treats\nof real beings as such_. This definition is universally accepted.\nIt is needless to remark that a being is said to be _real_ when it\nexists in nature; whereas that which has no existence except in our\nconceptions is called _a being of reason_. But it is well to observe\nthat the expression, _real being_, is used in two different senses.\nIn the first it means a _complete_ natural entity, which has its own\nseparate existence in nature, independently of the existence of any\nother created thing; as when we say that _Peter_, _John_, and _James_\nare real beings. In the second it means some _incomplete_ entity, which\nhas no separate existence of its own, but is the mere appurtenance\nof some other thing to the existence of which it owes its being; as\nPeter's _life_, John's _eloquence_, James' _stature_. Of course, every\nsubstance, whether material or spiritual, simple or compound, is a\ncomplete entity; but every constituent, attribute, property, or quality\nof complete beings is an incomplete entity, inasmuch as it has no\nseparate existence, but only partakes of the existence of the being to\nwhich it belongs.\n\nA real, complete entity is said to be a _physical_ being, because it\npossesses all that is required to exist separately in the physical\norder of things. On the contrary, a real, incomplete entity is said\nto be a _metaphysical being_. Thus, _movement_, _velocity_, _time_,\n_force_, _attraction_, _repulsion_, _heat_, _cold_, _weight_,\n_work_, _resistance_, _figure_, _hardness_, _softness_, _solidity_,\n_liquidity_, etc., are metaphysical beings. Those modern men of\nscience who shudder at the very name of metaphysics would do well to\nconsider for a while this short catalogue of metaphysical entities.\nThey would find that it contains the very things with which they are\nmost familiar. If metaphysical entities are only abstractions--empty\nand useless abstractions, as they declare--what shall we say of all\ntheir scientific books? Are they not all concerned with those dreadful\nmetaphysical entities which we have enumerated? Yet we would scarcely\nsay that they treat of _useless abstractions_. Certainly, when a drop\nof rain is falling, the _action_ by which it is determined to fall is\nnot an abstraction, the _velocity_ acquired is not an abstraction,\nand the _fall_ itself is not an abstraction. In like manner, the\n_rotation_ of the earth, the _hardness_ of a stone, the _sound_ of a\ntrumpet, are not abstractions; and yet all these are entities of the\nmetaphysical order. Therefore, to contend that metaphysics is a science\nof pure abstractions is nothing but an evident absurdity. The object of\nmetaphysics is no less real than the object of physics itself.\n\nIt may, perhaps, be objected that, though the material object of\nmetaphysics is real and concrete in nature, we despoil it of its\nreality as soon as we, in our metaphysical reasonings, rise from\nthe individual to the universal; for universals, as such, have no\nexistence but in our conception.\n\nThe answer is obvious. The _metaphysical_ universals must not be\nconfounded with the _logical_ universals. The logical universal--as\ngenus, difference, etc.--expresses a mere concept of the mind, and is\na mere being of reason, or a _second intention_, as it is called; but\nthe metaphysical universal--as figure, force, weight, etc., is not a\nmere being of reason; for its object is a reality which can be found\nexisting in the physical order. It is true that all such realities\nexist under individual conditions, and therefore are not _formally_\nbut only _fundamentally_, universal; for their formal universality\nconsists only in their mode of existing in our mind when we drop all\nactual thought of their individual determinations. But, surely, they\ndo not cease to be realities because the mind, in thinking of them,\npays no attention to their individuation; and, therefore, metaphysical\nuniversals, even as universal, retain their objective reality.\n\nWe might say more on this subject, were it not that this is hardly the\nplace for discussing the merits of formalism, realism, or nominalism.\nWe can, however, give a second answer, which will dispose of the\nobjection in a very simple manner. The answer is this: Granted that\nabstractions, _as such_, have no existence but in our intellect.\nNevertheless, what we conceive abstractedly exists concretely in the\nobjects of which it is predicated and from which it is abstracted.\nHumanity in our conception is an abstraction, and yet is to be found\nin every living man; velocity, likewise, is an abstraction, and yet\nis to be found in all real movement through space; quantity also,\nis an abstraction, and yet is to be found in every existing body.\nTherefore, abstract things do not cease to be real in nature, though\nthey are abstract in our conception. This is an evident truth. If the\nadversaries of metaphysics are bold enough to deny it, then they at\nthe same time and in the same breath deny all real science, and thus\nforfeit all claim to the honorable title of _scientific_ men. Statics\nand dynamics, geometry and calculus, algebra and arithmetic, are\nabstract sciences. No one will deny that they are most useful; yet they\nwould be of no use whatever if what they consider in the abstract had\nno concrete correspondent in the real world. Chemistry itself, and all\nthe experimental sciences, inasmuch as they are sciences, are abstract.\nAtomic weights, inasmuch as they fall under scientific reasoning, are\nabstractions; genera, species, and varieties in zo\u00f6logy and botany are\nabstract conceptions; crystalline forms in mineralogy are as abstract\nas any purely geometric relation. Indeed, without abstractions,\nscience is not even conceivable; for all science, as such, proceeds\nfrom abstract principles to abstract conclusions. But though the\nprocess of scientific reasoning be abstract, _real_ science deals with\n_real_ objects and real relations. And such is exactly the case with\nmetaphysics, which is the universal science of all reality, and the\nqueen of all the real sciences.\n\nThese general remarks suffice, without any further development, to\nvindicate the reality of the material object of metaphysics. But here\nthe question arises, Are _all_ real beings without exception the object\nof this science?\n\nSome authors, in past centuries, thought that the only object of\nmetaphysics was to treat of beings _above nature_; and accordingly\ntaught that God and the angels alone were _metaphysical_ beings--that\nis, beings ranging above nature. On the contrary, man and this visible\nworld--that is, all creatures liable to local motion--they called\n_natural_ beings, and considered them to be the proper and exclusive\nobject of _physical_ science. This view was grounded, apparently, on\nthe latent assumption that metaphysics meant _above physics_; which,\nhowever, is not correct, as \u03bc\u03b5\u03c4\u1f70 does not mean _above_, but _after_;\nand therefore metaphysical is not synonymous with supernatural.[89] On\nthe other hand, God and the angels are undoubtedly _physical_ beings;\nfor they are complete beings, having their complete physical nature and\ntheir separate existence. We cannot call them _metaphysical_ beings;\nfor we know of no beings which deserve the name of metaphysical but\nthose incomplete entities which are attained through the intellectual\nanalysis of physical and complete beings.\n\nAs to man and all the other natural things, every one will see that\nthough they are, in one respect, the proper object of physics, yet\nthey are also, in another respect, the proper object of metaphysics;\nand this too, without in the least confounding the two branches of\nknowledge. The attributions of physics and of metaphysics are, in\nfact, so distinct that there can be no danger of the one invading the\nprovince of the other, even though they deal with the same subject.\nThe office of the physicist is to investigate natural facts, to\ndiscuss them, to make a just estimate of them, and to discover the\nlaws presiding over their production. This, and no other, is the\nobject of physics, to accomplish which it is not necessary to know the\nessence of natural things. Hence, the physicist, after ascertaining the\nphenomena of nature and their laws, cannot go further in his capacity\nof physicist. But where he ends his work, just there the metaphysician\nbegins; for his office is to take those facts and laws as a ground\nfor his speculations in order to discover the essential principles\ninvolved in the constitution of natural causes, and to account by such\nprinciples for all the attributes and properties of things. This is\nthe duty of the metaphysician. Thus natural things, although an object\nof physics when considered as following certain laws of action or of\nmovement, are nevertheless an object of metaphysics when considered in\ntheir being and intimate constitution.\n\nOn this point even physicists agree. \"Instead of regarding the proper\nobject of physical science as a search after essential causes,\"\nsays one of the best modern champions of scientific progress, \"it\nought to be, and must be, a search after facts and relations.\"[90]\nHence, physical science deals with natural facts and their relations\nexclusively; the search after causes and essential principles\nconstitutes the object of a higher science; and such a science is real\nphilosophy, or metaphysics proper.\n\nI was surprised at finding in Webster's _English Dictionary_ (v.\nMetaphysics) the following words:\n\n\"The natural division of things that exist is into body and mind,\nthings material and immaterial. The former belong to physics, and the\nlatter to the science of metaphysics.\" From what we have just said,\nit is clear that this division is not accurate. We must add that it\nis not consistent with the definition of metaphysics given by the\nsame author only a few lines before. Metaphysics, says he, is \"the\nscience of the principles and causes of _all_ things existing.\" Now,\nif material things existing do not belong to metaphysics, it evidently\nfollows that either material things existing have no principles and no\ncauses, or that such principles and causes are no object of science.\nBut it is obvious that neither conclusion can be admitted. Furthermore,\nit is well known that all metaphysicians treat of the constitution of\nbodies--a fact which conclusively proves that material things are not\nexcluded from the object of metaphysics.\n\nHere, however, we must observe that some modern writers, while\nconceding this last point, contend that material things _must be\nmentally freed from their materiality_ before they can be considered\nas an object of metaphysics. Their reason is, that this science is\nconcerned with real things only inasmuch as they consist of principles\nknown to the intellect alone. Matter, they say, is not an object\nof the intellect. Therefore, the object of metaphysics must be\nimmaterial--that is, either a thing which has no matter of its own, or\nat least a thing which is conceived, through mental abstraction, as\nfree from matter.\n\nBut we should remember that, according to the common doctrine, the true\nand adequate object of metaphysics is _all_ real being as such, whether\nit be material or immaterial; and that it is, therefore, the duty of\nthe metaphysician to divide substance into material and immaterial, and\nto give the definition of both; for it belongs to each science to point\nout and define the parts of its own object. Hence, the metaphysician\nis bound to explain how things material differ from things immaterial,\nand has to ascertain what metaphysical predicates are attributable to\nmaterial substance on account of its very materiality.[91] Now, it is\nevident that nothing of the kind can ever be done by a philosopher who,\nthrough mental abstraction, considers material substance as freed from\nits matter. For when, by such an abstraction, he has taken away the\nmatter, what else can he look upon as a ground of distinction between\nmaterial and immaterial beings? We must admit, then, that material\nthings, inasmuch as they are _real_ things, and only in that manner\nin which they are real (that is, with their own matter), are a proper\nobject of metaphysics.\n\nTo the patrons of the opposite view we confidently answer that their\nargument has no sound foundation; for though it is true that no\nmaterial thing, owing to the complexity of its simultaneous actions on\nour senses, distinctly reveals to us its material constitution, yet it\nis not true that material things cannot be understood by our intellect\nunless they are mentally stripped of their matter. To understand them\nthus would be simply to misunderstand them. Matter and form are the\nessential constituents of material substance, as all metaphysicians\nadmit; it is, therefore, impossible to understand the essence of\nmaterial substance, unless the intellect reaches the matter as well as\nthe form.[92] Let us add that those very authors who in theory affect\nto exclude matter from the object of metaphysics find it impossible\nto do away with it in practice, and, in spite of the theory, devote\nto matter, as such, a great number of pages in their own metaphysical\ntreatises.\n\nThus far we have defined the object of metaphysics. We now come to\nits method, on account of which it is so frequently assailed by the\nvotaries of experimental science. Metaphysics, they say, is a science\n_\u00e0 priori_; it is, therefore, altogether incompetent to decide any\nmatters of fact; and, if so, what is the use of metaphysics? To this\nreasoning, which claims no credit for perspicacity, many answers can be\ngiven.\n\nAnd first let us suppose for a moment that metaphysics is a science\naltogether _\u00e0 priori_. Does it follow that it has no claim to our most\ncareful attention? Geometry, algebra, and all pure mathematics are _\u00e0\npriori_ sciences. Are they despised on this account? We see, on the\ncontrary, that for this very reason they are held in greater honor and\nlauded as the most thorough, the most exact, and the most irrefragable\nof all sciences. Some will say that the object of mathematics is not to\nestablish natural facts, but only relations; but this is equally true\nof metaphysics. The metaphysician, when treating of physical subjects,\nassumes the facts and laws of nature as they are presented to him by\nthe physicist; he has not to establish them anew, but only to account\nfor them by showing the reason of their being. Metaphysics would,\ntherefore, be as good, as excellent, and as interesting as geometry,\neven if it were an _\u00e0 priori_ science.\n\nBut, secondly, what is the real case? To proceed _\u00e0 priori_ is to argue\nfrom the cause to the effect, and from antecedents to consequents;\nwhereas, to proceed _\u00e0 posteriori_ is to argue from the effect to the\ncause, and from consequents to antecedents. Now, it is a fact that\nin metaphysics we frequently argue from the cause to the effect, as\nis done in other sciences too; but it is no less a fact that we even\nmore frequently argue from the effect to the cause. The very name\nof _metaphysics_, which is the bugbear of our opponents, clearly\nshows that such is the case. Real philosophy, in fact, is called\n_metaphysics_ for two reasons, the first of which is extrinsic and\nhistorical, the second intrinsic and logical. The historical consists\nin the fact that Aristotle's speculations on those incomplete entities\nwhich enter into the constitution of things were handed down to us\nunder the name of metaphysics. The logical is, because the knowledge\nof such incomplete entities must be gathered from the consideration of\nnatural beings by means of an intellectual analysis, which cannot be\nmade properly without a previous extensive knowledge of the concrete\norder of things. This latter knowledge, which must be gathered by\nobservation and experiment, constitutes physical science. Hence, the\nrational knowledge which comes after it, and is based on it, is very\nproperly called _metaphysical_, and that part of philosophy which\ndevelops such a knowledge _metaphysics_--that is, after-physics.\n\nNow, all analysis belongs to the _\u00e0 posteriori_ process; for it\nproceeds from the compound to its components, and therefore from\nthe effect to the cause. Therefore, metaphysics, inasmuch as it\nanalyzes natural beings and finds out their constituents, is an _\u00e0\nposteriori_ science; and since such an analysis is the very ground\nof all metaphysical speculations, we must conclude that the whole\nof metaphysics is based on the _\u00e0 posteriori_ process, no less than\nphysics itself.\n\nThirdly, that metaphysics cannot decide any matter-of-fact question is\na silly objection; as it is evident that to establish the existence of\nGod, the spirituality of the human soul, the creation of the world,\netc., is nothing less than to decide matters of fact. It may be that,\nin the opinion of the utilitarian, such facts are not very interesting;\nthey are facts, however, as much and as truly as the rotation of the\nearth, atmospheric pressure, and universal attraction are facts; and\nthey are much more important, too.\n\nWe might also maintain that metaphysics is mainly a science of facts;\nfor there are facts of the intellectual as well as of the experimental\norder. That every effect must have a cause is a fact. That every circle\nmust have a centre is another fact. That a part is less than the whole\nis a third fact. Intellectual facts are as numerous and as certain as\nthe facts of nature; and it is through them that our experimental\nknowledge of natural things is raised to the dignity of _scientific_\ncognition. For there is no science, whether inductive or deductive,\nwithout reasoning, and no reasoning without principles; and every\nprinciple is a fact of the intellectual order. Those critics who are\nwont to slight metaphysics as an _\u00e0 priori_ science would, therefore,\ndo well to consider that no true demonstration can be made but by\n_\u00e0 priori_ principles, and that true demonstration constitutes the\nperfection of science.\n\nWe may here remark that metaphysics is usually divided into _general_\nand _special_, and that the _\u00e0 priori_ character, for which it is\nassailed, belongs to general metaphysics only. General metaphysics\ntreats of the constituents, attributes, and properties of being in\ngeneral, and is called ontology. Ontology is considered as a necessary\npreparation for the study of special metaphysics, which, from the\nknowledge of being in general, descends to the examination of the\ndifferent classes and genera of beings in particular. Our men of\nscience, accustomed as they are to the inductive method, do not approve\nof this form of proceeding. On what ground, they ask, do you impose\nupon the student notions, definitions, and principles _\u00e0 priori_, as\nyou do in ontology, affirming in general that which has not yet been\nexamined in particular, and taking for granted what has yet to be\nestablished and verified?\n\nThe answer is obvious enough. General metaphysics assumes nothing\nbut what is already admitted as evident by all mankind. It is mainly\nconcerned with the notions conveyed by such words as _being_, _cause_,\n_effect_, _principle_, _essence_, _existence_, _substance_, _accident_,\netc. These notions are common, and their methodical explanation is\nbased on common-sense principles--that is, on evident, intellectual\nfacts. Thus far, therefore, no one can say that we invert the natural\norder of science; for we start from what is known.\n\nNext comes the analysis of the notions just referred to. The object\nof this analysis is to point out distinctly the different classes of\nbeing, the different genera of causes, the variety of principles,\nreasons, etc., implied in those general notions, to show their\nontological relations, and to account for their distinction. This\nimportant investigation, as well as the preceding one, is based on\ncommon-sense reasonings, but sometimes not without reference to\nother truths, which are established and vindicated only in special\nmetaphysics, to which they properly belong. Thus, it is the custom\nto treat in ontology of the intrinsic possibility of things, and its\neternity, necessity, and immutability; but it is only in natural\ntheology that such matters find their full and radical explanation. Of\ncourse, whenever an assertion is made, of which the proof is totally\nor partially deferred to a later time, the assent of the student to it\nis more or less provisional. It is not, however, in metaphysics only\nthat a student must accept certain things on trust; he thus accepts the\nequivalents in chemistry, the distances of the planets from the sun in\nastronomy, and the logarithms in trigonometry.\n\nYet we confess that philosophical writers and teachers sometimes\nexpose themselves to just criticism by treating in general metaphysics\ncertain matters which it would be better to reserve intact for special\ntreatises. It is doubtless necessary, immediately after logic, to\ntreat of the nature of being, and its principles and its properties\nin general; but it is extremely difficult, and even dangerous, to\nundertake the settlement of some questions of ontology connected with\nthe physical department of science before these same questions are\nsufficiently explored by the light, and disentangled by the analysis,\nof special metaphysics, to which their full investigation really\nappertains. What is the use of giving, for instance, an unestablished,\nand perhaps preposterous, notion of corporeal quantity to him who\nhas as yet to learn what is the essential composition of bodies?\nIs a student prepared to realize the true nature of the quantity\nof mass, or of the quantity of volume, who has never yet explored\neither the mysterious attributes of formal continuity or the intimate\nconstitution of material substance? Certainly not. He may, indeed,\nmake an act of faith on the authority of his professor; but philosophy\nis not faith, and no professor who understands his duty would ever\nunnecessarily oblige his pupils to admit anything as true on his own\nsole authority. Questions connected with the physical laws of causation\nand movement, or with the nature of sensible qualities and properties,\nshould similarly be deferred to a later time; for no one will be\nable to deal successfully with them, unless he has already acquired\na distinct knowledge of many other things, on which both the right\nunderstanding and the right solution of these questions essentially\ndepend. Accordingly, such matters, instead of being treated lightly and\nperfunctorily at the beginning of the course of metaphysics, should be\ntreated with those others to which they are naturally allied, in order\nthat they may be fully examined and competently decided.\n\nFrom this it will be seen that we do not want a metaphysical science\nbased on _\u00e0 priori_ grounds. In all times, metaphysics has been a\nscience of facts; and it could not be otherwise, since its object\nis real, and all that is real is a matter of fact. Experiment and\nobservation have always supplied the materials of its speculations. All\nits conclusions about the nature of the soul are drawn from the facts\nof consciousness; all its affirmations concerning the constitution of\nbodies are founded on the facts and laws of the physical world; and\nall its theses on God, his existence and his attributes, are likewise\ndeduced from a positive knowledge of contingent things. To suppose that\nmetaphysical knowledge can be obtained otherwise is such an absurdity\nthat nothing but the most stupid ignorance can be made to believe it.\nAnd yet this absurdity is what many of our modern scientists fall into\nwhen they contend that metaphysics is an _\u00e0 priori_ science.\n\nIt is not difficult, however, to account for such a dislike of\nmetaphysical reasonings. The greatest number of our scientific men have\nbeen brought up under the influence either of Protestantism or of its\nlegitimate offspring, indifferentism; and absolute truth, such as is\nattained by rigorous metaphysical reasoning, is not congenial to their\nhabit of thought. Protestantism is a system made up of half-truths,\nhalf-premises, and half-consequences. A Protestant must at the same\ntime believe the authenticity of the Bible, and reject the authority by\nwhich alone the Bible can be proved to be authentic; he must conciliate\nthe liberty of his private judgment with the obedience due to the\nteaching of his church; he must have the courage to believe that true\nChristian religion is not that which, from the apostolic times down to\nour own, has formed so many generations of saints, changed the face of\nthe world, confirmed its own divine origin by a perpetual succession\nof prodigious works, but that which, starting from Luther or some other\nmischievous innovator, has never and nowhere produced any fruit of high\nsanctity or witnessed a single miracle. Hence, to a Protestant mind,\ntruth in its entirety must be embarrassing; since the very essence\nof Protestantism is to cut truth into pieces, to believe and relish\na portion of it, and to reserve some other portion unbelieved and\nunrelished, lest nothing should be left to protest against.\n\nIt is clear that minds so disposed in religious matters cannot be much\nbetter disposed in other branches of speculative knowledge; and it\nis but natural that they should despise metaphysics altogether. \"To\nthe healthy scientific mind,\" says a modern writer, \"the fine-spun\narguments and the wonderful logical achievements of metaphysicians\nare at once so bewildering and so distasteful that men of science can\nscarcely be got to listen even to those who undertake to show that\nthe arguments are but cobwebs, the logic but jingle, and the seeming\nprofundity little more than a jumble of incongruous ideas shrouded in\na mist of words.\"[93] Indeed, when men of science are thus satisfied\nwith their ignorance of philosophy, and shut their eyes and their ears,\nlest the light, or perhaps the jingle, of logic compel them to learn\nwhat mere experimentalism cannot teach, we cease to wonder that they\ncountenance such theories as the _Descent of Man_, the eternity of\nmatter, or the meteoric origin of the principle of life.\n\nWe do not wish to deny the progress of modern science; we fully\nacknowledge that experimentalism has led to the discovery of important\nfacts. But this is no reason why our men of science should disregard\nphilosophy.\n\nAn increase of positive knowledge regarding facts, far from bringing\nabout the exclusion of philosophical reasoning, extends its range,\nenlarges its foundation, and makes its employment both easier and\nsurer. Accordingly, while we profess gratitude to the modern scientists\nfor their unceasing labors and untiring efforts towards the development\nof experimental knowledge, we beg leave to remind them that this\nknowledge is not the _ne plus ultra_ of natural science. Subordinate\nsciences account in a certain measure for such things as form their\nspecial object; but philosophy, the highest, the deepest, and the most\nuniversal of sciences, not only embraces in its general scope all the\nobjects of human knowledge, but accounts for them by their highest\nprinciples and causes, and makes them not only known, but understood.\nTo know facts is an excellent thing; yet the human mind craves\nsomething higher. We are all born to be philosophers. Indeed, our\nrational nature teaches us very early the first elements of philosophy,\nand compels us to philosophize. As soon as we acquire the use of\nreason, we detect ourselves tracing effects to causes, and conclusions\nto principles; and from that time we experience a strong tendency to\ngeneralize such a process, till it extends to all known objects and to\nthe ultimate reasons of their being.\n\nYet we should reflect that our rational nature, while thus prompting\nus to such high investigations, does not lead us freely to the goal,\nbut leaves it to our industry to acquaint ourselves with the proper\nmethods of discovering philosophical truth. Negligence in the study of\nsuch methods hinders intellectual advancement, and leaves men exposed\nto the snares of sophistry. Such a negligence on the part of men who\nare looked upon as the lights of modern science is one of the great\nevils of the day. Distaste for philosophical instruction, when confined\nto the lower classes of society, is of little consequence: even in\nthe middle classes it might be comparatively harmless if men were\nready to own their ignorance, and forbore judging of what transcends\ntheir intellectual acquirements. But in an age like ours, when every\none who has a smattering of light literature or of empirical science\nthinks himself called upon to decide the most abstruse and formidable\nquestions; when countless books and periodicals of a perfidious\ncharacter are everywhere spread by the unholy efforts of secret\nsocieties; and, when a confiding public allow themselves to be led like\nsheep by such incompetent authorities, then ignorance, supported by\npresumption or malice on the one side, and by credulity on the other,\ncannot but be the source of incalculable evils.\n\nHence it is that all prudent and experienced men have come to the\nconclusion that one of the greatest necessities of our times is to\npopularize the study of sound philosophy. Young America needs to be\ntaught that there is a whole world of important truths ranging above\nthe grasp of the vulgar, uncultivated mind, unknown to the pretentious\nteachers of a material and spurious civilization, and unattainable by\nthose who are not trained to the best use of their intellectual powers.\nIt needs to realize the fact that modern literature and thought in\ngeneral is full of deceits. It needs to be instructed how to meet a\nhost of high-sounding assertions, plausible fallacies, and elaborate\ntheories, advanced in support of social, religious, or political error.\nIt needs to be enabled, by a sound, uniform, and strong teaching,\ngradually to form into a compact body, held together by the noble\nties of truth, powerful enough to stem the torrent of infidelity, and\nalways ready to defend right and justice against learned hypocrisy, as\nwell as against ignorant sophistry. Grown-up men cannot be reclaimed;\nthey are too much engrossed with material interests to find leisure\nfor the cultivation of their higher faculties; but we are glad to see\nthat our brilliant and unbiassed youth can be given, and are ready to\nreceive, a more intellectual education. Let us only convince them of\nthe importance of philosophy; let us provide them with good, kind, and\nlearned teachers, and the future will be ours.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[88] Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by Rev. I.\nT. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington,\nD. C.\n\n[89] Fleming, in his _Dictionary of Philosophy_ (v. Metaphysics), says:\n\"In Latin, _metaphysica_ is synonymous with _supernaturalia_; and\nShakespeare has used _metaphysical_ as synonymous with _supernatural_:\n\n    '... Fate and metaphysical aid doth seem\n    To have thee crowned.'\n\n                    --_Macbeth_, act i., scene 3.\n\nClemens Alexandrinus (_Strom._ i.) considered _metaphysical_ as\nequivalent to _supernatural_; and is supported by an anonymous Greek\ncommentator, etc.\"\n\nThat Shakespeare's _metaphysical aid_ means the aid of some mysterious\npower above nature may be conceded. But that in Latin _metaphysica_\nis synonymous with _supernaturalia_ is an assertion which can be\neasily refuted by a simple reference to any of the great Latin\nworks of metaphysics. Nor is it true that Clemens Alexandrinus\nconsidered _metaphysical_ as equivalent to _supernatural_. He only\nremarks that Aristotle's _Metaphysics_ is that part of philosophy\nwhich Plato at one time styled \"a contemplation of truly great\nmysteries,\" and at other times \"dialectics\"--that is, \"a science\nwhich investigates the reasons of the things that are\" (\u03c4\u1fc6\u03c2 \u03c4\u1ff6\u03bd\n\u1f44\u03bd\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03b4\u03b7\u03bb\u03ce\u03c3\u03b5\u03c9\u03c2 \u03b5\u1f50\u03c1\u03b7\u03c4\u03b9\u03ba\u1f74 \u03c4\u03af\u03c2 \u1f10\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9\u03bd \u1f10\u03c0\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03ae\u03bc\u03b7). Now, the science which\ninvestigates the reasons of the things that are extends to _all_\nreal beings. It is not true, therefore, that Clemens Alexandrinus\nconsidered _metaphysical_ as equivalent to _supernatural_. The truth\nis that he does not even use the word _metaphysics_ as his own, but\nonly says that Aristotle's _Metaphysics_ contains the investigation\nand contemplation of \"mysteries\"--that is, of abstruse things. And\nsince Aristotle's _metaphysics_ is not a science of the supernatural,\nClemens Alexandrinus, in quoting the word _metaphysics_ in connection\nwith Aristotle, cannot have considered it as equivalent to the science\nof the supernatural. Lastly, Clemens Alexandrinus explains that the\nscience which Aristotle called _metaphysics_, and Plato _dialectics_,\nhas for its object the consideration of things, and the determination\nof their powers and attributes, from which it raises itself to their\nvery essence, whence again it ventures to go further, even to God\nhimself, the master of the universe. \u0395\u03c0\u03b9\u03c3\u03ba\u03bf\u03c0\u03bf\u1fe6\u03c3\u03b1 \u03c4\u1f70 \u03c0\u03c1\u03ac\u03b3\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1, \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u1f70\u03c2\n\u03b4\u03c5\u03bd\u03ac\u03bc\u03b5\u03b9\u03c2, \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u1f70\u03c2 \u1f10\u03be\u03bf\u03c5\u03c3\u03af\u03b1\u03c2 \u03b4\u03bf\u03ba\u03b9\u03bc\u03ac\u03b6\u03bf\u03c5\u03c3\u03b1, \u1f50\u03c0\u03b5\u03be\u03b1\u03bd\u03b1\u03b2\u03b1\u03af\u03bd\u03b5\u03b9 \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u1f76 \u03c4\u1f74\u03bd \u03c0\u03ac\u03bd\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd\n\u03ba\u03c1\u03b1\u03c4\u03af\u03c3\u03c4\u03b7\u03bd \u03bf\u1f50\u03c3\u03af\u03b1\u03bd, \u03c4\u03bf\u03bb\u03bc\u1fb6 \u03c4\u03b5 \u1f10\u03c0\u03ad\u03ba\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd\u03b1 \u1f10\u03c0\u1f76 \u03c4\u1ff6\u03bd \u1f44\u03bb\u03c9\u03bd \u0398\u03b5\u1f78\u03bd (_Strom._, lib.\ni. c. 28). This shows that metaphysical science, according to Clemens\nAlexandrinus, extends to the investigation of all natural things.\nIt cannot, therefore, be said that he considered _metaphysical_ as\nequivalent to _supernatural_, whatever may have been the opinion of the\nanonymous Greek commentator.\n\n[90] Grove, _Correlation of Physical Forces_.\n\n[91] Suarez, _Metaph. Disput._, i. sect. 2, n. 25.\n\n[92] S. Thomas says: _Intellectus potest intelligere aliquam formam\nabsque individuantibus principiis, non tamen absque materia, a qua\ndependet ratio illius form\u00e6_ (in 3 _De Anima_, lect. 8).\n\n[93] _Nature_, a Journal of Science, March 13, 1873.\n\n\n\n\nEPIGRAM.\n\n\n    Inconstant thou! There ne'er was any\n    Till now so constant--to so many.\n\n                                    AUBREY DE VERE.\n\n\n\n\nDANTE'S PURGATORIO.\n\nCANTO FOURTH.\n\n  This Canto, being somewhat abstruse, was passed over at its due\n  place in the series of these translations. As its omission has been\n  regretted by some students of Dante, it has been thought best to\n  publish it now, although the first portion of it may seem a little\n  difficult to any but a mathematical reader. Perhaps its dryness\n  may be somewhat relieved at the close by the humorous picture of\n  the lazy sinner Belacqua, which is the first slight touch of the\n  comic in this most grave comedy, and here for the first time Dante\n  confesses to a smile.\n\n\n      Whene'er the mind, from any joy or pain\n    In any faculty, to that alone\n      Bends its whole force, its other powers remain\n    Unexercised, it seems (whereby is shown\n      Plain contradiction of th' erroneous view\n    Which holds within us kindled several souls).\n      Hence, when we hear or see a thing whereto\n    The mind is strongly drawn, unheeded rolls\n      The passing hour; the man observes it not:\n    That power is one whereby we hear or see,\n      And that another which absorbs our thought;\n    This being chained, as 'twere--the former free.\n\n      A real experience of this truth had I,\n    Listening that soul with wonder at such force,\n      For now the sun full fifty degrees high\n    Had risen without my noticing his course,\n      When came we where the spirits, with one voice all,\n    Cried out to us, \"Behold the place ye seek!\"\n      A wider opening oft, in hedge or wall,\n    Some farmer, when the grape first browns its cheek,\n      Stops with one forkful of his brambles thrown,\n    Than was the narrow pass whereby my Guide\n      Began to climb, I following on alone,\n    While from our way I saw those wanderers glide.\n\n      A man may climb St. Leo, or descend\n    The steeps of Noli, or Bismantua's height\n      Scale to the top, and on his feet depend;\n    _Here_ one should fly! I mean he needs the light\n      Pinions and plumage of a strong desire,\n    Under such leadership as gave me hope\n      And lighted me my way. Advancing higher\n    In through the broken rock, it left no scope\n      On either side, but cramped us close; the ledge\n    O'er which we crept required both feet and hands.\n      When we had toiled up to the utmost edge\n    Of the high bank, where the clear coast expands,\n      \"Which way,\" said I, \"my Master, shall we take?\"\n    And he to me, \"Let not thy foot fall back;\n      Still follow me, and for the mountain make,\n    Until some guide appear who knows the track.\"\n      Its top sight reached not, and the hillside rose\n    With far more salient angle than the line\n      That from half-quadrant to the centre goes.\n    Most weary was I: \"Gentle Father mine,\"\n      I thus broke silence, \"turn and see that if\n    Thou stay not for me, I remain alone.\"\n      \"Struggle, my son, as far as yonder cliff,\"\n    He said, and pointed upwards to a zone\n      Terracing all the mountain on that side.\n    His word so spurred me that I forced myself\n      And clambered on still close behind my Guide\n    Until my feet were on that girdling shelf.\n\n      Here we sat down and turned our faces towards\n    The East, from which point we had made ascent\n      (For looking back on toil some rest affords);\n    And on the low shore first mine eyes I bent,\n      Then raised them sunward, wondering as I gazed\n    How his light smote us from the left. While thus\n      I stared, he marked how I beheld amazed\n    Day's chariot entering 'twixt the North and us.\n      \"Were yonder mirror now,\" the Poet said,\n    \"That with his light leads up and down the spheres,\n      In Castor and Pollux, thou wouldst see the red\n    Zodiac revolving closer to the Bears,\n      If it swerved nothing from its ancient course;\n    Which fact to fathom wouldst thou power command,\n      Imagine, with thy mind's collected force,\n    This mount and Zion so on earth to stand\n      That though in adverse hemispheres, the twain\n    One sole horizon have: thence 'tis not hard\n      To see (if clear thine intellect remain)\n    How the Sun's road--which Phaeton, ill-starred,\n      Knew not to keep--must pass that mountain o'er\n    On one, and _this_ hill on the other side.\"\n      \"Certes, my Master,--ne'er saw I before\n    So clear as at this moment,\" I replied\n      (Where seemed but now my understanding maimed),\n    \"How the mid-circle of the heavenly spheres\n      And of their movements--the Equator named\n    In special term of art--which never veers\n      From its old course, 'twixt winter and the Sun,\n    Yet for the reason thou dost now assign,\n      Towards the Septentrion from this point doth run,\n    While to the Jews it bore a South decline.\n      But if it please thee, gladly would I learn\n    How far we have to journey; for so high\n      This hill soars that mine eyes cannot discern\n    The top thereof.\" He made me this reply:\n      \"Such is this mountain that for one below\n    The first ascent is evermore severe,\n      It grows less painful higher as we go.\n    So when to thee it pleasant shall appear\n      That no more toil thy climbing shall attend\n    Than to sail down the way the current flows,\n      Then art thou near unto thy pathway's end;\n    There from thy labor look to find repose.\n      I know that this is true, but say no more.\"\n    And this word uttered, not far off addressed\n      Me thus a voice: \"It may be that before\n    That pass, thou wilt have need to sit and rest.\"\n      At sound thereof we both looked round, and there\n    Beheld a huge rock, close to our left hand,\n      Whereof till now we had not been aware.\n    Thither we toiled, and in its shade a band\n      Behind it stood with a neglectful air,\n    As men in idleness are wont to stand.\n\n\nBELACQUA THE SLUGGARD.\n\n      And one was seated, hanging down his face\n    Between his knees, which he with languid limb,\n      Looking exhausted, held in his embrace.\n    \"O my sweet Seignior!\" I exclaimed, \"note him!\n      Lazier-looking than had laziness been\n    His sister-born.\" Turning towards us, at length\n      He gazed, slow lifting o'er his thigh his chin,\n    And drawled, \"Go up, then, thou who hast such strength.\"\n      I knew who _that_ was then; and though the ascent\n    Had made me pant somewhat, I kept my pace,\n      Spite of short breath: close up to him I went,\n    And he droned forth, scarce lifting up his face,\n      \"Hast thou found out yet how the Sun this way\n    O'er thy left shoulder doth his chariot guide?\"\n      His sloth, and what few words he had to say,\n    Made me smile slightly, and I thus replied:\n      \"No more, Belacqua, do I mourn thy fate;\n    But tell me wherefore in this place I see\n      Thee sitting thus? Dost thou for escort wait,\n    Or has thy old slow habit seized on thee?\"\n\n      And he--\"O brother! what boots it to climb?\n    God's Angel sitting at the gate denies\n      Me way to penance until so much time\n    Be past as living I beheld the skies.\n      Outside I must remain here for the crime\n    Of dallying to the last my contrite sighs,\n      Unless I happily some help derive\n    From the pure prayer ascending from a heart\n      That lives in grace: a prayer not thus alive\n    Heaven doth not hear: what aid can such impart?\"\n\n      Now before me the Poet up the height\n    Began to climb, saying, \"Come on, for o'er\n      This hill's meridian hangs the Sun, and Night\n    Sets foot already on Morocco's shore.\"\n\n\nNOTE.\n\n  The Rev. Edward Everett Hale, in a most interesting paper intended\n  for presentation to the American Antiquarian Society, in Boston,\n  makes this record:\n\n  \"When Columbus sailed on his fourth voyage, he wrote to Ferdinand\n  and Isabella a letter which contains the following statement with\n  regard to the South Sea, then undiscovered, known to us as the\n  Pacific Ocean:\n\n  \"'I believe that if I should pass under the equator, in arriving at\n  this higher region of which I speak, I should find there a milder\n  temperature and a diversity in the stars and in the waters. Not\n  that I believe that the highest point is navigable whence these\n  currents flow, nor that we can mount there, because I am convinced\n  that there is the terrestrial paradise, whence no one can enter but\n  by the will of God.'\n\n  \"This curious passage, of which the language seems so mystical,\n  represents none the less the impression which Columbus had of\n  the physical cosmogony of the undiscovered half of the world. It\n  is curious to observe that the most elaborate account of this\n  cosmogony, and that by which alone it has been handed down to\n  the memory of modern times, is that presented in Dante's _Divina\n  Commedia_, where he represents the mountain of Purgatory, at the\n  antipodes of Jerusalem, crowned by the terrestrial paradise. It is\n  this paradise of which Columbus says, 'No one can enter it but by\n  the will of God.'\n\n  \"Of Dante's cosmogony a very accurate account is given by Miss\n  Rossetti, in her essay on Dante, recently published, to which she\n  gives the name of 'The Shadow of Dante.' Her statement is in these\n  words:\n\n  \"'Dante divides our globe into two elemental hemispheres--the\n  Eastern, chiefly of land; the Western, almost wholly of water.'\"\n\n  It is much easier to praise Mr. Hale's valuable comments than to\n  agree with Miss Rossetti. To us it seems that her confused account\n  lets no light in upon Dante's cosmogony, which was simply that of\n  the age he lived in, poetized after his own fashion. According\n  to the interpretation of THE CATHOLIC WORLD's translation, Dante\n  divides our globe into two hemispheres--_Northern_ and _Southern_.\n  In the story of Ulysses (_Inferno_, Canto xxvi.) he alludes to a\n  Western hemisphere, and, as far as we remember, nowhere else. Mr.\n  Hale says in conclusion of his able paper, \"I am not aware that any\n  of the distinguished critics of Dante have called attention to the\n  fact that so late as the year 1503, a navigator so illustrious as\n  Columbus was still conducting his voyages on the supposition that\n  Dante's cosmogony was true in fact.\"\n\n  This, indeed, is quite curious, but ought not to surprise one who\n  reflects that the cosmography of Columbus was not much advanced\n  from the time of Dante. In this very canto the poet shows that he\n  knew about the variation of the ecliptic and the retrogression of\n  the equinoxes. From his age to that of the great navigator, science\n  had hardly taken a forward step. In fact, before 1300, Dante was\n  acquainted not only with the sphericity of the earth, but with the\n  first law of gravitation--the tendency of things to their centre.\n  Few consider how very slow was the growth of science from that\n  which Dante had learned in Florence, and Columbus had studied in\n  Pavia and Sienna, up to the time of Copernicus, at whom, so late as\n  1625, Lord Bacon had the hardihood to give this fling: \"Who would\n  not smile at the astronomers--I mean, not those _carmen_ which\n  drive the earth about, but the few ancient astronomers, which feign\n  the moon to be the swiftest of the planets in motion, etc.?\"\n\n  The pages of this magazine will not permit us to prolong an inquiry\n  that may hereafter, and which ought to, be made as to the Ptolemean\n  astronomy of the schools in the age of Dante. The one scholar in\n  this country most capable of such investigation is too busy--we\n  mean Professor Peirce, of the U. S. Coast Survey.--TRANSLATOR.\n\n\n\n\nGRAPES AND THORNS.\n\n\nBY THE AUTHOR OF \"THE HOUSE OF YORKE.\"\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nMOTHER CHEVREUSE AGAIN.\n\nIf one would take the trouble to search into the subject, it would,\nperhaps, be acknowledged that the apparently unreasonable emotion that\nwomen display on occasions when men find themselves unmoved is not,\nafter all, entirely ridiculous. It may be annoying, it may partake of\nthe hysterical; but, if genuine, it is the sign of a more subtile,\nthough often vague, perception.\n\nA woman whom the Creator has endowed so nobly with intellect as to make\nit a source of painful regret that the infinitely higher supernatural\ngifts are lacking in her has written words which may be quoted in\nthis connection: \"That element of tragedy which lies in the very fact\nof frequency has not yet wrought itself into the coarse emotions of\nmankind; and perhaps our frames could hardly bear much of it. If we had\na keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like\nhearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die\nof that roar which lies on the other side of silence. As it is, the\nquickest of us walk about well wadded with stupidity.\"\n\nHad George Eliot been gifted with faith as with reason, she could not\nhave written that paragraph without recollecting that the saint on\nearth is an exception to her rule; that the soul illumined by the Holy\nSpirit has so keen a perception, not of natural things as such, but\nof natural things in their relations to God; that but for the divine\nstrength and peace which accompany the holy presence, it could not\nendure that vision of eternal results hanging on apparently trivial\ncauses. To such a soul there are but two paths, and every smallest step\nis in the road to heaven or the road to hell.\n\nLook at those saints, and listen to them. They were worn and pallid;\nthey were consumed by a fiery zeal because of this awful tragedy they\nsaw in the perpetually recurring common events of life. They heard for\never that roar of eternity from the other side of the silence of death.\n\nBut regarding the natural, of which our author speaks, she is right.\nThe greater number of us are \"well-wadded with stupidity,\" though women\nare by nature far less so than men. Their view is often distorted and\nvague; they tremble at shadows, and do not know where to look for the\nsubstance which casts them; but the substance is there, nevertheless.\nThey feel the tragedy hidden in common things, whether they can explain\nit or not. It must be remembered that while man was made of the slime\nof the earth, woman was formed of flesh; and that the material part\nwhich is the veil between her spirit and the outer world has felt twice\nthe refining touch of the Creator's hand.\n\nIs all this too large an _\u00e0 propos_ to the tears which women are\naccused of shedding whenever they see a marriage? Think a moment\nbefore deciding. Not the happiness or misery of these two alone is in\nquestion, but that of an endless line of possible descendants. There\nis, indeed, no kind of tragedy which may not follow on a marriage.\n\nAfter this long preamble, we may venture to say that both Mme. Ferrier\nand Mrs. Gerald were moved to tears at the marriage of their children;\nthe former crying openly and naturally, the latter showing her emotion\nwith that restraint which conventional life imposes. Each understood\nthe other, and was cordially drawn to the other for, perhaps, the first\ntime in all their acquaintance. They stood side by side on the wharf as\nthe steamer which bore the young couple left it, and gazed after their\nchildren, who waved handkerchiefs and kisses to them from the deck. A\nfew hours in the steamer would carry them to the city, where they were\nto take the cars for Niagara. Annette wished to see the falls when the\nautumn foliage should form a setting for them, and Lawrence had his own\nreason for liking the place.\n\n\"I have the greatest sympathy and affection for waterfalls,\" he said;\n\"and I would like to live near Niagara. One gets so tired of hearing\nof rising and aspiring that it is a real relief to see some object\nin creation that lets things slide, and lays all its cares on the\nshoulders of gravity. I like to see those green waters just go to sleep\nand tumble along without troubling themselves. As I remember that\nriver, it looked like melted chrysoprase.\"\n\n\"It is true, my son,\" the mother had answered, tremulously tender\nand smiling. \"But to let things slide, as you express it, is to go\ndownward.\"\n\n\"And just as inevitably,\" he rejoined, kissing her, \"does my pretty\nmother find something to moralize about in every random word her\nworthless son utters.\"\n\nThey were going, then, to Niagara. The steamer threw the waters of the\nSaranac backward from her prow, and left a snowy wake, like a bridal\nveil, trailing after her. The sun was going down, and the new moon\nhung, a crescent of fire, in the cloudless west.\n\n\"The new moon is over our right shoulders. Let's wish,\" said Lawrence.\n\"That is one of my pet superstitions.\"\n\nThe bride shook her head playfully. \"Then I must forbid your wishing.\nWe are going to be very good, you know, and not commit the least sin\nto-day.\" Seeing a faint shade came over his face at her chiding, she\nmade haste to add: \"We will convert this superstition into something\ngood. Fancy Our Lady standing on that crescent, and say an _Ave_. And\nsince we are making the stars our rosary, we will look for the three\nmagi. Spanish sailors call by that name the stars in Orion's belt. He\nshould be in the east before long. These sailors say that he who sees\nthe three magi is not far from the Saviour. Whenever I see them, and\nthink of it, I make acts of faith, hope, and charity. Will you say them\nwith me to-night?\"\n\nLawrence Gerald looked intently and curiously at his young wife. If\nshe had been a stranger to him, he would have been captivated by her.\n\"Annette,\" he said, \"I don't feel so well acquainted with you as I\nthought I was.\"\n\n\"It will take us a good many years to become well acquainted with each\nother,\" she answered quietly. \"Now let's take a seat at the other side\nof the deck, and look for the three magi. Good-night, Crichton!\"\n\nShe leaned over the rail, and looked back for one moment at the city.\nWhatever thoughts may have surged up, whatever fears, hopes, or\nregrets, they found no utterance. No one saw the look in her eyes.\nThen she took her husband's arm, and crossed the deck.\n\n\"There come the Pleiades, like a little cluster of golden grapes, and\nthere is Aldebaran; and now, Orion, buckle on your belt, and come\nforth.\"\n\n\"By the way,\" said Lawrence, struck by a sudden thought, \"you are Mrs.\nGerald; did you know it?\"\n\n\"Are you sorry for it?\" she asked, and tried to make the question sound\nplayful, but with ill success.\n\n\"I am rather astonished,\" he replied; and seemed really to find the\nthought a new one.\n\nAnnette could not restrain a momentary outburst, though she blushed\nwith mortification for it as soon as the words were spoken. \"O\nLawrence! cannot you speak one word of kindness to me?\" As though that\ncould be kindness which waits till asked for.\n\nHe took the appeal jestingly. \"You shall dictate. Only tell me what you\nwould be pleased to have me say, and I will repeat it, like an obedient\nhusband.\"\n\nThen, seeing her blush, and that she shrank from him with a look that\nwas almost aversion, he spoke seriously.\n\n\"I do not mean to be unkind to you, Annette. Have patience with me.\nYou have made a bad bargain, but I am, perhaps, more grateful than I\nappear; and I like you better every day.\"\n\nShe made no reply, but leaned back and looked at the stars coming out,\none by one. There was no delight in her heart, but a greater peace and\nsweetness than she had even hoped for. \"I like you better every day.\"\nHow softly the words echoed in her ears!\n\nWhen the steamer had disappeared around a curve of the river, Mrs.\nFerrier turned her tear-drenched face to Mrs. Gerald, and sobbed out,\n\"They are gone! They are not our children any more.\"\n\nMrs. Gerald did not trust herself to speak; but she laid a kind hand on\nthe mother's arm, and tried to smile.\n\n\"Do come home with me!\" Mrs. Ferrier begged. \"It is so lonesome there I\ncan't bear to go into the house. Come and stay to tea, you and Honora.\"\n\nBut Mrs. Gerald had promised to drive out with Mrs. Macon to see the\nSisters, and the bright little lady was waiting impatiently for her; so\nto Honora was left the task of comforting Annette's mother.\n\nOn their way home, Mrs. Ferrier started up suddenly, and ordered the\ncoachman to stop. \"I don't care if he is a Jew,\" she said, having\ncaught sight of Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger. \"He's good enough to be a Christian;\nand I'm going to ask him to supper.\" And before Honora could prevent\nit, even if she had desired to, the gentleman had been beckoned to the\ncarriage, and the invitation given and accepted.\n\n\"I'm not what people call a lady,\" Mrs. Ferrier said, as they drove on\nagain, \"but I believe I know a gentleman when I see him; and if there\never was a true gentleman, he is one. How he does it I don't know; but\nhe some way makes me respect myself. He doesn't flatter me; I am sure\nhe doesn't care for my money, and that he knows I am no scholar; but it\nseems to me as if he thinks there is something respectable in being an\nhonest woman, no matter how ignorant you are; and I'm just as sure that\nthat man never laughs at me, and is mad when other people do it, as I\nam that I sit here. In my house, when some of those little upstarts\nhave been talking to me, and trying to make me say things--I knew all\nthe time what they were up to!--I've seen him come marching across the\nroom to me like a king, and scatter them as if they were mice, with\njust one glance of his eyes. I'm not a fool, and I know my friends.\"\n\nHonora's visit was a short one; and after an hour of pleasant talk, she\nstarted for home, accompanied by Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger. They had been speaking\nof the _Moonlight Sonata_; and, since the hour was early, the gentleman\nasked permission to go in and play it on Miss Pembroke's piano.\n\n\"I was about to ask you to,\" she said cordially. \"It has been on my\nmind that I never heard you play that; and I fancy that my piano is\njust the instrument for it, the tone is so soft and rich.\"\n\nMrs. Gerald had not yet returned. The night was very warm, and the\ndoors and windows all stood open, the parlor being lighted only from\nthe next room. Honora seated herself by an open window, and listened\nwith a perfect enjoyment to which nothing was wanting. She was in\nthe mood to hear music, the composition and the rendering were both\nexcellent, and the half-light in-doors and out not only veiled all\ndefects in their surroundings, but invested them with a soft and dreamy\ngrace.\n\nHer mood was so happy that, when the sonata was ended, she did not\nfeel obliged to praise it, nor to speak at all; and they were silent a\nlittle while, Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger touching octaves with his right hand so\nexquisitely that they faltered out as the stars come--faint at first,\nyet ending brightly.\n\n\"I like to look on the whole of creation as a symphony,\" he said\npresently. \"The morning stars sang together. What a song it must\nbe to the ears that can hear it! Fancy them setting out on that\nrace, their hearts on fire, their orbits ringing as they rolled,\ntheir sides blooming, light just kindled! The stars, then, being\ntuneful, everything on their surfaces and beneath them must have been\nharmonious. How complex and wonderful--large and small, from the song\nof the sun to the song of the pine-needles! The ocean had its tune,\nand the rivers, and there was music in the clouds that rose from them.\nHow ethereal it must have been! Yes, nature was born singing, and\neverything was musically ordered. The days were grouped in octaves.\nThey climbed from Sabbath to Sabbath.\"\n\nHe had spoken slowly, as if to himself, or to some sweeter self, and\nlet a note drop here and there into pauses. He paused a moment now,\nthen added: \"What is music? It is harmonious action; and in action the\nmystical number is seven.\"\n\nHe lifted his head, but not his eyes, and seemed to await a reply.\n\n\"And in being, the perfect number is three,\" Honora said quietly.\n\nHe did not answer for a moment, and, if he understood her meaning,\ndid not reply to it when he spoke. \"I had not thought of that; but I\ncatch a glimpse of truth in your remark which I should like to follow\nout. In nature, there are the three colors for one item. In art--say,\narchitecture--there are the three types: the rectangular Greek,\nrounding up into Roman, as if lifted over a head passing under, and the\nGothic, shaped like a flame. Those may be the signs of the material,\nthe intellectual, and the spiritual. Yes, I must follow that out.\"\n\nThe light was too dim to show how Miss Pembroke's cheeks reddened as\nshe said, \"The feasts in the church carry out this musical idea, and\nhave their octaves; and for the Supreme Being, there is trinity.\"\n\nWas it fair or wise to catch him so? She doubted, and awaited his next\nremark in some agitation.\n\n\"Miss Pembroke, I respect your opinions and your beliefs,\" he said,\nwith a dignified emphasis which might be meant to reassure or to\nreprove her. In either case, it was impossible for her to pursue the\nsubject.\n\nFeeling slightly embarrassed, she caught at the first subject that\npresented itself. \"You have done a great deal for music in Crichton,\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger,\" she said. \"You have taught our musicians, and improved\nthe public taste immensely. Our people are musically inclined; and I\nhope the time may come when we shall have great artists among us who\nwill do something besides present the works of others. I do not profess\nto be a critic, or learned in the art; but it seems to me that it is\nnot yet exhausted, and that in the way of musical declamation there is\nmuch to be done. I have often thought that words do not belong with the\nhighest kinds of music that we have at present, with the one exception\nof that wonderful _Miserere_, which one hears in perfection only in\nRome. I would like to have a chant or recitative style for sublime and\nbeautiful thoughts, so that the words should be more prominent than the\ntune, yet be delivered as one might fancy they would be delivered in\nheaven. That is the kind of music I wish to have grow up here. It would\nsuit us better than the other. It is more rapid and impetuous.\"\n\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger half uttered a doubtful \"yes!\"\n\n\"But art needs a warm atmosphere and an ardent people,\" he added; \"and\nthe kind of music you describe, which is in form like improvisation,\nis a failure if without enthusiasm in the singer and the listener.\nOrnate music may be sung by an almost soulless performer so as to\nproduce an impression of meaning something, because the notes tell all;\nbut declamatory music is a dead body, into which a singer must breathe\na soul.\"\n\n\"So much the better,\" she replied. \"Give the notes that tell all to\nthe instrument. But when the text has great meaning, let a human voice\ninterpret it, without help of florid ornamentation. But you, an artist,\nare content to breathe this cold atmosphere!\"\n\n\"I am at once contented and discontented.\" His voice softened. \"For I\nbehold at last what I want, yet do not possess it.\"\n\nHe stopped, as if for some sign or question; but Honora did not utter a\nword. His voice, far more than what he said, startled and silenced her.\n\nHe turned gently toward her. \"Would it be possible, Miss Pembroke, that\nI should find favor in your eyes?\"\n\n\"You are, then, a Catholic?\" she said quietly.\n\nIt was not necessary for her to say any more; yet he would not yield\nwithout a struggle, vain as it was.\n\n\"You exaggerate the difference between us,\" he said earnestly, coming\nnearer. \"It is one of form rather than meaning. If I choose to walk by\nthe pure, white light, and you prefer the prismatic colors, still both\nare but different conditions of the same light, and what I adore is the\nsource of all that you adore. Your Christ quoted as the greatest of\nall the Commandments the very one which is greatest to me. You would\nhave perfect freedom with me. Honora, and a greater love than words can\ntell.\"\n\n\"Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger,\" she exclaimed, \"can you for one instant believe that\nI would be the wife of a man who scorns as an impostor him whom I adore\nas a God?\"\n\n\"I could not scorn where you adore,\" he replied. \"The mistake is not\nyours, and the imposture is not his. I find him good, and noble, and\nsweet, and lovely almost beyond human loveliness. Do you forget that\nhe also was a Jew? All that you see in the Son, and the saint, and the\napostle I see in God. These beings you honor are but scattered rays of\nthe great Luminary. We are not so different as we appear.\"\n\n\"You believe in the God who created, and loved, and preserved,\" she\nsaid; \"but you do not believe in the God who loved even unto death.\nMy God has suffered for me. The difference is infinite. It cannot be\nset aside. The memories that pierce my heart leave you unmoved. The\nShepherd who went in search of his lost sheep you know nothing of.\nThe despised and rejected One weeping over Jerusalem you care nothing\nfor. That humility, so astounding and so touching, of a God making\nhimself small enough for me to possess; what is it to you? Nothing but\na stumbling-block. Is your God a Father in heaven?\"\n\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger was standing now, and his earnestness was fully equal\nto Honora's. \"My God is a father, and more than a father,\" he said;\n\"and he is pitiful to his children, even while he afflicts them. I\nsee in him the beneficent Provider, who every day for his children\nworks miracles greater far than those recorded in the New Testament.\nHe renews the seasons, the light. Every day is a creation. He gives us\nthe fruits of the earth. He lavishes beauty everywhere to please us. He\nsees men unmindful of the laws which he wrote on the tables of their\nhearts, and yet he pities and spares them. Oh! I am talking to the\nwind!\"\n\n\"It is indeed useless for us to talk on this subject, Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger,\"\nHonora said firmly.\n\nHe stood a moment leaning against the side of the window where she sat,\nand looking down at her face, that showed pale even in that dim light.\n\"You reject me only because I am a Jew?\" he asked. \"Pardon me!\" for she\nhad made a slight movement of displeasure. \"Do not forget that I love\nyou. Is that no claim on your kindness?\"\n\n\"I do not feel any unkindness for you; but since you are not a\nChristian, I cannot tell how I would feel if you were one.\"\n\nThe reply sounded cold.\n\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger bowed, with an immediate resumption of ceremony. \"I\nhave, then, only to ask your pardon for having intruded a disagreeable\nsubject on you,\" he said. \"Good-evening!\"\n\nShe watched him going out, and saw that at the gate he was joined by F.\nChevreuse, who was just returning home from a sick-call.\n\n\"Oh! what will F. Chevreuse say to me?\" she murmured. \"What would\ndear Mother Chevreuse have said to me? It is all my fault! I had too\nmuch confidence in my own wisdom! They were right: there should be no\nintimacy with unbelievers.\"\n\n\"And so you hate creeds?\" F. Chevreuse was saying, in reply to an\nexclamation of Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger's. \"And what of your own, pray?\"\n\nThe Jew drew away, with a slightly impatient gesture, when the priest\nmade a motion to take his arm. He had no desire to advance a step\ntoward that barrier against which he had just bruised himself. The\nwarning, \"Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther,\" was too fresh in his\nmemory.\n\n\"My creed,\" he answered, \"is not one of those inexorable ones that\nlife dashes men against, as the sea dashes them on the rocks. It does\nnot preach charity and practise hate. It does not set up barriers\nbetween man and man, and treat nine-tenths of the world as heathen. It\ndoes not profess the most sublime reliance on God, and then practise\nthe most subtle worldly wisdom. It is not even the old Jewish belief\nin its formality. That was as the roots of a plant of which true\nJudaism is the blossom. We cling to the old name, and some cling to\nthe old belief, merely because it has been hated and persecuted. If\nmy forefathers rejected and crucified him whom you call the Christ,\nyour church has excluded and crucified my people till they have bled\nat every pore. They have been mocked, and beaten, and spit upon;\nand yet you say that the dying prayer of your Model was, '_Father,\nforgive them, for they know not what they do_.' However it may be\nwith individuals in your church--and I have found them noble and\ncharitable--as a sect,\n\n\"Their life laughs through, and spits at their creed.\"\n\nIf they had practised the charity they professed, there would not now\nbe an old-creed Jew in the world.\"\n\nF. Chevreuse saw how vain it would be to combat the man in his present\nmood, and he strongly suspected what trouble lay at the bottom of it.\nHad he been less truly charitable, he might have persuaded himself that\nit was his duty to make a counter attack or a convincing argument--a\nmistake sometimes made by people who like to think that they are\nzealously indignant because God's truth is assailed, when, in reality,\nthere may be a good deal of personal feeling because some one has\nspoken lightly of _their_ belief. F. Chevreuse made neither this\nmistake nor that other of throwing away argument on an excited man.\nThe end he sought was the glory of God in the conversion of souls; and\nif, to accomplish that, it had been necessary for him to stand, like\nhis divine Master, \"opening not his lips,\" while truth was reviled, he\nwould have done it.\n\n\"I am a better Jew than you are, then,\" he said gently, and put his\narm in Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger's, who, in the surprise at this unexpected tone,\ndid not shrink from him. \"I am proud of that ancient people of God. In\nthe morning of humanity, it was the pillar of cloud which was to give\nplace to the pillar of fire at the gloaming of the race. To me, all\nthe glorious points in their history are literally true. Moses wears\nhis two beams of light; the bush burns without being consumed; at\nthe stroke of a rod, water gushes from the rock, or is piled up in a\nwall--it is literally true, not a figure. But the sacrifice was above\nall. Those poor exiles from Eden were deprived of present happiness;\nbut they were full of knowledge, and comforted by hope. They were\nbut just from the hand of the Creator, and were more perfect in mind\nand body than any since. They had spoken face to face with God. He\ncondemned them for their sin, but promised them a Redeemer, and gave\nthem the sacrifice as a sign. I have always thought that there was\nsomething very touching in the sacrifice which Cain and Abel offered\nup. They were commemorating the sin of their own parents. Then, see\nhow wonderfully that idea of an offended God demanding a propitiatory\nsacrifice clung to the human mind! The universality of the belief\nwould prove its truth, if there were no other proof. How it must have\nbeen branded on the souls of Adam and Eve to last so! The race grew,\nand broke into fragments that scattered far and wide. For centuries\nthey never met, and they lost all memory of each other. Their habits\nand their languages changed; the faces of some grew dark; there was\nscarcely a sign of brotherhood between them. If they met, they were as\nstrange to each other as the inhabitants of different planets. Some\nadored one God, some believed in many. In spiritual matters, there\nwas only one point which they held in common. You have, perhaps, seen\nthe little _Agnus Dei_ that Catholics wear--a bit of wax with a lamb\nstamped on it. Well, sir, every soul that God sent into the world had\nthe sacrificial idea stamped on it, like that lamb on the wax. The\ndevil blurred this image, of course, till men fell into all sorts of\nerrors, and even sacrificed each other; but he could never efface it.\nThe hand of God graves deeply, and the inscription wears out the hand\nthat rubs it.\n\n\"But the Jews, my sublime spiritual ancestors, kept the truth.\nThey adored the one God, Jehovah; and by their sacrifice they were\nperpetually reminding him of the Redeemer he had promised them. It is\ntrue, they became corrupted, and rejected him when he came; but I do\nnot forget that he was a Jew, that his first followers were Jews, and\nthat his Immaculate Mother was a Jewess. I tell you, I glory in the\nhistory of that people. It is you who throw contempt on them, not I.\nCatholicism proves and honors Judaism. If all were false, we might\nthen be deluded; but the Jews would be the deluders. We only complain\nof them because they call themselves liars. Judaism, past and present,\nwould fall with Catholicism, and fall underneath. All the truth held\nby the reformed Jews is a weak reflection of the light cast by the\nCatholic Church back on old Judaism. To deny the authority of the\nchurch is as though the moon should proclaim herself the source of day,\nand try to extinguish the sun. If it were possible for the attempt to\nsucceed, the result would be an utter spiritual darkness, followed by\nbarbarism. Christ is the light of the world; and all the light there\nwas in the world before his coming was like the morning light before\nthe sun touches the horizon. The patriarchs and the prophets were the\nplanets and the moon of the spiritual system; they saw him afar off,\nand told of him. Strange inconsistency! Men usually laugh at prophecies\ntill they are fulfilled, then pay them a retrospective homage; but in\nthis, they bow to the prophecy till the instant of its fulfilment, then\nreject and scorn both together. If you believed in Christ, all your\naltars would blaze up again, making a spiral circle of fire from the\ncreation to the redemption. He rounds the circle. '_I am the beginning\nand the end_,' he says.\"\n\nWhether he perceived or acknowledged any truth in what he heard, or\nnot, it certainly had the effect of making Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger ashamed of\nhis ill-temper.\n\n\"I have to apologize, sir,\" he said, \"for having made a personal\nattack instead of using argument, and for having acted like a whipped\nschool-boy. My only excuse is that I was smarting under punishment.\nI am usually just enough to judge a principle by itself, not by its\nupholders.\"\n\nThey had now reached the step of the priest's house, and paused there,\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger declining mutely a mute invitation to enter.\n\n\"That is a point--that relating to persons--which we will discuss some\nother time, when we both feel more like it,\" F. Chevreuse said. \"But,\nmy friend,\" he added, with impassioned earnestness, \"let the faults\nof individuals, and communities, and nations go. They are irrelevant.\nLet God be true, though all men may be false. _Ecce Agnus Dei!_ If a\nhaughty conqueror should demand your submission, I could understand why\nyou would feel like rebelling. But here there is nothing but love to\nresist. Here there is only infinite sweetness and humility. Did he ever\npersecute you? Did he ever revile you? He wept over you. 'O Jerusalem,\nJerusalem!'\"\n\nStanding on his own threshold, the priest suddenly put his arm around\nthe Jew's shoulder. \"Love him, then hate whom you can. Love him, and do\nwhat you will,\" he said. \"I don't ask you to listen to the church, to\nlisten to me, to listen to any one, but only to behold the Lamb of God.\nLook at him, study him, listen to him. O my God! that I had the tongue\nof an angel! I love you! I am longing for your conversion, but I cannot\nsay a word. Good-night! May God bless you and speak to you!\"\n\nThe Jew was alone, overpowered by the sudden and tender passion of that\nappeal, feeling still the pressure of that more than brotherly embrace.\nIf his mind had recognized any truth, he did not at the moment perceive\nor think of it, so moved was his heart at the vision of love that had\nbeen opened to him. If divine love was added to the human, he did not\ninquire; he only knew that the priest was sincere, and was at that\nmoment on his knees praying for him. He would have liked to go in and\nbeg his blessing, not, perhaps, as that of a priest, but as that of an\nincomparably good and loving man.\n\nHe checked the impulse, though it led him so far as to extend his hand\nto open the door.\n\nAh! if we did but yield to generous and affectionate impulses as we\nyield to bad ones, how much happier the world would be! How often they\nare checked by distrust of others or of ourselves, or by the petty fear\nof being unconventional, when, if followed, they might warm a little\nthis cold human atmosphere, in which we stand so frozen that one might\nalmost expect our fingers to rattle like icicles when we shake hands.\n\nBut though Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger did not go in, neither did he turn\ncarelessly away. We wonder if any of our readers will understand how\nmuch affection was expressed in what he did. It was a trifling act,\napparently. He laid his right hand, palm forward, against the door,\nand let it press the panel a moment. From some it might not mean much,\nbut this man never gave his hand lightly, nor used it lightly; and it\nwas one of those hands which seem to contain in themselves the whole\nperson. It was a hand with a heart in it; and while it rested there,\nhis face wore an expression more tender than a smile, as if he gave\nboth a benediction and a caress to all within those walls for the sake\nof one who dwelt there. Then he turned away, and walked slowly down the\nstreet.\n\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger was essentially and sufficiently manly. If the long\npursuit of money had been dry and distasteful to him, he had made no\ncomplaint of the necessity, even to himself. That which must be done\nhe attempted and carried out as best he might, feeling, it may be,\na certain pleasure in exercising his will; perceiving, also, a goal\nahead where such sordid strife would end. It may be that even in the\nfascinating and delightful exercise of his art, there had still been\na sense of something lacking; for the artist is, above all things,\nhuman, and this man was alone; but he made no sentimental moan. The\nwant, if it had a voice, was never listened to. It was only now, in\nthe moment of a sharp and bitter pain that had cleft his heart, and a\nsoothing sweetness that had fallen on the wound like an unguent, that\nhe realized how utterly without sympathy his life had been, and how\nall that had made it tolerable had been a looking forward to something\nbetter. He was like one who, wandering long in a frozen desert, sees\nunexpectedly the warm, red hearth-light shining toward his feet. It was\nnot his home-light, but another's; yet it touched him so that his heart\nwoke up with a cry, and demanded something in the present, and could no\nlonger be satisfied with a vague expectation.\n\nHe was angry with himself that he had not refrained from speaking to\nMiss Pembroke, or that, having spoken, he had not been more persistent.\nHe would not believe that he could give so much and receive no return;\nand it seemed to him certain that by waiting he could at least have\nsucceeded so far as to render it impossible for her to refuse him\nwithout a regret too great for concealment. That was all he now\nthought attainable, and, in comparison to what he had, it appeared\nto him happiness. That is a cruelty without which no love can exist;\nit demands the power to make its object unhappy in parting, if it is\ndenied the privilege of making it happy in union.\n\n\"I was a fool!\" he muttered, tossing the hair back from his burning\nface and head. \"I took my refusal as promptly as though I had asked\nfor a flower. A woman who is ready with her confession of love at\nthe first word of asking must have expected and prepared herself for\nthe proposal. Even a profound affection may be a little hidden from\nher till after it is asked for, though visible to others. Besides,\nshe sometimes draws back from timidity, or to see if a man is really\nin earnest. That proposal which he foresees and intends takes her by\nsurprise, and, even when willing to advance, her instinct is to retreat\nat first. How inconsistent we are to expect and require that shrinking\nmodesty in a woman, and then complain of her for it!\"\n\nHe wandered on through street after street, glancing at the lighted\nwindows of many a city home. In some houses, the curtains had been\npleasantly left up, and he could see the charming tableau of a family\ngathered about the evening lamp. They read or sewed, raising their\nfaces now and then to smile at each other; they conversed, or they\nrested, leaning back in their chairs.\n\nComing to a secluded little cottage in a quiet street, he leaned on the\ngarden fence, and looked into the sitting-room. He was acquainted with\nthe people there; they met him pleasantly in public, but it had never\noccurred to them, apparently, to invite him to their home. All his\nfriends, indeed, were of that public kind.\n\nThe room was lighted by a shaded lamp that made a bright circle on the\ntable under it. A man sat at one side sketching what a nearer view\nwould have shown to be a Holy Family. Now and then he lifted his head\nand gazed at the group opposite him, the models of his Mother and\nChild; and the expression of his fine, spiritual face showed how his\nsoul strove to fan that visible spark of human affection into a flaming\nvision of divine love.\n\nThe woman sat weaving bright wools into some fleecy shape, her slight\nfingers flying as the work progressed under them. Her eyes were\ndowncast, and a faint smile shone on her happy face. One foot kept in\ngentle motion a cradle, wherein a babe slept, its rosy little hands\ncurled up under its chin, like closed flowers. Now and then the mother\nbent above the sleeper, seemed to hover over it, like a bird over its\nnest, when the drapery her artist-husband had arranged on her hair\nwould drop forward and hide her profile from him. Once, when he wanted\nan outline, he stretched his arm, drew her face round by the chin, and\nseemed playfully to chide her excessive baby-worship. But it seemed\nthat the soft, blue fold had hidden something more than a mere loving\ngaze; for a tear slipped from the brown lashes as they appeared. She\nclasped the chiding hand in hers, and uttered a few words.\n\nHow well the looker-on outside could guess what sad thought had called\nup that tear! She had feared that her happiness was too great to last.\n\nThe husband's answer was, evidently, cheerful and reassuring; and soon\nthe work and the drawing went on, and the smiles were restored.\n\nRecollecting himself, Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger continued his walk. What had he to\ndo with such scenes? He was as shut out from all intimate friendships\nas though he had been invisible to those about him. If he should be\nill, the doctor and the hired nurse would take care of him; if he\nshould die, strangers would bury him, without pity and without grief;\nand his possessions in Crichton, such little belongings as friends\ncherish when those they love are gone, would be tossed about and prized\nonly at their money value.\n\nNever had he felt more despondent. The momentary pleasure derived from\nthe friendship of F. Chevreuse faded away like sunlight from rocks,\nleaving only hard and sombre facts behind. There never could be a real\nfriendship between him and the priest. An insurmountable obstacle\nseparated them.\n\nThis solitary walk brought to his mind one night, months past, when he\nhad walked the streets of Crichton, as solitary and wretched as now,\nfrom evening till daybreak. \"I will not think of it!\" he muttered, and\ncast the recollection aside. \"O my God! who shall pray for me, who\ncannot pray for myself?\"\n\nA sound of singing caught his ear. He was passing a Protestant church,\nwhere they were holding an evening meeting, and they were singing a\nplain chant, with only a thread of accompaniment. It sounded tuneful\nand earnest, and he stepped into the vestibule to listen.\n\nThey sang:\n\n        \"Hear, Father, hear our prayer!\n    Wandering unknown in the land of the stranger,\n    Be with all trav'lers in sickness or danger,\n    Guard thou their path, guide their feet from the snare.\n        Hear, Father, hear our prayer!\"\n\nSome one was praying for him without being aware of it! There was\nin the world a charity which stretched out beyond the familiar, and\ntouched the unknown sufferer.\n\nAs he was leaving the vestibule, he noticed two men, one standing at\neither side, on the steps without the door. Rather annoyed at being\nfound in such a place, he passed them hastily, and went on. When he\nthought himself free from them, his memory went back to that prayerful\nstrain:\n\n\"Guard thou their steps, guide their feet from the snare.\"\n\nYes, they were praying for him, these strangers, who had seemed so\nalien.\n\nPresently he became aware that he was not free from the persons who\nhad been observing him at the church door. The steps of two men were\nfollowing him. He quickened his pace, and they also quickened theirs.\nHe went into a side street, and perceived that they were still on his\ntrack. There was no escape. His feet had not been guided from the\nsnare. A chilly sensation passed over him, which might be either anger\nor fear. He paused one instant, then turned and faced his pursuers.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe next morning, after Mass, Honora Pembroke went in to see F.\nChevreuse, waiting in the church till she thought he had taken his\nbreakfast.\n\n\"I did not see you at communion this morning,\" he said, after greeting\nher pleasantly. \"Why was that, young woman?\"\n\nThey were in the sitting-room that had belonged to Mother Chevreuse.\nHer son now occupied these rooms, and all the little tokens of a\nwoman's presence had disappeared. No work-basket, with shining needles\nand thimble, glittered in the sunlight; no shawl nor scarf lay over any\nchair-back; no flower nor leaf adorned the place. All the grace had\ngone.\n\nHonora perceived, by the momentary clouding of the priest's face,\nthat he understood the glance she had cast about the room and the\ninvoluntary sigh that had followed it, and she hastily recalled her\nthoughts.\n\n\"I am an unfortunate sister of Proserpine,\" she said. \"Some one sent\nme a pomegranate yesterday as a rarity; and this morning, while I was\ndressing, and thinking of my communion too, I ate two or three of the\nseeds.\"\n\n\"You are a careless girl!\" F. Chevreuse exclaimed, with that pretence\nof playful scolding which shows so much real kindness. \"But,\nfortunately, your banishment is not so long as that of your Greek\nsister was.\"\n\n\"I was not thinking without distraction,\" Honora continued. \"There\nwas something else on my mind, or I should have remembered my fast.\nOn the whole, I am rather glad that I could not go to communion this\nmorning, for I was not so quiet as I ought to be. I have come to tell\nyou about it.\" A faint blush flitted over her face. She looked up for\nthe encouraging nod and \"Yes!\" which were not wanting, and then told\nhalf her story in a sentence: \"Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger told me last night that\nhe thinks a great deal of me.\"\n\nF. Chevreuse nodded again, and did not look quite so much astonished as\nshe had expected him to be.\n\nThe other and most troublesome part of the story followed immediately,\nbreathed out with a kind of terror: \"And after I had refused him, and\nhe had left the room, and walked away with you, I felt pained, not for\nhim, but for myself. I almost wanted to call him back; though, if he\nhad come, I should have been sorry. I do not understand it.\"\n\nShe looked like one who expects a severe sentence, and scarcely drew\nbreath till the answer came.\n\nThe priest spoke quite carelessly: \"Oh! it is natural that we should\nfeel a kind of regret in refusing an offering meant to be good, though\nit may not be good to us. You need not accuse yourself of that. Of\ncourse, you are not going to marry a Jew, nor to wish to marry one.\nThat is out of the question. And there is no need of searching too\nscrupulously into those vague and complicated emotions which are for\never troubling the human heart. It will only confuse the mind and sully\nthe conscience. They are like mists that float over the sky. Keep your\neyes steadily fixed on the Day-star, and do not fear an occasional waft\nof scud. As long as the star shines, all is well. When you no longer\nsee it, then is the time to fear.\"\n\nHonora looked relieved, but not altogether satisfied. \"But must there\nnot have been some fault in me, when 1 could feel even the slightest\nregret in rejecting one who has rejected God?\" she asked.\n\n\"I have but to repeat what I have said,\" was the answer. \"You need not\ndisturb yourself about the matter. Dismiss it from your mind, except so\nfar as it is necessary for you to think in order to conduct yourself\nproperly toward him in future. I take for granted that your intercourse\nmust be a little more reserved than it has been.\"\n\n\"Oh! yes,\" she exclaimed. \"I would rather not see him any more. And\nthere was my fault, father. I have been very presumptuous. Both Mrs.\nGerald and dear Mother Chevreuse were dissatisfied to have me associate\nwith him. I could see that, though they said nothing. But I fancied\nthat I was more liberal than they, and that I could decide perfectly\nwell for myself. I had almost a mind to be displeased with them for\nwishing to keep him at a distance, as if they were uncharitable. Now I\nam punished, and I know that I deserve it.\"\n\n\"Oh! well,\" the priest said gently, his face growing thoughtful and sad\nat the allusion to his mother. \"We all make mistakes; and to persons\nwho wish to be generous, but have not much experience, prudence seems\na very cold virtue, sometimes almost a vice. But believe me, my child,\nit is possible for really kind and generous feelings to lead to results\nfar worse than even an excess of prudence might have caused. Don't\ndistress yourself! Only have a care of going too far in either way.\"\n\nTheir talk was here interrupted by a ring of the door-bell so\nunusually loud as to betoken an excited visitor.\n\n\"A sick-call,\" said F. Chevreuse.\n\nThey heard Jane open the door; then a light step ran through the entry,\nand, without any ceremony of knocking, Miss Lily Carthusen burst into\nthe room.\n\n\"O F. Chevreuse!\" she cried, \"Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger is in jail.\"\n\nThe priest looked at her without comprehending, and also without\nspeaking. When sudden and terrible news have come upon us once, casting\nus to the earth, as though by a thunder-stroke, any startling address\nawakens in us ever after something of the same terror and distress.\n\nJane had followed Miss Carthusen to the sitting-room door, and, the\nmoment she heard her announcement, broke out into exclamations: \"I knew\nit! I have known it all the time! O poor Mother Chevreuse!\"\n\nF. Chevreuse stood up, as if to take freer breath, and his face grew\ncrimson.\n\n\"In what way does this arrest concern me particularly, Miss Carthusen?\"\nhe asked, striving to speak calmly.\n\n\"F. Chevreuse, cannot you guess?\" she returned. \"Many others have\nsuspected, if you have not. I believed it almost from the first.\"\n\n\"I do not believe it!\" he exclaimed, and began to pace the room. \"I\nwill not believe it! It is impossible!\" And then, whether believing or\nnot in this accusation, he felt anew the whole force of that terrible\nblow. \"O mother, mother!\" he cried, and burst into tears.\n\n\"I suspected him on account of the shawl,\" Miss Carthusen went on. \"His\nhas not been seen in the house since that day; and....\"\n\nF. Chevreuse was leaning up against the wall, with his face hidden in\nhis arm; but he recovered his self-possession immediately, and put a\nstop to these revelations. \"Say no more!\" There was a certain severity\nboth in his voice and gesture. \"I do not wish to hear any surmises nor\nparticulars. I should suppose that some person in authority ought to\nbring me this information. But I thank you for taking the trouble; and\nperhaps you will be so kind as to stop at Mr. Macon's door on your way\nhome, and ask him to come to me. He cannot have gone out yet. I would\nlike to see him at once.\"\n\nThe young lady had no choice. She was obliged to go.\n\nMr. Macon was, in fact, already on his way to the house; and soon the\nstory received authoritative confirmation.\n\n\"He did not seem to be at all surprised, sir,\" said the officer who had\nmade the arrest. \"He is a very cool sort of man on the outside; though\nI would not have liked to go after him alone.\"\n\n\"Did he say anything?\" demanded the priest.\n\n\"Not a word!\"\n\n\"Did not he ask to see me?\"\n\n\"No, sir!\"\n\nThe face of F. Chevreuse darkened with perplexity and disappointment.\nAfter what had occurred between them the night before, if the man had\ntrusted him then, and if he were innocent, surely he would have sent\nfor him at once.\n\n\"When I have said that I love him,\" he thought, \"how could he suffer\nme to rest a moment in ignorance of what had happened, or to wait for\nhis assurance? Or does his very silence prove his trust in me and\nconfidence in his own acquittal? Well, even if it does, I prefer a\nconfidence that speaks.\"\n\nHe looked the officer steadily in the face. \"Sir,\" he said with\nemphasis, \"I wish every one to understand that I believe this\naccusation to be a mistake, and that I regret it exceedingly. I shall\ngo to see Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger, if I am permitted, and say the same to him.\nAnd now, gentlemen, if there is nothing more necessary to be said, will\nyou spare me the saying anything unnecessary on the subject?\"\n\nJane had been trying to talk to Miss Pembroke, who put her back gently,\nwithout answering a word; and as soon as their visitors had withdrawn,\nshe approached F. Chevreuse, and attempted to finish the story which\nMiss Carthusen had begun. But he stopped her even more peremptorily\nthan he had done the other.\n\n\"That young lady is not a Catholic,\" he said, \"but you are. Do not\nforget charity. You have no right to hold any person guilty till\nhis guilt is proved, and even then you should not rejoice over his\ncondemnation. I forbid your saying any more on this subject to me\nor any other person, except when you are questioned in court. I am\ndispleased at the spirit you have shown.\"\n\nJane withdrew, convicted, and, perhaps, a little indignant.\n\nThen F. Chevreuse looked at Honora Pembroke. She had sat perfectly pale\nand silent through it all. \"Can you go home without assistance, child?\"\nhe asked.\n\nShe understood his wish to be alone, and rose with an effort. \"I am not\nfaint; I am horrified,\" she said. \"It is a monstrous injustice. I wish\nyou would come to us by-and-by.\" She looked at him imploringly.\n\n\"I will go to Mrs. Gerald's directly after having seen him,\" he\npromised.\n\nWhen he was alone, F. Chevreuse locked the door, and began to pace the\nroom, tears running down his cheeks. \"O my sweet mother!\" he said, \"so\nit's all to be dragged up again, and your dear name associated with all\nthat is cruel and wicked in crime!\"\n\nHe opened a closet, and took down a little faded plaid shawl that his\nmother had used for years to throw over her shoulders in the house when\nthe air was chilly. It hung on the nail where she had left it; and\nwhile he held it at arm's length, and looked at it, her form seemed to\nrise up before him. He saw the wide, motherly shoulders, the roll of\nthick, gray hair, the face faintly smiling and radiantly loving. And\nthen he could see nothing; for the tears gushed forth so passionately\nas to wash away both vision and reality.\n\n                            TO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n\n\nSLEEP.\n\n\n                           FROM THE ITALIAN.\n\n    O sleep! O missing first-born of the night!\n    Child of the silent-footed shadow, thou\n    Who comfortest the sick, and makest light\n    Of ills, bringing forgetfulness of woe;\n    Succor the broken spirit that faints for sight\n    Of thee; these limbs, that travail hath brought low,\n    Refresh. Come, sleep, and on my temples light,\n    And make thy dark wings meet above my brow.\n    Where is sweet silence which the day forsakes?\n    And the shy dreams that follow in thy train,\n    The silly flock that scatters at a touch?\n    Alas! in vain I summon thee: in vain\n    Flatter the chilly dark. O thorny couch!\n    O heavy watches till the slow dawn breaks!\n\n\n\n\nSPIRITUALISM.\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nBefore considering the merits of the third hypothesis for accounting\nfor the phenomena of spiritualism, I propose to draw out at some length\nthe church theory of magic and formal diabolic interference.\n\nMagic, in the sense of a systematized use of and intercourse with the\nspiritual world by other means than authorized prayer and ritual, has\nbeen an idea familiar to all races and to all times. Its hostile or\nconsciously diabolical character has depended upon the vividness with\nwhich it has appreciated the nature of God and his sanction of the\nreligion which it is confronting, and upon its consequent inability\nto regard itself as an appendix to, rather than a contradiction of,\nreligion. Hence, it has been peculiarly virulent when it has had to\nman\u0153uvre in the face of the precise enunciations of Catholicism, as\nwas the case in medi\u00e6val Christendom; whilst, on the other hand, in\na system of tolerant eclecticism like that of pagan Rome or modern\nAmerica, it has naturally adopted a milder form.\n\nThe accounts given of the origin of magic in pagan and rabbinical\ntradition are almost identical, and read much like a rude allegory of\nChristian theology. In the first, the fair and proud Lamia, beloved\nof Zeus, in revenge for being herself ousted and her children slain\nby Hera, takes general vengeance upon the subjects of Zeus. In. the\nsecond, Lilith, Adam's first wife, is ever seeking to destroy the\nchildren of her successful rival, Eve. According to the more common\nCatholic teaching, sundry of the angels, God's first creation, destined\nto be the first partners of his bliss, fell for resisting God's designs\nin behalf of his second creation, man, whose nature he was to espouse\nin the Incarnation; whence the devil's hatred of the children of men.\n\nThe fathers[94] considered that the rebel angels first taught men magic\nin the evil days before the Flood, and that the seeds of the black art\nwere carried on into the new world by Cham. His grandson, Mesraim,\nor Zoroaster, was said to have used it extensively to give life and\nreality to the false worship which was his legacy to his children, the\nEgyptians, Babylonians, and Persians.\n\nThe worship of the hosts of heaven--the sun, moon, and stars--would\nseem to have been the earliest form of false worship, and all\nmythological research tends to show that this is, in fact, the core\neven of those cults which at first sight would seem most unlike it. The\nPersians were fire-worshippers, but fire was stolen from heaven; and\none of the miracles recorded of Zoroaster was his drawing magic sparks\nfrom the stars. The name given him by his disciples was \"the Living\nStar.\" The host of deities with which the Greek and Roman world was\npeopled, many of whom would at first sight suggest a purely terrestrial\norigin, for the most part group themselves round central figures,\nwhich, on examination, prove to be earthly reflections of astral\ninfluences--of the sun or moon gods and their supposed satellites.\n\nAccording to the fathers, magic was the very life and soul of idolatry,\nand pagan worship was regarded as a union of conventional deception and\ndiabolic energy, the one or other element predominating according to\ncircumstances. Thus _diablerie_ lay beneath such orderly institutions\nas, for instance, the national cultus of ancient Rome, like the\nvolcanic fires of Vesuvius under the rich vineyards which they have in\npart created and for a while sustain.\n\nBut whilst it is to a great extent true that paganism was substantially\nlittle better than an organized _diablerie_, and the devil, as the\nstrong man in the Gospel, was keeping his house in comparative peace,\nstill the very elements of man's nature, despite his fall, did in\nvarious ways protest against the enemy and impede his action. The idea\nof a supreme God could not be wholly withdrawn from the minds and\nhearts of men, and many true prayers, despite the demon's elaborate\nmachinery to intercept them, pierced the heavens. Nay, the very forms\nthemselves of idolatry would often suggest thoughts and acts of worship\nwhich no evil influence could control; for the world had been given\nto men, and not to the demon. Even the senses, for all they were so\nmany inlets of temptation, did, by bringing men under the wholesome\ninfluence of external nature, and by their equable excitation of his\nmental powers, tend, in fact, to break the fascinating grasp which the\nfiend would hold upon his imagination. The material world at once spoke\nto him of God, and housed him from the pitiless storm of spiritual\ninfluence with which he was assailed. Common sense was not without its\npower of natural exorcism, and true affection often grew and flowered\nwhere the devil only thought to have nurtured lust.\n\nIn the cults which express the religious sentiments of the more\ncivilized nations, we meet with much that is humane and noble, whilst,\nat the same time, we are often shocked by manifestations of a very\ndifferent character--rites in which the fire of the pit seems to have\nfound a direct vent.\n\nOn the whole, in pre-Christian, as compared with Christian, times, the\ndevil reigned. When the apostle would warn the faithful of the foes\nwith whom they would have to contend, he says: \"Our warfare is not\nagainst flesh and blood\"--_i.e._ these are, under the circumstances,\nhardly worth considering--\"but against principalities and powers;\nagainst the rulers of the world of this darkness; against spiritual\nwickedness in high places.\" It was by the direct onslaught of the early\nchurch upon the citadel of paganism--her forcing the devil, by the\nintolerable brightness of her presence, to show himself in his true\ncolors--and by thus enlisting on her side all the more honest elements\nof human nature, that she gained the victory, and the devil was fairly\noutlawed. In the expressive language of the Theodosian Codex (ix. tit.\nxvi.), sorcerers are denounced as \"aliens of nature,\" (_peregrini\nnatur\u00e6_). Still, for all this, the war was by no means over, and its\ncharacter remained substantially what it had always been. The devil did\nnot lose his power of working marvels, but, as in the case of Pharaoh's\nmagicians, he was outdone and baffled.\n\nI think there will be little difficulty in showing that the teaching\nof the church on the subject of the devil's power was in the earliest\ntimes substantially what it was in the middle ages and what it is\nnow. The contrary has been maintained by Janus, and we must do him\nthe justice to acknowledge that even reputable writers like Maffei and\nCant\u00f9 have gone some lengths in the same direction. As Janus is still\nquoted as an authority in this country, it will not be amiss to combine\nhis refutation with the illustration of my subject.\n\nJanus maintains in so many words that in the Christian Church \"it\nwas long looked upon as a wicked and unchristian error, as something\nheretical, to attribute supernatural powers and effects to the aid\nof demons\"; that \"for many centuries ... the popular notions about\ndiabolical agency, nocturnal meetings with demons, enchantments and\nwitchcrafts, were viewed and treated as a folly inconsistent with\nChristian belief\"; that this doctrine continued until gradually ousted\nby the \"threefold authority of the popes, Aquinas, and the powerful\nDominican Order.\"[95] Now, I of course admit that the action taken by\nthe authorities of the church in regard to particular phenomena of\nwitchcraft has varied extremely with circumstances; but she has always\nheld that the devil has the power, which he is sometimes allowed to\nexercise, either _en rapport_ with human agents or independently of\nthem, of working marvels which transcend the natural power of the\nparticular nature in conjunction with which they are wrought, though\nnot transcending the sphere of universal nature; and that these are\ndone by rapid, imperceptible combinations of other natural powers.\nWhen theologians disputed as to whether the devil could do this or\nthat particular marvel--for example, transport imprisoned witches\nthrough their prison-walls to the \"Sabbath\"--the dispute did not turn\non the reality or non-reality of magic, but upon whether the marvel in\nquestion did or did not transcend the sphere of universal nature. On\nthe other hand, theologians have always maintained that in a certain\nsense witchcraft is an absurdity, no craft at all, an _ars nugatoria_,\nas S. Thomas calls it, since it is founded upon no fixed principles,\nbut depends for its issues on the free will of one who has been a\ndeceiver from the beginning. The scholastics made a great point of\ninsisting upon the essentially unscientific character of witchcraft,\nsince the devil had taken advantage of the extraordinary thirst for\nlearning which prevailed in the middle ages to present himself in the\nlight of a guide to new realms of science.\n\nJanus relies for the justification of his statement upon a document\nlong known as a chapter of the Council of Ancyra, but generally\nacknowledged to be the utterance of some IXth century Frank council.\nI subjoin it at length, together with the kindred questions from the\n_Penitentiary_ of Burchard. Over and above their controversial value,\nthey have an antiquarian interest which I hope not to neglect:\n\n\"Neither must this be passed over, that certain wicked women, turning\nback after Satan, and seduced by the illusions and phantasms of demons,\nbelieve and profess that they ride by night with Diana, goddess of\nthe pagans, or with Herodias and a countless multitude of women, upon\ncertain beasts, and silently, and in the dead of night, traverse many\nlands, obeying her commands as their mistress, and were, on certain\nnights, summoned to do her service. And would that these only had\nperished in their faithlessness! for an innumerable multitude, deceived\nby this false opinion, believe these things to be true, and, so\nbelieving, deviate from the true faith, and relapse into the errors of\npaganism, in believing that aught divine and godlike can be besides\nGod. Wherefore, priests in the churches under their charge should\npreach to the people with all earnestness, so that they may understand\nthat these things are, in all respects, false, and that such phantasms\nare injected into the minds of the faithful, not by the spirit of God,\nbut by the evil spirit.\n\n\"Verily, Satan himself, who transfigures himself into an angel of\nlight, after seizing upon the mind of some silly woman, and subjugating\nher to himself by infidelity, thereupon transforms himself into the\nforms and semblances of various persons, and in dreams deceiving the\nmind which he holds in captivity, and showing it anon pleasant things,\nanon sad, anon known, anon unknown, leads it everywhere from the road;\nand whilst the spirit alone undergoes this, the unfaithful mind thinks\nthat this is taking place, not in the soul, but in the body? But who,\nin dreams and visions of the night, is not carried out of himself, and\ndoes not see many things in his sleep which he had never seen awake?\nyet who is so silly and stupid as to think that all these things which\ntake place in the spirit only, occur also in the body? seeing that\nEzechiel the prophet saw the visions of the Lord in the spirit, and not\nin the body, and the Apostle John saw the mystery of the Apocalypse\nin the spirit, not in the body. 'At once,' he saith, 'I was in the\nspirit'; and Paul dared not say that he had been taken out of the body.\nWherefore, all must be told that whosoever believes these things and\nthe like loses the faith, and he who hath not the right faith in the\nLord is not the Lord's, but his in whom he believes--that is, the\ndevil's; for of our Lord it is written, 'By him all things were made.'\nWhoever, then, believes that it can happen that a creature should be\nchanged into a better or a worse, or be transformed into another sort\nor species save by the Creator who made all things, and through whom\nall things were made, of a surety is an infidel, and worse than a\npagan.\"\n\nThe following are passages from what Burchard transcribes as an ancient\n_Roman Penitentiary_, and are specimens of a practical application of\nthe preceding chapter:\n\n  \"Hast thou ever believed or taken part in the perfidious credence\n  that enchanters and those that call themselves storm-senders can,\n  by the enchantment of demons, excite storms or alter men's minds?\n  If thou hast believed or taken part, thou shalt do penance for one\n  year on the lawful Ferias.\n\n  \"Hast thou believed or taken part in the credence that there be\n  women who, by certain charms or incantations, can change men's\n  minds, that is to say, from hatred to love, or from love to hatred,\n  or can injure or abstract men's goods by their charms? If thou hast\n  believed or been partaker, one year, etc.\n\n  \"Hast thou believed that there be women who can do this, according\n  to the saying of certain women beguiled by the devil, who maintain\n  that they must of necessity and of precept so do--that is to say,\n  must ride upon certain beasts, with a great multitude of fiends\n  transformed into the semblance of women, which the foolish call\n  _Holda_, and have been bound in fellowship with them? If thou hast\n  been partaker in that belief, one year, etc.\"\n\nThe following points have to be considered in estimating the\ncontroversial value of this chapter as used by Janus: 1st. How far do\nits enunciations necessarily represent the theology of the universal\nchurch? 2d. Do the beliefs which the chapter condemns, or do they not,\ninvolve something more than the attribution of \"supernatural powers\nand effects to the aid of demons\"? As to the first, this chapter is no\nutterance of a council representing the church universal; for, even\nsupposing it really to belong to the Council of Ancyra, this was not\na general council. But, as Janus admits, the chapter is first quoted\nwithout any title by the Benedictine, Regino, Abbot of Prumium, in the\ndiocese of Treves, who wrote about 906. It was first called a canon\nof Ancyra by Burchard, another Benedictine (1020), who extracted it\nfrom Regino's collection, and inadvertently headed it with the title\nbelonging to another passage. There is no trace to be found of it in\nthe early MSS. of either the Greek or Latin acts of the Council of\nAncyra. It is not to be met with in any collection of canons previous\nto the XIth century. Baluze was no doubt right in suggesting that it\nwas part of some old Frank capitulary as yet undiscovered.\n\nJanus[96] says that Regino compiled the chapter in question from\npassages in the pseudo-Augustinian writing, _De Spiritu et Anima_--a\nsufficiently remarkable statement, if we consider that Regino wrote\nearly in the Xth century, and that the _De Spiritu et Anima_, which\ncontains passages from S. Bernard and Hugo of S. Victor, was certainly\nnot composed before the XIIth century.[97]\n\nBut, it may be urged, on the strength of the passages from Burchard's\n_Roman Penitentiary_, the Roman Church had given its sanction to this\nchapter, and had embodied it in its practice, even before Burchard\nhad assigned it its imposing title. To this I reply that the brothers\nBallerini[98] produce an XIth century MS. of a _Roman Penitentiary_\n(Vatican Codex, 3830) identical with Burchard's, save that it is\nwithout certain passages, and among them this very interrogatory on\nmagic. The Ballerini remark that the expression, \"were-wolf,\" which\noccurs in a passage of the interrogatory which I have not quoted,\nevidently marks it as belonging to some local German council. I may\nadd that the expression, \"Holda,\" indubitably indicates the same\nnationality; Holda, or Holle, being the wandering moon-goddess of the\nTeutons.\n\nAs to the second point, the beliefs condemned clearly involve something\nmore than the attribution of supernatural power to the devil--viz.,\nthe acknowledgment that there is something \"divine and godlike beside\nthe one God\"; whence it follows that the fiend can exercise his power\nindependently of God; can force the wills of men to his service \"by\nnecessity and precept\"; and can change one thing into another wholly\ndifferent. Now, all these points have been persistently condemned by\nthe church of all ages. That this is the one admissible interpretation\nof the chapter will become more and more evident as we examine the\nteaching of previous and contemporaneous theology.\n\nIf it be urged that, anyhow, this chapter represents a more civilized\nlegislation, one more consonant in its wise leniency with the\nsentiments of to-day, than that which prevailed in the last half\nof the middle ages, and, indeed, for some centuries longer, I must\nremind my readers that I have been engaged in refuting a specific\nallegation of Janus, to the effect that the theology of the church had\nundergone a substantial change on the subject of witchcraft. I admit,\nof course, fully that the system which prevailed for some centuries\nin church and state was calculated by its extravagant severity to\nprovoke the evil it was intended to repress. This has been often\nadmitted by Catholic writers. Cardinal de Cusa, in the first half of\nthe XVth century, when legate _a latere_ in the German Empire, used\nthese weighty words: \"Where men believe that these witchcrafts do\nproduce their effect, there are found many witches; neither can they\nbe exterminated by fire and sword; for the more diligently this sort\nof persecution is waged, so much the stronger grows the delusion;\nfor the persecution argues that the devil is feared more than God,\nand that, in the midst of the wicked, he can work evil; and so the\ndevil is feared and propitiated, and thus gains his end; and though,\naccording to human law and divine sanction, they deserve to be utterly\nextirpated, yet we must act cautiously and with great prudence, lest\nworse come of it.\"[99] He goes on to say that he himself examined two\nwitches, and found them to be half mad. He shut them up, and made them\ndo penance. The name of the Westphalian Jesuit, F. Spee (A.D. 1631),\nis identified with the relaxation of the penalties against witches,\nas completely as that of Wilberforce with the abolition of slavery,\nor that of Howard with the reformation of prisons; although he was\nunable to accept the rationalist thesis, \"It is impossible for one\nperson to influence another, except through sensible mediums; and\nthe devil is an absurdity.\" The rationalist text is, no doubt, the\nsovereignest remedy on earth for cruelty to witches; but in the same\nsense is the tenet, \"All worship is absurd,\" the most effectual bar\nto idolatry; and there are other less costly remedies. Whatever may be\nsaid on the score of prudence, it cannot be denied that such witches\nas deliberately produced fatal mischief by acting upon the excited\nimaginations of their victims were justly put to death, and that the\nformal transference of allegiance from Christ to the devil was formal\nhigh treason against the constitution of Christendom. Abuses of justice\nhad no doubt crept into local practice, such as that of putting the\npossessed person--that is to say, the devil within him--into the\nwitness-box, in order to discover the witch. This arose from the\ndelusion that the devil might, by certain formulas, be bound over to\nspeak the truth. It is vehemently denounced by all the standard writers\non the subject--_i.e._ Delrio and Carena. Pegna (_De Cffic. Inquis._,\npars ii. tit. xii. \u00a7\u00a7 26 and 27) points out that the Roman inquisition,\ncontrary to the practice elsewhere, has always refused to submit a\nwitch to the question on the evidence of a companion, or to accept\nthe testimony of one witch as to another's presence at the \"Sabbath,\"\nbecause of the great likelihood of delusion. Indeed, Rome seems to have\nbeen always comparatively just and moderate in her practice, and often\nsingularly lenient. It was such specimens of provincial ecclesiasticism\nas the Spanish inquisition, in which the secular interest had the\nlion's share, that went furthest in active persecution; and these,\nagain, in their cruel persecution of witches, as the learned editor of\n_Hudibras_, Dr. Zachary Grey, confesses, the sectaries of England and\nScotland \"much exceeded.\"[100] Perhaps this was owing to their still\nfurther separation from the centre of Christendom.\n\nThe arguments against execution for witchcraft of Spee and De Cusa\ncome pretty much to this: 1st. The imaginations of these unhappy people\nare in such a condition that you cannot make out how much is reality,\nhow much delusion, nor, again, how far they are free agents. 2d. The\nwhole subject is one on which people's imaginations are so excitable,\nand imagination has so large a share in the productions of witchcraft,\nthat fire-and-sword persecution breeds more mischief than it destroys.\n\nIf ever a belief in the substantial reality of spiritualism becomes\nestablished as of old, and--as will inevitably happen--spiritualism\nis used, not merely for amusement, but for mischief, the champions of\ncivilization may be glad to avail themselves of these almost forgotten\nCatholic arguments against persecution.\n\nThis so-called chapter of Ancyra is so interesting an exhibition of\nthe blending of classical and medi\u00e6val _diablerie_ that I shall make\nno apology for interposing a detailed examination of its mythology.\nIt will subserve my argument against Janus, by bringing out the\nidolatrous, and so far unreal, element of magic as that which naturally\npresented itself to the early church as the object of its denunciations.\n\nDiana (Dia Jana) was one of the deities of ancient Latium; although\na Latin federal temple was erected to her by Servius Tullius on the\nAventine Hill, she never took any very high rank amongst the divinities\nof Rome, but remained the special patron of slaves and rustics--that\nis to say, the immediate cultivators of the soil.[101] Livy and Strabo\ntell us that this goddess was identical with the Ephesian Artemis--an\nacquaintance with whose cult the Latins might have obtained through\nthe Phocean colony at Marseilles. Dr. D\u00f6llinger describes the Ephesian\ngoddess as \"a kind of pantheistic deity, with more of an Asiatic than\nan Hellenic character. She was most analogous to Cybele as physical\nmother and parent of all.\" S. Jerome (_Pro\u0153m. ad Ephes._) says that\nthe Ephesians worshipped Diana, \"not the huntress who carries the bow\nand is high-girt, but that many-breasted one, which the Greeks call\n\u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03c5\u03bc\u03b1\u03c3\u03c4\u03b7\u03c2.\"\n\nThe cultus of Diana in Italy, though substantially of a benignant\ncharacter, seems to have been early qualified by the sterner rites of\nThrace, where bloody flagellations had been accepted as a compromise\nfor human sacrifice. Aricia, one of the oldest towns in Latium, boasted\nthat its image of the goddess had been brought from Tauris.\n\nOriginally, Dr. D\u00f6llinger reminds us, neither the Roman Diana nor the\nGrecian Artemis were connected in any way with the moon. As the ancient\nLatin sun-god Janus' sister, Diana was the female divinity of the sun.\n\u00c6schylus is generally said to be the first author who speaks of Artemis\nas the moon-goddess; whereas Hecate was an original goddess of the moon\nand of the night. Hence, when she came to be identified with Artemis,\nand through her with Diana, by an amalgamation of rites, Diana became\nundisputed goddess of the moon and of the mysterious realms of the\nnight, the resort of ghosts and fays. Hecate was a Titan, the only one\nwho retained power under the Zeus dynasty; hence her name, Titanis,\nor Titania, with which Shakespeare has familiarized us. Statius\n(_Thebaid_, lib. i.) applies this epithet to the moon:\n\n    \"Titanis late mundo subvecta silenti\n    Rorifera gelidum tenuaverat a\u00ebra biga.\"\n\nVirgil doubtless gives this title to the stars as to the moon's\nsupposed satellites (_\u00c6neid_, lib. vi.):\n\n\"Lucentemque globum lun\u00e6 Titaniaque astra.\"\n\nIn Lucian we have frequent mention of Hecate and her dogs; in a\nfragment of S. Maximus of Turin the same \"aerial dogs\" are referred\nto, and S. Hippolytus speaks of Diana and her dogs appearing in the\nmagician's cauldron.\n\nThe amalgamated worship of Hecate and Diana, the queen of ghosts\nand the goddess of fertility, presents precisely those apparently\nincongruous elements which strike us in fairy mythology, where fairies,\nand ghosts, and witches combine so oddly in the web of medi\u00e6val\nfolk-lore.\n\nIt was very long before the pagan element to which the chapter\nwitnesses--the Manicheism which holds that there is something \"divine\nand godlike beside the one God\"--had ceased to hold a prominent place\nin the fancy of persons professedly Christian. S. Maximus of Turin, in\nthe fifth century, thus warns the Christian farmers of North Italy of\ntheir responsibility in the idolatry of their servants: \"My brother,\nwhen you know that your farm-servant sacrifices, and you do not prevent\nhis immolation, you sin. Though you give him not the wherewithal,\nyet leave is granted him. Though he do not sin by your orders, yet\nyour will co-operates in the fault. Whilst you say nothing, you are\npleased at what your servant has done, and perhaps would have been\nangry if he had not done it. Your subordinate sins, not only on his own\nscore, when he sacrifices, but on his master's who forbids him not,\nwho, if he had forbidden him, would certainly have been without sin.\nGrievous indeed is the mischief of idolatry; it defiles those who\npractise it; it defiles the neighborhood; it defiles the lookers-on;\nit pierces through to those who supply, who know, who keep silent.\nWhen the servant sacrifices, the master is defiled. He cannot escape\npollution when partaking of bread which a sacrilegious laborer has\nreared, blood-stained fields have produced, a black barn has garnered.\nAll is defiled, with the devil in house, field, and laborers. No part\nis free from the crime which steeps the whole. Enter his hut, you will\nfind withered sods, dead cinders--meet sacrifice for the demon, where a\ndead deity is entreated with dead offerings! Go on into the field, and\nyou will find altars of wood, images of stone--a fitting ministration,\nwhere senseless gods are served on rotting altars! When you have looked\na little further, and found your servant tipsy and bleeding, you ought\nto know that he is, as they call it, a _dianatic_, or a soothsayer.\"\n\nIn the VIth century, S. C\u00e6sarius of Arles, in an almost contemporary\n\"Life,\" is said to have cast out \"a devil, which the rustics call a\ndiana.\"[102]\n\nIn the XIIth, XIIIth, XIVth, and XVth centuries, this idolatrous cultus\nwas not extinct. Montfaucon quotes part of a decree, in which Auger of\nMontfaucon, an ancestor of his own, Bishop of Conserans, in the South\nof France, at the close of the XIIIth century, found it necessary to\ndenounce _dianaticism_: \"Let no woman profess that she rides by night\nwith Diana, goddess of the pagans, or with Herodias, or Bensozia, and\nraise a route of women to the rank of deities; for this is a diabolical\nillusion.\"[103]\n\nIn the Bollandist _Life of S. James of Bevagna in Umbria_, who died in\n1301, we are told that the saint distinguished himself \"by rebuking\nthose women who go to the chase with Diana\"; and in 1317, John XXII.,\nin his bull addressed to the Bishop of Frejus, denounces those \"who\nwickedly intermeddle with divinations and soothsayings, sometimes using\nDianas.\"\n\nIn the XVth century, Cardinal de Cusa speaks of examining two women who\n\"had made vows to a certain Diana who had appeared to them, and they\ncalled her in Italian Richella, saying she was Fortune.\"[104]\n\nJohn of Salisbury, Bishop of Chartres in 1136, talks of this \"Sabbath\"\ncompany in language which is a curious medley of classical and medi\u00e6val\nphraseology. He speaks of the delusion of those \"who assert that a\ncertain night-bird (_nocticulam_, or, according to the generally\nreceived emendation, _nocte lucam_, the night-shiner, a synonyme for\nHecate), or Herodias, or the lady president of the night, solemnize\nbanquets, exercise offices of diverse kinds; and now, according to\ntheir deserts, some are dragged to punishment, others gloriously\nexalted.\"[105]\n\nWilliam of Auvergne, Bishop of Paris in 1224, tells us a good deal\nabout this queen of the ladies of the night. They call her, he says,\n\"Satia (_a satietate_), and the Lady Abundia, from the abundance she\nis said to bestow upon the houses which she frequents.\" He goes on to\nsay that these ladies are seen to eat and drink, yet in the morning\nthe things are as they were. The pots and jars, however, must be left\nopen, or they will go off in a huff. To guard against such visitations,\nAlvernus thinks, it was prescribed in the Levitical law that vessels\nshould be covered, or accounted unclean. He speaks of the \"old women\namongst whom this delusion abides\"; but it is evidently the cultus he\nregards as a delusion, and the belief that there are spiritual beings\nindependent both of God and Satan, not the belief that these are real\ndiabolical phenomena.[106] Even in classic times, it would seem that\nDiana and her crew fulfilled in some measure the office of household\nfairies:\n\n\"Exagitant et lar et turba Diania fures\";[107]\n\nand in another passage of the same poet we find what seems to be an\nearly indication of the connection between witches and the feline race.\nWhen worsted by the first onslaught of the Titans, the gods thus chose\ntheir hiding-places:\n\n    \"Fele soror Ph\u0153bi, nive\u00e2 Saturnia vacca,\n    Pisce Venus latult, Cyllenius ibidis alvo.\"[108]\n\nBut to return to the \"ladies of the night.\" Alvernus says, \"They\nsometimes enter stables with wax tapers, the drippings of which appear\non the hairs and necks of the horses, whilst their manes are carefully\nplaited.\" May we not exclaim with Mercutio,\n\n              \"This is that very Mab\n    That plaits the manes of horses in the night,\n    And bakes the elf locks in foul, sluttish hairs\"?\n\nAlvernus' expression is \"_guttatos crines_,\" wax-clotted hairs.\nShakespeare's Mab seems to have played the same trick upon human beings.\n\nThe Lady Abundia is distinctly identified with Diana's crew, nay,\nherself represents that goddess, in a most curious passage from an\nearly MS. of the _Roman de la Rose_, which was a composition of this\nsame thirteenth century:\n\n    \"Et les cinq sens ainssi de\u00e7oivent\n    Par les fantosmes qu'ils recoivent\n    Dont maintes gens par leur folies\n    Quident estre par nuit estries\n    Errans avecque dame _Habonde_\n    Et dient que par tout le monde\n    Le tiers enfant de nascion\n    Sont de cette condition;\n    Qu'ils vont trois fois en la semaine\n    Si \u00e7on destin\u00e9e les mainne,\n    Et par tous les ostiex se boutent\n    Ne clos ne barres ne redoutent\n    Ains' sen entrent par les fendaces\n    Par charnieres et par crevaces\n    Et se partent des cors les ames,\n    Et vont avec les bonnes dames\n    Par lieux forains et par maisons.\"[109]\n\nBensozia, or Bezezia, as she is called in the _Glossarium Novum_\nfrom some MSS. statutes of S. Florus, has been a great puzzle to\nantiquarians. Montfaucon is inclined to identify her with the _domina\nnoctis_, or Abundia. The _Glossarium Novum_ suggests desperately that\nit may be a name for Herodias' daughter. Mr. Baring-Gould, following\nGrimm, has unwittingly furnished, I think, the true solution. He thus\ncomments upon a remark of Tacitus in his _Germania_--\"a part of the\nSuevi sacrifice to Isis\": \"This Isis has been identified by Grimm with\na goddess Ziza, who was worshipped by the inhabitants of the parts\nabout Augsburg. Kuchlen, an Augsburg poet of the XIVth century, sings:\n\n    \"'They built a great temple therein\n    To the honor of Zize, the heathen goddess.'\"\n\nThis Ziza, Mr. Gould suggests, is no other than Holda, or Holle, the\nwandering moon-goddess of the Teutons, in other parts called G\u00f4de,\nunder which name she resembled Artemis as the heavenly huntress\naccompanied by her maidens; in Austria and Bavaria, Berchta, or Bertha\n(the shining); in Suabia and Thuringia, H\u00f6rsel, or Ursel; in other\nplaces, the night-bird, Tut\u00f6sel. Bezezia would there be Bena Ziza--the\ngood Ziza. Alvernus' \"Satia\" is, in all probability, an attempt to\nLatinize the sound, as \"Abundia\" the sense; and so the three names are\nreducible to one.\n\nAlthough the suggestion of the _Glossarium Novum_ is inadmissible, I\ncannot but feel that its attempt to introduce Herodias' daughter into\nthe \"Sabbath\" crew is reasonable enough.\n\nI should myself be tempted to think that Herodias should be understood\nas Herodias Junior. Not only is there a propriety in this, considering\nthe daughter's antecedents, but it is clear that fancy was early busy\nwith her name; witness the weird story told by the Greek historian,\nNicephorus, of her setting to dancing on the ice in her mother's\nsight, and persisting therein until she gradually broke through, and\nfinished by dancing her head off against the sharp edge. On the other\nhand, this is, of course, in the teeth of what must be accepted as\nthe authentic account given by Josephus, who calls her Salome, and\nallots her two husbands and three children. Moreover, Cesare Cant\u00f9 is\nable to produce a myth accounting for the mother's presence, though he\nomits all reference to his authority, which I have vainly attempted to\ndiscover. It is at least _ben trovato_: \"Credevasi pure che Erodiade\nottenuto il teschio del Battista volle bacciarlo, ma quello si\nritrasse e soffio, di che ella fu spinta in aria, e ancora si va tutte\nle notte.\"[110] There is nothing surprising in meeting with Jewish\nfeatures in the rites of medi\u00e6val magic, since Jews were notoriously\nthe leading magicians, both in Christian and Moorish states; as,\nindeed, they had been before the Christian era, wherever they had been\nknown throughout the pagan world. The term \"Sabbath,\" as applied to\nthe magic gathering, naturally suggests itself; but I think it is not\nreally any direct outcome of Jewish influence. The word, before its use\nin _diablerie_, had come to be a general expression for a feast in the\nSpanish Peninsula, and had thence no doubt found its way into France\nand Germany. The _Glossarium Novum_ gives an extract from the will of\nSancho of Portugal (A.D. 1269): \"Item ad unum Sabbatum faciendum mando\nduas libras.\"\n\nThe idea of Diana, Herodias, and Bezezia as a magic trinity, or,\nrather, as a triform manifestation of one deity, Latin, Jewish, and\nbarbarian, was no unnatural outcome of a mixed race such as peopled\nGaul and North Italy in the first centuries of the Christian era, and\nto such an idea the common image of the triple Hecate, \"Tergeminamque\nHecaten tria Virginis ora Dian\u00e6,\" easily lent itself. Dr. D\u00f6llinger\nsays: \"Hecate was represented with three bodies or with three heads,\nas the goddess of the star of night, energizing in three spheres of\naction--in heaven, and earth, and sea--and at the same time in allusion\nto the three phases of the moon.\"[111] As Ben Jonson's witch sings:\n\n    \"And thou three-formed star that on these nights\n    Art only powerful, to whose triple name\n    Thus we incline once, twice, and thrice the same.\"[112]\n\nThe extraordinary way in which polytheism has sought by an amalgamation\nof rites, and so of properties and personalities, to regain that unity\nof worship of which it is the formal negation, is a great distraction\nto antiquarians, who would fain distinguish precisely the various cults\nof paganism. Almost all the female deities occasionally interchange\noffices. Diana is especially a central figure, in which they all meet.\nVenus, Juno, Minerva, ordinarily representative of such opposite\nfunctions, are, under certain aspects, identified with Diana. Of Isis\nDr. D\u00f6llinger says: \"She often stepped into the place of Demeter,\nPersephone, Artemis, and Hecate, and became dispensatrix of food,\nmistress of the lower world and of the sea, and goddess of navigation.\nIn some inscriptions she is pantheistically called 'the one who is\nall.'\"[113]\n\n\"Fables,\" Sir Francis Palgrave says, truly enough, \"have radiated from\na common centre, and their universal consent does not prove their\nsubsequent reaction upon each other, but their common derivation from a\ncommon origin.\"[114] None the less, however, the \"subsequent reaction\"\nis in many cases most real and important; itself testifying, doubtless,\nto a common origin, but at the same time productive of results of\na distinctly conglomerate character. Often, too, properties which\nbelonged to the original parent cultus, and which have been lost, or\nhave fallen into abeyance in a derivative, have been restored to this\nlast by amalgamation with another cult. For instance, the Ephesian\nArtemis, the parent, as is generally supposed, of the Latian Diana,\nwas always associated with the practice of magic. Her garments were\ncovered with mystic sentences, which obtained the name of \"Ephesian\nLetters,\" and which were supposed to be potent charms. The deciphering\nand application of these sentences was a regular art in Ephesus; hence\nthe magic books which the Ephesians burned in such numbers under the\ninfluence of S. Paul's preaching. On the other hand, the Latian Diana\nseems to have derived the most part of her magic properties from her\namalgamation with Hecate.\n\nEvidence is not wanting to show that the medi\u00e6val magical cultus owes\nits conglomerate character to something more than the accidental\nmingling of races, or the spontaneous action of polytheism which I have\nnoticed.\n\nThe Gnostic heretics, and especially the disciples of Basilides, have\nleft numerous records of their teaching and practice in the shape of\nengraved gems called _abraxi_, which have been discovered in great\nnumbers throughout North Italy, Gaul, and Spain. If we look through\nthe pages devoted to the illustration of these extraordinary relics in\nMontfaucon, we shall find almost all the peculiar emblems of medi\u00e6val\nmagic, such as cocks and serpents, abracadabra, the triple Hecate, etc.\nBut beyond this there is conspicuous the medley, so characteristic of\nmedi\u00e6val magic, of sacred and profane, Christian and pagan, divine and\ndiabolical; the names of God and of our Lord mixed with those of Latin\nand Egyptian deities, Old Testament prophets and local genii, piety and\nlewdness, grace and brutishness--loathsomely incongruous, one should\nfancy, even to unchristian eyes, as some royal banquet which harpies\nhave defiled with blood and ordure.\n\nBasilides himself (A.D. 125) seems hardly to have been responsible\nfor these indecencies. He was an eclectic of the Hebrew-Alexandrian\nschool, and, if we are to believe Neander, meant to teach a not\nunrefined monotheism by means of a vocabulary of symbols gathered from\nall quarters. But he had prepared a powerful machinery for evil, of\nwhich his unscrupulous disciples were not slow to avail themselves. The\ndiabolical guild spread with extraordinary rapidity, and struck deep\nroot on all sides. S. Iren\u00e6us writes against it and the kindred sect of\nthe Valentinians in the IId century, and S. Jerome in the Vth century\ntestifies to its influence in Gaul and Spain.\n\nThese Gnostics seem to have gradually identified themselves with\nanother and even darker sect of the same family--the Ophites, or\nworshippers of the serpent; witness the vast number of serpent gems\namongst the _abraxi_. With these Ophites, as with the Cainites,\nwho closely resemble them, the demiurge, creator, or world-god,\nis not merely subordinate, but imperfect and evil, and hostile to\nthe everlasting wisdom symbolized by the serpent. The malignant\ncreator, jealous of his creature, throws about him the net of the\nlaw, restraining him from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil;\nand from out of this net, the eternal wisdom, by the serpent as its\nintermediary and symbol, delivers him. And so it is that, in this\nperverse system, man's fall becomes his triumph, and the devil his\nredeemer. This principle was only carried out by the Cainites when\nthey upheld Cain and Judas as the representatives of the higher wisdom\nand examples of heroic resistance to the tyranny of the demiurge. It\nmust be admitted that it would be quite in keeping with their usual\nmanner if they are responsible for the deification of Herodias. Of the\nOphites, Origen reports that they admitted none to their assemblies\nwho did not curse Christ.[115] This systematic, detailed perversion\nof Christianity is so perfectly in accord with what we are told of\nthe medi\u00e6val Sabbath, where Christ was renounced and the Blessed\nTrinity reviled as a three-headed Cerberus, that, loath as are such\nhistorians as Neander and Gieseler to entertain anything so _bizarre_\nas devil-worship, they hardly know what else to call it. Amongst many\nspecial indications of a connection between Gnosticism and medi\u00e6val\n_diablerie_, I would remark the following: Alvernus speaks of the\nmagic book in use in his day, entitled _Circulus Major_, wherein are\ninstructions how to form the greater circle for the evocation of\ndemons; also of a \"greater\" and \"lesser\" circle, and of other figures\ncalled \"Mandal\" and \"Aliandet,\" wherein convene the four kings of the\nEast, West, North, and South, with other demons beside.[116] Now,\nOrigen speaks of the \"greater and lesser circles\" as rites of the\nOphites. It is true that in Origen's description we do not hear of four\nkings, but of seven, who are styled the \"seven princes,\" \"lords of the\nseven gates\"[117] \"of the seven heavens\"; but the number does not seem\nto be marked with any great precision; for Origen (cap. 31) reduced\nthem to six, and it is the worship of the six angels that S. Boniface\nis said to have abolished in Germany in the VIIIth century.[118] Again,\nAlvernus admitted that his circles contained other demons besides the\nfour kings.\n\nThe four kings are identified as a Gnostic subdivision of the seven\nspirits by Feuerardentius,[119] who says that, according to the\nRabbins, Zamael was one of the four kings of evil spirits, and reigned\nin the East, and also one of the seven planetary spirits, and presided\nover Mars. He was the accuser of the Jews, as Michael was the defender.\nThe Jews are said to pray in their synagogues, \"Remember not, O Lord,\nthe accusation of Zamael, but remember the defence of Michael.\" Michael\nis another of the seven planetary spirits, ruling, according to some,\nin Mercury, according to others, in the sun, and wielding the east\nwind. The Ophites, with their instinct for desecration, blended Michael\nand Zamael into one, calling them the \"_Serpens projectibilis_,\" with\ntwo names.[120] Of Adalbert, the heretical worshipper of the six\nangels, who was discomfited by S. Boniface, we are told that \"he\npretended to hold intercourse with S. Michael.\"\n\nIt would seem that something very much like the ancient rites for\nevoking the four kings is still in use in Africa. Alvernus' account\nis: \"The master smites the ground in front of him, toward the eastern\nquarter, with outstretched sword, and saith these words: 'Let the\ngreat king of the East come forth'\"; and so on with the others. In the\ndescription of a modern incantation in Algiers, related in _Experiences\nwith Home_, p. 158, we are told, \"Loud thrusts and blows were heard on\nthe ground, and several forms became visible, apparently issuing from\nthe earth.\"\n\nWe can hardly avoid the conclusion that medi\u00e6val magic is a Gnostic\ntradition, and so additional light is thrown upon the vehement\nlanguage in which the \"chapter\" denounces as heretical, and more\nthan heretical--as something worse than paganism--every feature of\na system which apparently aimed at nothing less than a pantheistic\nidentification of good and evil through the deification of the devil.\n\nI shall now proceed to show that antecedently to, and contemporaneously\nwith, the legislation of the \"chapter,\" there existed in the church\na belief in the power of Satan and in the reality of magic differing\nnot at all from that which prevailed in the middle ages. It is easy to\nmake, as Maffei has done, a _catena_ of fathers who speak in contempt\nof magic, some going so far as to call it a \"nullity.\" The great fact\nthat impressed the early Christians with regard to magic was that\neverywhere it was shrinking back before Christianity; that simple\nchildren, armed with the cross, were more than a match for the masters\nof devilish lore. They were full of that triumphant disenchantment\nand purification of nature so gloriously expressed in the concluding\nstanzas of Milton's \"Nativity\" ode. But men do not celebrate a triumph\nover nothing, neither can nothing be brought to naught. The question\nis, Did the fathers think it \"heretical to attribute superhuman effects\nto the aid of demons\"? It will be to the purpose to collect a few\nexamples of the way in which they talked of two of the earliest and\nmost generally accepted relations of magic--the account of Simon Magus'\nmagic powers and Peter-stinted flight, and the legend of Cyprian and\nJovita. It is altogether beside the point to insist that one or both\nof these relations are mere legends; the question is, what the fathers\nthought it consistent with the Christian faith to believe. I shall\nconfine myself to passages which unmistakably exclude the hypothesis of\nmere jugglery.\n\nOf Simon Magus, Justin Martyr (A.D. 133, _Apol._, i. 26) says that \"he\ndid mighty acts of magic by virtue of the art of the devils acting in\nhim.\"\n\nS. Hippolytus (A.D. 220, _Refut._, bk. vi.) says that he did his\nsorceries partly according to the art of Thrasymedes, in the manner\nwe have described above, and partly also by the assistance of\ndemons perpetrating his villany, \"attempted to deify himself.\" This\ntestimony as to the reality of the diabolical intervention is the\nmore remarkable, as Hippolytus was a most keen exploder of the tricks\nof pagan magicians, amongst whom was Thrasymedes, and gives, in the\nwork from which I quote, detailed accounts of how they produced their\neffects by powders and reflectors, so that people saw Diana and her\nhounds, and all manner of things, in the magic cauldron. Arnobius\n(A.D. 303, _Advers. Gentes_, lib. ii.) says, \"The Romans had seen the\nchariot of Simon Magus and his fiery horses blown abroad by the mouth\nof Peter, and utterly to vanish at the name of Christ.\"\n\nS. Cyril of Jerusalem (A.D. 350, _Cat. vi. Illum._): \"After Simon had\npromised that he would rise up aloft into the heavens, and was borne up\nin a demon chariot and carried through the air, the servants of God,\nthrowing themselves on their knees, and manifesting that agreement of\nwhich Jesus spake--'If two of you be of accord concerning whatsoever\nthing you shall ask, it shall be granted'--by the javelin of their\nconcord let fly at the magician brought him headlong to the ground.\"\n\nS. Maximus of Turin (_Serm. in Fest. S. Petri_): \"When that Simon said\nhe was Christ, and declared that as a son he would fly up on high to\nhis father, and straightway, lifted up by his magic arts, began to fly,\nthen Peter on his knees besought the Lord, and by his holy prayers\novercame the magic levity.\" The story of Cyprian and Jovita records\nthe repeated but fruitless attempts of the heathen magician, Cyprian,\nto overcome the chastity of the Christian virgin, Jovita, by means of\na lascivious demon, whom he employs as his agent, and how Cyprian is\nfinally converted.\n\nS. Gregory Nazianzen (_Orat._ 24) does not hesitate to speak thus: \"He\n(Cyprian) tried all the more, and employed as his procurer no ancient\nhag of the sort fit for such things, but one of the body-loving,\npleasure-loving demons; since the envious and apostate spirits are keen\nfor such service, seeking many partners in their fall. And the wage of\nsuch procuration was offerings and libations, and the appropriation of\nthe fumes of blood; for such reward must be bestowed upon those that\nare thus gracious.\"\n\nAs to S. Augustine, even Janus admits that this father does furnish an\nawkward passage (_De Civ. Dei_, xv. 23) about the commerce of demons\nwith women, which \"the Dominican theologians seized on\"; \"but the\nsaint used it in mere blind credulity,\" and, though he never exactly\nretracted it, did retract \"a similar statement (_Retract._, ii.\n30).\"[121] Unfortunately for Janus, no two statements could be more\ndissimilar. The statement which S. Augustine retracts is one limiting\nthe devil's power; the statement which he does not retract is one in\nwhich it is precisely Janus' complaint that he exaggerates it. In\nmatter of fact, S. Augustine is the great storehouse from which the\nscholastics have obtained almost all they have to say on _diablerie_.\n\nS. Augustine, in his treatise, _De Trinitate_ (lib. iii. cap. 8),\nhaving distinguished the creator of the \"invisible seeds,\" the first\nelements of things, latent everywhere throughout the frame of nature,\nas the _Creator_, whereas all other authors are but _producers_, thus\nspeaks (cap. 9): \"What they (the evil spirits) can do by virtue of\ntheir nature, but cannot do through the prohibition of God, and what\nthey are not suffered to do by the condition of their nature, is past\nman's finding out, except through the gift of God, which the apostle\ncommemorates, saying, 'To another the discernment of spirits.' We know\nthat man can walk, though walk he cannot unless he be permitted; so\nthose angels can do certain things if allowed by more powerful angels\nat God's command, and cannot do certain other things, even if these\nallow them, because he suffers it not from whom their nature hath its\nnative bounds, who, through his angels, very often prevents them doing\nsuch things as he allows them to be able to do.\"\n\n_De Civ. Dei_, lib. xxi. cap. 6: \"Demons are allured to dwell with\nmen by means of creatures which not they, but God, has gifted with\nsweetness diverse after their kind; not as brutes are attracted by\nfood, but as spirits by signs which are congruous to each one's\npleasure--by various kinds of stones, herbs, trees, animals, charms,\nand rites. But in order that they should be so allured by men, they\nfirst seduce them with astutest cunning, either by breathing into their\nhearts a secret poison, or even by appearing in the deceitful guise of\nfriendship, and make a few their scholars and the teachers of many.\nNeither would it be possible to learn, unless they first taught it,\nby what name they are invited, by what compelled; whence magic arts\nand their adepts have taken rise.... And their works are exceedingly\nnumerous, which, the more marvellous we acknowledge them to be, the\nmore cautiously we must avoid.\"\n\nS. Isidore (_Etym._, lib. viii. cap. 9) says of magicians: \"These\ntrouble the elements, disturb men's minds, and, without any\npoison-draught, by the mere force of their charm, destroy life.\"\n\nVenerable Bede, in the VIIth century (in _Luc._, lib. iii. cap. 8),\nsays of the commerce of _incubi_ and _succubi_, which Janus tells us\nwas an invention of the Dominicans, that \"it is a matter as really\ntrue as it looks like a lie, and is notoriously attested by numbers.\"\nHe tells us that a priest of a neighboring parish related to him that\nhe had to exorcise a woman so beset, and to heal the ulcers which the\ndevil had left upon her. These were all cured by blest salt, except\nthe largest, which was not healed until the priest was told what to\ndo by his patient. \"If,\" said she, \"you mix the oil consecrated for\nthe sick with the same medicine (_i.e._ the salt), and so anoint me, I\nshall be at once restored to health; for I whilom saw in the spirit, in\na certain far-off city, a girl affected with the same calamity cured\nin this way by the priest.\" He did as she suggested, and at once the\nulcer consented to receive the remedy, which it had before rejected.\nHincmar (_De Divort. Loth. et Tetb._, p. 654) says that certain\nwomen \"a Dusiis in specie virorum quorum amore ardebant concubitum\npertulisse inventa sunt\"; and the context shows that he is not merely\nquoting S. Augustine, but bearing his own testimony; for he speaks\nof their exorcism. He proceeds to give an account of various kinds\nof witchery, with an unmistakable conviction of their reality, and\nclinches them with the wonderful story from the _Life of S. Basil_, by\nthe pseudo-Amphilochius, in his time newly translated out of the Greek.\nIt is the same story which Southey has turned to such good account in\nhis _All for Love_; and certainly few medi\u00e6val legends surpass it in\nthe realism of its _diablerie_. A young man obtains for his wife a\ngirl, who is on the eve of taking the veil, by means of a charm got at\nthe price of a compact written in his blood, surrendering his soul to\nthe evil one. When the young man repents, and the devil insists on his\nbargain, S. Basil discomfits the fiend before the whole congregation,\nand wrings from him the fatal writing. Now, Hincmar was the leading\nprelate in the Gallic Church in the IXth century--that is to say, in\nthe very church and the very century in which was almost certainly\ncomposed the \"chapter\" in which Janus supposes that all belief in\nwitchcraft was condemned as heresy.\n\nIvo of Chartres, in the XIth century, one of the very authors\nwhom, because they transcribe the \"chapter,\" Janus appeals to as\nrepresentatives of what he regards as the ancient tradition, speaks\nthus on the interpretation of Genesis vi. 2: \"It is more likely that\njust men, under the appellation of angels or sons of God, sinned with\nwomen, than that angels, who are without flesh, could have condescended\nto that sin; although of certain demons who maltreat women many persons\nrelate so many things that a determination one way or the other is not\neasy.\"[122]\n\nWhen we come to the great scholastics of the XIIIth century, we find\nthat where they have varied in aught from the teaching of their\npredecessors on the subject of magic, it was, on the whole, in the\ndirection of moderation, or what would be called nowadays rationalism.\nFor instance, in considering the question of diabolical intercourse\nwith women, a belief in which, as we have seen, they had inherited from\na line of theologians, they gave an explanation which, whatever may be\nsaid of it, at least repudiated the idea of an actual mixture of carnal\nand spiritual natures. Again, they were very careful to guard against\nthe notion that there is anything that can be called with propriety an\nart-magic--_i.e._ that there is any other than an arbitrary connection\nbetween the charms used and the results obtained--which is more than\ncan be said of some of their predecessors.\n\nJanus (p. 258), with the operose mendacity which is his characteristic,\npretends that the authority \"of the popes, Aquinas, and the powerful\nDominican Order\" established the reality of the Sabbath rides; that\nin the XIVth and XVth centuries you might \"be condemned as a heretic\nin Spain for affirming, and in Italy for denying, the reality of the\nSabbath rides\"; that some Franciscan theologians in the XVth century,\namongst others Alfonso de Spina, in his _Fortalitium Fidei_, maintained\nthe ancient doctrine asserting \"belief in the reality of witchcraft\nto be a folly and a heresy\"; that Spina \"thought that the inquisitors\nhad witches burned simply on account of that belief.\" \"Tot verba tot\nmendacia\"! The question of the reality or non-reality of the Sabbath\nrides has always been an open question. S. Thomas says nothing about\nthem one way or the other. It is much more probable than not that he\nregarded those rides as fantastic, in accordance with the teaching of\nhis masters, Albertus Magnus[123] and Alexander Hales.[124] That he\nnever committed himself to the opposite view is pretty well assured\nby the fact that the great representative of \"the powerful Dominican\nOrder\" in the XVth century, Cardinal Turrecremata, is an advocate of\nthe view which makes the rides fantastic. We may add that his eminence\ngot on very comfortably during his long residence in Italy, without\nbeing molested for his Spanish heresy.\n\nAs to Alfonso Spina, he, indeed, asserts the fantastic character of the\nSabbath flights; but so little is he a disbeliever in _diablerie_ that,\nnot contented with maintaining its reality (_Fortal._, f. 146, p. 1,\ncol. 1),[125] he contributes a rather grotesque instance of it from his\nown experience (f. 151, p. 1, col. 2).\n\nHe nowhere says that inquisitors had witches burned \"simply on\naccount\" of their belief in the reality of the Sabbath. He recounts\nthe burning of certain witches in Dauphiny and Gascony, who did hold\ntheir Sabbath meetings to be real, which view, as attributing a certain\ndivine power to the devil, Spina thought could not be persisted in\nwithout heresy. (See fol. 152, p. 2, col. 1.) But they were burned\nbecause they were witches who had done real homage to the devil,\nalthough sundry of its circumstances might be imaginary.\n\nThe following passages may be accepted as examples of the doctrine on\nspiritualism of the principal scholastics of the XIIIth century.\n\nS. Thomas, _Sum._ i. qu. 110, lays down that God only can work a\nmiracle properly so called--_i.e._ a work beyond the order of the\nwhole of created nature; \"but since not every virtue of created\nnature is known to us, therefore, when anything takes place by a\ncreated virtue unknown to us, it is a miracle in respect to us; and\nso, when the devils do something by their natural power, it is called\na miracle, _quoad nos_; and in this way magicians work miracles by\nmeans of devils.\" (In 4 _Dist._ vii. qu. 3.) \"The devils, by their\nown power, cannot induce upon matter any form, whether accidental or\nsubstantial, nor reduce it to act, without the instrumentality of its\nproper natural agent.... The devils can bring to bear activities upon\nparticular passivities, so that the effect shall follow from natural\ncauses indeed, but beside the accustomed course of nature, on account\nof the variety and vehemence of the active virtue of the active forces\ncombined, and the aptitude of the subjects;[126] and so effects which\nare outside the sphere of all natural active virtues they cannot\nreally produce--as raise the dead or the like--but only in appearance.\"\n\n_De Malo_, qu. xvi. art. 9: \"The devils can do what they do, 1st,\nBecause they know better than men the virtue of natural agents. 2d.\nBecause they can combine them with greater rapidity. 3d. Because the\nnatural agents which they use as instruments can attain to greater\neffects by the power and craft of the devils than by the power and\ncraft of men.\"\n\nAlexander Hales, _Sum._, pars 2, qu. 42, art. 3, says that nothing,\nhowever wonderful, \"is a miracle which takes place in accordance with\nthe natural or seminal order, but every miracle holds of the causal\nratio (creative cause) only,\" (L.C. qu. 43). He admits that these\nmarvels of the seminal order are miracles _secundum modum faciendi_--a\nterm equivalent to S. Thomas' _quoad nos_.\n\nAlbertus Magnus, _Op._, tom. xviii. tract viii. qu. 3, art. 1, points\nout that the miracles of Pharao's magicians are called lies, \"not\nbecause they are unreal (_falsa in se_), but because the devils have\nalways the intention of deceiving in those works which they are allowed\nto do.\"\n\nTo sum up, the doctrine of the scholastics on the subject of the\ndevil's power comes to this: The devil is a great artist, who can\npresent incomparable shows to the senses and the imagination, and a\nsupreme chemist, who can combine natural agents indefinitely, and can\nelicit in a twinkling the virtual contents of each combination; but\nhe can create, and, strictly speaking, originate, nothing external to\nhimself. They knew that, in mercy to mankind, Almighty God was ever\nrestraining the devil in the exercise of this power; but they conceived\nthat the power itself continued unaltered. It was generally admitted\nthat the devil could not raise a dead man to life, or restore a sense,\nas the sight, when really destroyed. But such acts were regarded by\nthe scholastics as precisely instances of the creation or origination\nof such a mode as could not be the outcome of any mere combination of\nnatural agents, and which, therefore, must require the fiat of the\nCreator. At the same time, it must be admitted that they often found it\ndifficult to distinguish in fact between the operation of the limits of\nthe devil's finite nature and the result of the habitual reservation of\nAlmighty God.\n\nAnd here it may not unnaturally be objected that the large allowance I\nhave made to natural powers, and to the devil's power of manipulating\nthem, tends to lessen the effect of the argument from miracles. No\ndoubt it tends to reduce a considerable number of miracles from the\ncategory of logical proof to that of rhetorical argument. Where the\nmiracle is supposed wholly above nature, it is a proof that God is\nwith those who work it; but where it is not beyond the sphere of\nuniversal nature, it can, for the most part, only offer a greater or\nless persuasion dependent upon circumstances. However, such natural\nmiracles, so to call them, approximate more or less closely to logical\ncogency in proportion as they manifest themselves as the victors in\na war of miracles; for it cannot be supposed that in such a war God\nshould allow himself to be worsted, or that Satan should be divided\nagainst himself. When God first presented himself as a wonder-worker\nbefore human witnesses, it was as developing and modifying in a\nsupernatural manner the powers of nature--nay, of local, Egyptian\nnature--and outdoing and discomfiting the magicians \"who did in like\nmanner.\" A recent Catholic commentator, Dr. Smith, in his very learned\nwork, _The Book of Moses_, points out in detail \"the analogy which most\nof the plagues present with the annual phenomena of the country.\"[127]\nOf the prelude to the plagues, the conversion of the rod of Moses into\na serpent, he says: \"Even at the present day, the descendants, or at\nleast representatives, of the Psylli ... can change the asp into a rod\nstiff and rigid, and at pleasure restore it to flexibility and life by\nseizing the tail and rolling it between their hands.\"\n\nIn his treatment of the first plague, he gives the following account of\nthe annual phenomenon: \"For some time before the rise, the Nile assumes\na green color; it then becomes putrid and unfit to drink. Gradually,\nabout the 25th June, a change comes on; the green color and putrid odor\ndisappear; the water becomes clear again, then takes a yellow tinge,\nwhich passes into an ochreous red; until for ninety days before the\ninundation gains its greatest height, it is popularly called the _red\nwater_. 'On the first appearance of the change,' says an eye-witness,\n'the broad, turbid tide certainly has a striking resemblance to a river\nof blood.'[128] ... At the moment foretold by Moses, the miraculous rod\nis lifted up and waved over the stream; instantaneously the red attains\nall its intensity of color; the fish, which in ordinary years live on\nthrough the gradual habituation to a different state, now perish in\nnumbers from the very suddenness of the change; and the putrid odor,\nwhich usually exhales from it before the rise, comes back again in\nconsequence of this mortality. The blood-red hue is not confined to\nthe spot where Pharao and his magicians stood. It spreads at once\ninto the various channels into which the river divides itself, into\nthe canals which are carried through the land for irrigation, into the\nlakes and ponds which served as reservoirs, into all the collections of\nNile-water, and the very vessels of stone and wood which were commonly\nused both in town and country for private cisterns. The consequence is\nthat at the very time the water begins to sweeten, it becomes again\nundrinkable; the Egyptians loathe the water, a draught of which is\nesteemed one of the greatest luxuries they can enjoy; and, as the\ninhabitants still do when anything prevents them from drinking of the\nriver, 'they digged round about the river for water, for they could not\ndrink of the water of the river.'\"\n\nOf the plague of frogs, the same author remarks: \"Such a nuisance\nwas not unknown in some other countries, and there are instances of\nthe inhabitants being in consequence driven from their settlements,\nas Athen\u00e6us remarks of the P\u0153onians and Dardanians, Diodorus of the\nAntariats of Illyria, and Pliny of some Gaulish nation. But in Egypt\nthey are not unfrequently equivalent to a plague. Indeed, Hasselquist\nbelieves that every year that would be the result, were it not for the\nspecies of stork, called _ardea ibis_, which in the month of September\ncomes down in large flocks to feed upon the small frogs then beginning\nto swarm over the country.\"\n\nAs regards the third plague, that of the _ciniphs_, or Egyptian\nmosquito, Dr. Smith thinks that the magicians could not produce them,\nbecause at that time of the year they were not yet out of the egg.\nThis, as we have seen, is not the doctrine of the scholastics, and is\nhardly consistent with the idea that the magicians were anything more\nthan conjurers. I would suggest that the mosquitoes had to do something\nmore than show themselves and crawl in order to vindicate their reality\nas plagues. Doubtless the magicians and their familiars hatched the\neggs; and there the effete creatures were, with knock-knees, and\nflaccid trunks, and languid appetites; but they were as though they\nwere not when the orthodox mosquitoes sounded their horns for the\nbanquet, and put in their stings with all and more than all their\nnative vigor. Well might the magicians exclaim in anguish, \"This is\nthe finger of God.\"[129] Abbot Rupert, a writer of the XIIth century,\ngives precisely the same _rationale_ of the magicians' failure, whilst\nmaintaining that their successes were of the nature of phantasmagoria.\n\nOf the remaining plagues, the fourth, that of flies, was too like the\nthird for the magicians to hope for success; and when at the sixth\nplague they seem again to take heart, behold, they cannot \"stand before\nMoses for the boils that are upon them.\" The dreadful sequel, closing\nin darkness and death, would seem to have simply swept them away in its\ntide of horror.\n\nSo far, then, from there being any reason for shrinking from the idea\nof a miraculous competition, in which the spirit of man, the demon, and\nAlmighty God enter the lists together, we ought rather to rejoice at\nthe recurrence of the very conditions which God is wont to choose for\nthe scene of his most triumphant manifestations.\n\nI have thus drawn out the Catholic idea of _diablerie_, because I\nbelieve that one of the causes most active in spiritualism--a cause\nnecessary to the evolution of a great number of its phenomena--is the\ndevil. In matter of fact, to this cause these phenomena have been for\nages universally attributed. It may, then, fairly claim to be the\nhypothesis in possession. In the concluding chapter, I hope to consider\nthe amendment which spiritualists, as a rule, suggest--viz., that the\nspirits whom they admit with us to be the causes of the phenomena are\nnot devils, enemies of God and man, but the souls of the departed in\nvarying stages of perfection.\n\n                            TO BE CONTINUED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[94] Cotelerius in lib. iv. _Recogn. S. Clementis_, p. 452.\n\n[95] Eng. trans., p. 250.\n\n[96] P. 250, note.\n\n[97] Preface to Edit. Benedict. S. Augustin.\n\n[98] _De Antiq. Collect. Can_, pars iv. cap. 12.\n\n[99] _Vita Cardinal de Cusa._ By Hartzheim, S.J. Pars ii. cap. 8.\n\n[100] Note to canto iii.\n\n[101] See D\u00f6llinger's _Gentile and Jew_ (Darnell's translation), vol.\nii. p. 49.\n\n[102] _Act. Sanct._ Aug., 27.\n\n[103] _L'Antiq. Expliq._, lib. iii.\n\n[104] _Vita_, Hartzheim, l. i.\n\n[105] _Polycrat._, l. ii. p. 13.\n\n[106] _De Univ._, p. 948.\n\n[107] Ovid, _Fasti_, lib. v. line 141.\n\n[108] _Metam._ v. fab. 7.\n\n[109] _Ducange_, sup. (Diana).\n\n[110] _Storia Univ._, lib. xv. cap. 15.\n\n[111] Vol. i. p. 101.\n\n[112] _Masque of Queens._\n\n[113] Vol. ii. p. 177.\n\n[114] _Quart. Rev._, vol. xxii. p. 370.\n\n[115] _Cont. Cels._, lib. vi. c. 28.\n\n[116] _De Univ._, tom. i. p. 1037.\n\n[117] _Cont. Cels._, lib. vi. c. 38.\n\n[118] _Life_, by Mrs. Hope, p. 186.\n\n[119] _Iren._, Ed. Ben. Var. Annot., p. 230.\n\n[120] _Iren._, cap. xxx. p. 111.\n\n[121] P. 252.\n\n[122] _Decret._, pars xi. cap. 105.\n\n[123] Tom. xviii. tract. viii. qu. 30, art. 2, memb. 2.\n\n[124] Pars ii. qu. 166, memb. 6.\n\n[125] Edit. Nuremberg, 1485.\n\n[126] Cf. _Scotus Oxon_, lib. ii. dist. 18.\n\n[127] Vol. i. p. 320 et seq.\n\n[128] Osburn, _Israel in Egypt_.\n\n[129] In Exod. viii.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FARM OF MUICERON.\n\n\n                            BY MARIE RHEIL.\n\n                  FROM THE REVUE DU MONDE CATHOLIQUE.\n\n\nV.\n\nThose who are fond of singular events in this world had here a chance\nto be satisfied; for, certainly, this affair surpassed anything in the\nordinary run. Pierrette quickly recovered, and nursed her little one\nwithout fatigue. Far from becoming even the least pale or thin, it was\nremarked, even by the envious--and there are always some of the tribe\naround the happy--that she was rejuvenated, fresh as a cherry, and the\nbaby in her arms made her resemble the good S. Anne, mother of our\nBlessed Lady, whose chapel was near our parish church.\n\nBesides, the great esteem felt for the Ragauds, their charity, honesty,\nand well-known piety, caused it to be acknowledged--and it was\ntrue--that this new blessing, the choicest and most unexpected they\ncould have desired, was the recompense of the Lord God on account of\nlittle Jean-Louis. M. le Cur\u00e9 said it to whoever would listen to him;\nand, as we have seen he was fond of repeating proverbs, he did not fail\nto add: \"If there is one truth that each and every one of us can prove\nif he wishes, it is '_that a good action is never lost_.' Now, if this\nis always true in regard to men, judge if we should believe it when the\ngood God, all-powerful, is our creditor!\"\n\nM. le Marquis de Val-Saint was the first and most sincere in rejoicing\nat the happiness of his good farmers. Mademoiselle, his daughter,\nasked to be godmother, and had made under her own eyes, by her maids,\na complete outfit of fine Holland linen, of which all the little\ngarments were scalloped, embroidered, and trimmed with lace; such as\nare only displayed in the shop-windows of the city.\n\nM. le Marquis naturally stood godfather with mademoiselle, and, not to\nbe behind her in presents, ordered that, on the day of the baptism,\nthere should be feasting and village-dances on the lawn before the\nch\u00e2teau.\n\nIt was a day to be remembered in the neighborhood. As for the eating,\nsinging, and laughter, you can well think nothing was wanting; they\nspoke of it for months afterwards. Only one person wore a rather long\nface, and that was our _cur\u00e9_; not that he was ever the enemy of\npleasure and enjoyment, but that, contrary to his advice, M. le Marquis\nhad three casks of old wine, reserved for his own table, tapped; and\nthe consequence was that, out of two hundred persons present, men,\nwomen, and children, not one, towards twilight, was able to walk\nstraight on his legs.\n\nApart from that, everything passed off splendidly; and, to conclude,\nI will tell you that they had awaited the complete recovery of Mother\nPierrette, so that she might be present at the celebration with her\nlittle girl in her arms; which, to my mind, was the prettiest part of\nthe show.\n\nThe little Ragaudine had three beautiful names--Nicole-Eveline, after\nM. le Marquis and mademoiselle, her god-parents; and Jeanne, in honor\nof our great S. John the Baptist, on whose feast she had the good\nfortune to be born. One fact, which would have touched devout hearts\nif they had known it, was that little Jean-Louis had also come into\nthe world on S. John's day, four years before. M. le Cur\u00e9, who had\nit from poor Catharine, but who could not breathe a word of it, was\nnevertheless so inspired by the thought that he made at the baptism a\nspeech which drew all the handkerchiefs out of the pockets; and if I\nhave one regret, it is that I cannot give a full report of his touching\nwords. But I was not born at that time, and my father, from his great\nage, had forgotten them when he related this story to me.\n\nIf you fancy that this event affected in the least degree the condition\nof Jean-Louis, you are vastly mistaken. True, there was no longer\nthought of his inheriting Muiceron; but the tenderness and care of his\ngood parents were the same afterwards as before. Pierrette would have\nthought it a sin to have acted otherwise; for she was always the first\nto say: \"It was the boy's guardian angel that obtained for me my little\ngirl from the good God.\" Ragaud thought the same as his wife, but was a\nlittle more anxious than she about the temporal prospects of the boy.\nIt was evident that, between the fear of injuring his daughter, and the\ndread of leaving Jeannet in want, his good heart did not know which\nside to turn. Finally, in his embarrassment, he determined to consult\nM. le Cur\u00e9; and the good pastor, who had always an answer ready,\nsolved the difficulty in fifteen minutes' conversation. According to\nhis advice, it would suffice to place aside every year a small sum,\ndrawn from the harvest of such and such a field, and never to touch\neither capital or interest. In that way, before twenty years, Master\nJean-Louis would find himself, without any injury to the little girl,\nmaster of a nice little treasure, and capable, in his turn, of being\na land-owner. This affair settled, Ragaud returned home perfectly\nsatisfied, and told the whole story to Pierrette, who highly approved\nof the step.\n\nThus, instead of one child at Muiceron, there were two, and that was\nall the difference. The little things grew up calling themselves\nbrother and sister, there being nothing to make them doubt but that it\nwas really so. Never were quarrelling or bad words heard between them.\nRagaud often repeated to Jeannet that, as he was the eldest, he should\nlive patiently and amicably with his young sister; and Jeannet, from\nhis gentle heart and natural sweetness of disposition, easily put the\ncounsel in practice.\n\nIt is commonly said that girls are more forward than boys, as much\nin body as in mind; and another proof of the truth of this remark\nwas evident as the Ragaud children grew up. At six years old, the\nlittle girl was so bright, so cunning, so bold, and had such a strong\nconstitution, you would have thought her the twin-sister of Jean-Louis;\nbut with all that, there was no resemblance, either in face or\ndisposition, even though they say that, by living together, people\noften grow to look alike. Jeanne Ragaud had very light hair, was joyous\nand petulant, a little quick-tempered and rough in her actions, like\nher father; Jean had a thoughtful look, and although he was always\nready to play, his tastes were rather quiet. They both loved to lead\nthe sheep to pasture in the field near La Range; but when it was the\nturn of the little boy, you would have said the sheep took care of\nthemselves, so quiet was it around them; and the reason of this was,\nthat the shepherd was stretched in the wood, in the shade of an old\nwillow-tree, face to the sky, watching the clouds pass over his head.\nVery different was it when Jeannette, armed with a switch, left the\nfarm, driving the flock before her in the noisiest style; she drove off\nthe dog, ran faster than he after the sheep which tried to get away\nfrom her; and if she ever sat down, it was only because she was forced\nto do so from want of breath. As for the clouds, little did she care\nfor all that Jean pretended to see in them--the beautiful and moving\nthings that kept him lying on the grass for entire hours, silently\ngazing with fixed eyes on the blue sky above him. She obstinately\ndeclared that a cloudy sky pleased her more than one entirely blue,\nbecause generally clouds brought rain; and nothing, according to her\ntaste, was more delightful than a good soaking, which obliged the\nshepherdess and sheep to return together at full gallop to the house,\nrunning and paddling through the pools of muddy water.\n\nThis divergence of character grew more and more perceptible every day,\nand led Pierrette to exclaim:\n\n\"Come next S. Martin's day, and if this continues, my little chickens,\nI will have you change clothes; for, in truth, I begin to see that I\nwas mistaken, and that Jeannette is the boy, and _Louisieau_ the little\ngirl.\"\n\nThese words did not fall on the ear of a deaf person; for, after\nthat, _La Ragaudine_ became bolder and more resolute than ever. She\ndomineered over father and mother, who were weak enough to be amused by\nit; and as for Jean-Louis, when he ventured to offer a little friendly\nadvice, she replied proudly, with her chin in the air:\n\n\"Hold your tongue; mother said I was the boy.\"\n\nThereupon good Jeannet was terribly confused, and could not find words\nto reply.\n\nSoon the time came when they must think of school. In those days, there\nwere no parish schools taught by the Sisters and Christian Brothers,\nas now. Our good _cur\u00e9_, through pure zeal, had taken charge of the\nboys' education, and Germaine did the same for the girls. Thus the\nRagaud children did not have to accustom themselves to new faces in\nthis little change of their everyday life. But old Germaine could not\nsay as much; for until then, having only taught the village girls, who\nwere very obedient, even though a little stupid, she thought the devil\nhimself possessed the school the day that Jeannette put foot in it.\nWhat tricks and drolleries this little witch of eight years invented to\ndistract the others would be difficult to enumerate. Threats, scolding,\nshameful punishments, had no effect. At the end of a fortnight, she had\nreceived all the bad marks of the class, and the fool's cap appeared to\nbe her ordinary head-dress, so that the greatest wonder was if she by\nchance was seen without it.\n\nJean-Louis, in the adjoining room, accomplished wonders. In less than\nfour months, he learned to read and write; as for his catechism, he\nknew it so well he could explain it like a priest. Never did he go to\nsleep without knowing his lessons for the next day; so that M. le Cur\u00e9\nheld him in high favor, and taught him many things that are found in\nbooks, but which are not generally known in the country.\n\nThus it turned out that all the praises and dainties fell to the lot of\nJeannet as a reward for his good conduct. Every Thursday he returned to\nthe farm, holding up with both hands the front of his blouse, filled\nwith fruit and candies of Germaine's manufacture. Jeannette kept close\nto his side, not at all displeased at having nothing--you can well\nimagine why. The cunning monkey knew that hardly would they have turned\non their heels, before Jean-Louis would open his blouse, and say,\n\"Here, little pet, choose.\"\n\nSo that, without giving herself the least trouble, that imp of a\nJeannette feasted at will on the choicest morsels. Our _cur\u00e9_ was not\nlong duped; without scolding Jean-Louis, who by acting in that manner\nonly proved his good heart, he warned Germaine that she must try some\nother means of correcting the headstrong Jeannette, who could not be\nallowed to grow up with such perverse habits. Germaine, very much hurt,\nreplied that she had used every punishment unsuccessfully, except\nwhipping, which she had never dared.\n\n\"Well,\" said the _cur\u00e9_, \"the next time she misbehaves, whip her,\nGermaine. I authorize you to do it.\"\n\nThey had not to wait long. One very rainy day, Jeannette managed to\narrive the last at school, and seeing all the children's wooden shoes\nand leather leggings ranged outside of the door, she gathered up the\ngreater part of them in her skirt, and ran off to the well, that she\nmight throw them to the bottom, running the risk of tumbling in herself\nat the same time. Germaine, who was still light-footed, and feared\nsomething wrong was contemplated, spied her through the window, rushed\nafter her, and caught her just in time to prevent the act.\n\n\"This is the way,\" cried she, holding the young one tightly by the\narm--\"this is the way you, wicked good-for-nothing child, employ your\ntime, instead of learning your lessons!\"\n\nFor the first time, Jeannette, in spite of her daring spirit, was so\novercome she could not say a word in defence. She saw quickly that she\nwould be well punished, and returned to the class very downcast.\n\nGermaine commenced by making her pupil kneel in the middle of the room,\nand then, seating herself in her straw arm-chair, with a severe and\ntroubled look, related the whole affair, taking care to make it appear\nin its worst light.\n\n\"Now,\" added she, looking around at her little audience, who showed a\njust indignation, \"if I ask you, my children, what punishment Jeanne\nRagaud deserves for having attempted to enjoy herself in such a\nmalicious and shameful manner, you will doubtless answer that I should\nexpel her from the class; but do you think that would be a great sorrow\nfor a girl so careless of her duties? No, no, I say that would only\nplease her; and therefore, Jeanne Ragaud, you will immediately receive\na severe chastisement, but which, nevertheless, is not equal to your\ngreat fault.\"\n\nThereupon Germaine readjusted her spectacles, drew from the bottom of\nher big work-bag a leather whip with several thongs, and Jeannette,\nmore dead than alive with anger and shame, received in full view the\nwell-deserved punishment.\n\nShe neither cried, nor wept, nor made any protestation, not even an\nattempt to defend herself; but she did not ask pardon either, and sat\nstraight up on her bench, whiter than Mother Germaine's cap. It was the\nonly day they had ever seen her quiet and good.\n\nTowards evening, Jeannet, as usual, took his post where he could meet\nher, that they might return home together; but great was his surprise\nto see the little thing advance with measured steps, instead of running\nand bounding according to her custom. What astonished him still further\nwas that she neither spoke nor laughed. Her little face was all\nchanged; but whether from grief or anger he could not discover. It\nended by making him feel very anxious, as he feared she was ill.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" he asked gently. \"Surely, Jeannette, something\ntroubles you; for this is the first time in my life I have ever seen\nyou sad.\"\n\nThe child turned away her head, and pretended to look at the trees.\n\n\"You will not answer me,\" continued Jean-Louis; \"and yet I only\nquestion you from pure love, not from curiosity. When one is troubled,\nit is a relief to speak to a friend. Am I not strong enough to defend\nyou by tongue and arm, in case you _need_ it?\"\n\n\"Nothing is the matter,\" replied Jeannette. \"What do you fancy ails me?\nLet us hurry, it is growing late; the crows are beginning to flutter\naround the steeple.\"\n\n\"I am not thinking now about the crows, nor you either, Jeannette,\"\nsaid he, taking in his own her little, trembling hand; \"and as for\ngoing faster, that is not possible; we are already walking at such a\nrate we can scarcely breathe.\"\n\nJeanne stopped short, and quickly drew away her hand.\n\n\"Then, don't go any further,\" cried she in a rebellious tone.\n\n\"Come, now, be good; we can't think of stopping here. Why do you\nspeak to me so roughly? Don't you know that I am your friend and your\nbrother?\"\n\n\"When you will know what has happened,\" replied she impatiently,\n\"well--then--then--\"\n\n\"Then I will console you as well as I can, my Jeannette.\"\n\n\"Oh! yes, but you can't do it, Jean-Louis; in my trouble nobody can\nconsole me.\"\n\n\"Let us see,\" said he.\n\n\"There is nothing to see,\" she cried. \"I won't tell you anything.\"\n\n\"Then it will be difficult,\" he replied sadly. \"Jeannette, if I were\nunhappy, I would not make such a fuss about telling you.\"\n\nThey continued on in silence. When they reached the top of the hill\nin the meadow of Fauch\u00e9, from which could be seen the buildings of\nMuiceron, Jeannette suddenly stopped, and all the anger heaped up in\nher little heart melted into sobs.\n\n\"What will mother say when she sees you return with red eyes?\" said\ngood Jeannet, terribly distressed. \"I beg of you, my darling, speak to\nme; you would never cry like this for nothing.\"\n\n\"O Jean-Louis! I am so unhappy,\" she cried, throwing herself in his\narms; \"and if they make me go back to school, I will certainly die.\"\n\n\"Now, stop; don't cry any more. You shall not go back,\" said he,\nkissing her; \"for none of us wish to see you die.\"\n\nJeannette this time did not need urging, but frankly related all her\nwrongs and the affair of the whip. Jean-Louis for the moment was so\nfurious he would willingly have beaten Germaine; but after a little\nreflection, he thought that after all the correction was not altogether\nunjust.\n\nHe spoke wisely to the little thing, and succeeded in calming her in a\nmeasure; but he could not make her change her mind about returning to\nschool. On this point it was as difficult to make an impression as on a\nstone wall.\n\n\"What will we do?\" said he. \"For you see, Jeannette, father has\nalready received so many complaints about you he will most assuredly\nnot consent to let you remain idle at the farm. To-morrow we will\nleave without saying a word. Do what I tell you; say your prayers well\nto-night; and as, after all, you were a good deal in fault, the best\nthing will be to ask Germaine's pardon, which she will willingly grant.\"\n\n\"I would rather run off into the woods,\" cried the rebellious child. \"I\nwould rather be eaten up by the wolves.\"\n\n\"No, no, that is foolish,\" said he, \"they would hunt for you, and the\nwoods around Val-Saint are not so big but what they could find you; and\nthen everybody would know your fault, and father would be so angry.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said she resolutely. \"I will go see my godmother.\"\n\n\"That can easily be done,\" replied Jeannet; \"and it is a very good\nidea. Dry up your tears now; to-morrow morning we will go together and\nsee mademoiselle; she will know what to do.\"\n\nThis agreement made, Jeanne's great sorrow was quickly dissipated. She\nrecovered her good humor, her lively manner, and was as full of fun and\nfrolic as ever. The grief of children is like the clouds in the sky--a\nmere nothing causes them, a nothing scatters them; and the sun appears\nmore beautiful than ever after a shower. Jean and Jeannette reached\nthe house, running together hand in hand. Neither Ragaud nor Pierrette\nsuspected anything; and nevertheless, that night, without any one even\ndreaming of it, the whim of a little eight-year-old witch led to many\nnew events which changed the life of our good friends, as you will see\nin the end.\n\n\nVI.\n\nIt is time that I should tell you about the ch\u00e2teau of our village,\nand of its worthy lord, M. le Marquis de Val-Saint. The ch\u00e2teau was\nan imposing edifice, so high and wide, with such thick walls, and so\nwell surrounded with deep ditches filled with running water, that my\nfather truly said such a building had nothing to fear from either time\nor man. Before the great Revolution, our lords lived in great style.\nI have heard it said that one of them, who was a great warrior, could\nlead into the field more than a thousand soldiers, all of them his\ntenants, armed and equipped at his own expense. What makes me believe\nthis was not false is the fact that there still remains in front of the\nch\u00e2teau a great lawn, flanked on each side by buildings of such length\nthey must surely have been used for barracks. But as to that, he that\nchooses may believe; I cannot positively affirm it, and, besides, it\nhas very little bearing on the story of Jean-Louis.\n\nAs was to have been expected, our lords were driven away at the time\nwhen the masters had to fly, that their valets could take their places.\nThank God! this fine condition of things did not last long. At the\nend of a few years, the legitimate owner of the ch\u00e2teau of Val-Saint,\nwho was a little child at the time the family left France, was put in\npossession of his property. He afterwards married, and had an only\ndaughter, the godmother of Jeannette.\n\nNever was there seen a happier family or better Christians; from\nfather to son, they were models. M. le Marquis always remembered the\ntime when he was in poverty and exile, obliged to earn his bread as\na simple workman. It made him kind and compassionate to the poor,\nand, consequently, he was adored by all around him; and I have heard\nthat Madame la Marquise even surpassed him in excellence and charity.\nFrequently in the winter she was seen visiting the cottages, followed\nby her servants carrying bundles of wood and bowls of soup, which she\nloved to distribute herself to the most needy.\n\nContrary to many great ladies, who flock to the city for amusement and\ngaiety in the winter, she made her husband promise that they would\nremain at Val-Saint during the entire year; for, said she, \"in summer\nnearly every one has what is necessary; but in winter there is much\nsuffering among the poor, and if we are not at home to succor and\nrelieve the indigent, who will replace us?\" You will agree with me that\nshe spoke as a true Christian; and you will also allow that if all\nour fine ladies thought and acted in like manner, they would gain in\nthe benedictions of the poor what they might lose in pleasure, and it\nwould certainly be for the best. Between ourselves, M. le Marquis did\nnot give in very willingly to this proposition; it was not that the\ndear man was fond of foolish dissipation; but after passing through so\nmuch trouble, and having the happiness to see his true king once more\non the French throne, he could not resist the temptation of going to\nParis occasionally to salute him, and was very desirous that madame\nshould appear at court. She always excused herself on account of her\ndelicate health; and this reason, alas! was only too true. Besides, she\nwas quick-witted, like all women, and, without saying anything, saw\nthat a new revolution was not far off. M. le Marquis, on the contrary,\nboldly maintained that, as his dear masters had only returned by a\nmiracle, they would not be off very soon again. 1830 proved that our\ngood lady was right. After that, there was no further talk about going\nto Paris; but it was very sad at the ch\u00e2teau. M. le Marquis became\ngloomy and half sick from grief, and madame, who had not been well\nfor a long time, felt that the blow would kill her; in fact, she died\nshortly afterwards, leaving a little daughter, ten years old, and poor\nmonsieur, very lonely in his fine ch\u00e2teau.\n\nAs he feared God, he knew that a brave Christian should not sink under\ntrials. By degrees he appeared resigned to his fate, and resumed his\nordinary occupations. Besides the care of his large estate, he hunted,\nfished, and visited his good neighbors. He gave large sums for the\nrestoration of our church and several chapels in the neighborhood.\nAll this, and his great watchfulness over the peasants who were\nhis tenants, made his time pass usefully. The evenings were rather\nwearisome. Our _cur\u00e9_ noticed it, and frequently visited the ch\u00e2teau\ntowards dusk, so that he could entertain him with the little news of\nthe district, and read the public journals to him. They discussed\npolitics. When I say discussed, it is only a way of speaking, as the\n_cur\u00e9_ and his lord always were of the same opinion; but they could\nregret the past together, and build up new hopes for the future; and in\nthat manner bedtime came before they knew it.\n\nLittle mademoiselle was brought up very seriously, without companions\nof her own age, or any amusements suitable to her rank. She was under\nthe care of an old governess, named Dame Berthe, who was tall and\nsevere in appearance, very well educated, but so soft-hearted in\nregard to her pupil she always said _amen_ to all her caprices, only\nregretting she could not guess them beforehand.\n\nM. le Marquis exercised no control over his daughter; his great\nconfidence in Dame Berthe made him refer everything to her. All that he\nasked of mademoiselle was that she should always look well and happy;\nand in these two respects he had every reason to thank the good God.\nAs for the rest, he used to say it would take a very skilful person to\nfind anything to reprimand in such a sweet, good girl; and there he was\nright.\n\nAll the petting in the world could not spoil such a lovely nature,\nand every year she became more attractive. You may tell me there was\nnothing very wonderful in that, since she had all she desired. I will\nanswer that, on the contrary, many in her place would have become for\nthat very reason wicked and disagreeable. But mademoiselle inherited\nfrom her departed mother, besides a gentle and sweet face, a soul still\nmore gentle and sweet. She would not have hurt a fly; her temper was\nso equal it resembled the tranquil water of a lake; she knew that she\nwas a rich heiress, and remained simple in her manners, never haughty\nto others, always ready to be of service, and succeeded wonderfully\nin calming monsieur, her father, who, notwithstanding his goodness,\nwas liable sometimes to be carried away with anger. Finally, I can\nsay, without extravagance, that this last daughter of our dear lord's\nhad, by the grace of God, all the virtues of her race united in her.\nNevertheless, as nothing on earth is absolutely perfect, I must add\nthat she had two defects--one of body; for when she was approaching her\nfifteenth year, having grown too fast, it was very evident that her\nspine was becoming curved; and notwithstanding the greatest medical\nskill was employed, she became fearfully crooked. M. le Marquis was\ngreatly afflicted; but as for her, she quickly made her decision.\n\n\"No one will want me,\" she said sweetly; \"and so, dear father, I will\nalways remain with you.\"\n\nThis idea consoled her perfectly. Being lively and gay, she laughed\nabout her deformity so pleasantly that the people of the ch\u00e2teau ended\nby thinking it not the slightest misfortune, quite as an accident of\nthe very least importance; and, far from no one seeking her hand, the\nsuitors came in procession to ask the honor of alliance with her. She\nwas too keen not to see that her great wealth was the principal cause\nof their eagerness, and consequently refused all offers of marriage\nfirmly and decidedly; and on that point the whole world could not make\nher change her mind.\n\nHer second defect was of the heart; her great good-nature made her\nweak, as she never knew how to refuse when any one wept before her;\nneither could she deny herself anything where her innocent whims\nand caprices were in question. It was certainly a fault; for having\nin her own hands wealth, power, and no superior to control her, you\ncan imagine that her kindness of heart would make her liable to fall\nfrequently in the pathway of life, and drag others after her.\n\nNow we will again take up the story of the little Ragaudins at the time\nwhen we left them.\n\nYou will remember that the foolish little Jeannette was resolved not to\nreturn to school, from shame of the whipping she had received that day,\nand was determined to go with the willing Jean-Louis, and complain to\nher godmother. They left the farm the following morning at the usual\nhour, passed right by the priest's house, and slowly ascended the slope\nbefore the ch\u00e2teau.\n\nMademoiselle had just come in from Mass, and was sitting in the\nparlor of the grand tower that overlooked the whole country. Dame\nBerthe was preparing her breakfast; for although there were in the\nanteroom four or five big valets, who passed their time in gossiping\nfor want of work, she thought no one but herself was capable of\npouring the chocolate into the large silver cup, and presenting it to\nher dear mistress. Mademoiselle, as it happened, felt a little bored\nthat morning, and gently reproached Dame Berthe for not having found\nsomething to amuse her.\n\n\"If I were not eighteen years old,\" said she, throwing herself in her\nbig arm-chair, \"I would willingly play with my doll. You have done\nwell, my poor Berthe; I feel like a little girl, and mourn for my\nplaythings. What can you invent to-day? Father went away last evening.\nI am too tired to walk; tell me a story....\"\n\nDame Berthe thought a moment; but in regard to stories, she scarcely\nknew any but those she had told and retold a hundred times. Mercy\nknows, that was not astonishing; two persons who are always together,\nknow the same things, and have never anything new to tell each other.\n\nMademoiselle looked at her governess laughingly, and took an innocent\ndelight in witnessing her embarrassment. It was just at this moment\nthat the Ragaud children emerged from the chestnut grove before the\nch\u00e2teau, and advanced straight to the bridge that led to the grand\nentrance.\n\nMademoiselle, who was rather near-sighted, scarcely distinguished the\nlittle things; but she heard the wooden shoes, which went click-clack\non the stone bridge, and requested Dame Berthe to see who it could be.\n\n\"It is little Jeanne of Muiceron, and her brother, Jean-Louis, who have\ndoubtless come to make you a visit,\" she replied; \"for they are in\ntheir Sunday clothes.\"\n\nHere the good lady was mistaken; for Pierrette held the holiday clothes\nunder lock and key, and would not let them be worn on a week-day\nwithout explanation.\n\nMademoiselle rose up joyfully; she dearly loved her god-daughter and\nall the Ragaud family, and, more than that, in her frame of mind, it\nwas an amusement that came like a gift from heaven.\n\n\"Make them come in, poor little things,\" said she; \"and I beg of you,\nBerthe, to run to the kitchen, and order cakes and hot milk, as I wish\nthem to breakfast with me.\"\n\nJean-Louis was the first to enter the parlor. Jeannette kept behind\nhim, much less assured than you would have imagined. Until now she had\nscarcely ever seen her mistress, except on Sunday, when coming out\nfrom High Mass. Twice a year, on New Year's day and the anniversary of\nJeannette's baptism, all the farm came in great ceremony to present\ntheir respects to monsieur and mademoiselle. Besides this, the visits\nto the ch\u00e2teau were very rare; and to come alone, of their own free\nwill, and clandestinely, was something entirely out of the usual run.\nJeannette began to understand all this, and felt more like crying than\ntalking.\n\nHappily, mademoiselle took the thing quite naturally, and asked no\nquestions. She kissed and caressed her god-daughter, seated her on her\nlap, and petted her so much that for the first half-hour the little\nthing had only permission to open her mouth that the bonbons could be\nput in.\n\nShe thus had time to regain confidence, and Jean-Louis, who feared to\nhear her scolded, recovered his spirits. Notwithstanding all this, both\nwere slightly overcome when mademoiselle, after breakfast, suddenly\nasked them if they had not some favor to ask, promising to grant any\nrequest on account of the trouble they had taken in coming to visit\nher.\n\nThis was the critical moment. Jeannet became red with embarrassment,\nand the little girl appeared stupefied. Dame Berthe gave her a slight\ntap on the cheek, to encourage her not to be ashamed before such a good\ngodmother; but that did not untie her tongue.\n\n\"Speak now,\" said Jeannet, pushing her with his elbow.\n\n\"Speak yourself,\" she replied in a whisper. \"I don't know what to say.\"\n\n\"What is it that is so difficult to obtain?\" asked mademoiselle. \"Is it\nsomething beyond my power?\"\n\n\"Oh! no, no,\" said Jean-Louis. \"If mademoiselle wished, she has only to\nsay a word....\"\n\n\"I will say it, my child; but still, I must know what it is about.\"\n\n\"Very well, mademoiselle, this is it--Jeanette does not wish to return\nto school.\"\n\n\"She must be very learned, then,\" replied mademoiselle, smiling. \"Come\nhere, Jeanne; read me a page out of this big book.\"\n\nOnly think of the blank amazement and terror of Jeannette at that\nmoment! She did not know A from B, and found herself caught like a\nmouse in a trap. One last resource was left--it was to burst into\ntears. This was quickly done, and she was heard sobbing behind her\ngodmother's arm-chair, where she had hidden herself at the first\nmention of reading.\n\nMademoiselle, already very much moved, profited by this incident, and\nasked an explanation of the whole affair, which Jeannet related, trying\nhis best to excuse the little thing. Mademoiselle was very much amused\nat the recital, and was weak enough, instead of scolding Jeannette,\nto praise her for her spirit. She replaced her on her lap, wiped her\ntears, and, without further reflection, decided the case in her favor.\n\n\"But,\" said she, \"I do not wish my god-daughter to be as ignorant as\na dairy-maid. Isn't that true, Jeanne? You will not make me blush for\nyou? I don't want you to go any longer to Germaine's school, but it is\non condition that you be a good girl, and learn to read and write. I\nwill teach you myself; how will you like that?\"\n\n\"O godmother!\" cried the little one, enchanted.\n\n\"Very well,\" replied mademoiselle; \"then it is all arranged. Jean-Louis\nwill return to Muiceron to tell your parents, and in future I will take\ncare of you and teach you.\"\n\nAnd it was thus that the good young lady, without understanding the\nconsequence of her act, in an instant changed the destiny of Jeanne\nRagaud. Dame Berthe dared not object, although she saw at a glance\nthere was much to blame in this decision. \"Indeed, where the goat is\ntied, there he should browse,\" said our _cur\u00e9_. Jeanne, the child of\npeasants, should have remained a peasant, instead of becoming the\nplaything of a marquise. But mademoiselle's intention was not bad; and,\nfor the time being, to have taken away her distraction would have been\ncruel, and Dame Berthe, although very wise, had not the courage to do\nit.\n\n\nVII.\n\nIn the village, every one had his own idea on the subject. The Ragauds\nwere happy, and rather proud; M. le Cur\u00e9 shrugged his shoulders,\nkeeping his remarks for a later period; Germaine was silent; Jean-Louis\nwillingly sacrificed the company of his little sister for what he\nthought her greater good; and, for the rest of the people, some said\nit was foolish, others that the Ragauds were always lucky.\n\nJeannette was puffed up with joy and pride. It is justice to say that\nin a little while she became another child; her mind was so well\noccupied she lost all her wilfulness, devoted herself to her studies,\nand was no longer disobedient and rebellious. M. le Marquis, enchanted\nto see his daughter so happy in her new duties, cheerfully approved of\nthe measure, and declared the ch\u00e2teau was a different place after this\nhumming-bird's warbling was heard in the house.\n\nAs long as the summer lasted, the thing went on without great\ninconvenience, as the little one often went home to sleep, and thus did\nnot entirely lose sight of her first destiny; but with the bad weather,\nmademoiselle feared she might take cold by being so much exposed, and\nsent word to the Ragauds that she would keep her all the time.\n\nHenceforward Jeannette was treated like a daughter of the ch\u00e2teau.\nShe had her own little room, well warmed, and a servant to obey her\norders; her hair was braided in tresses that hung below her waist,\nwhich soon made her discover that she had the longest and thickest hair\nof any child in the village. Her costume was also changed. She had fine\nmerino dresses, prunella shoes with rosettes, and the calico apron,\nwith big pockets, was replaced by a little silk affair, which only\nserved to look coquettish. In the morning she read with her godmother,\nor embroidered at her side; after dinner she drove out in an open\ncarriage, and on Sundays assisted at Mass and Vespers, kneeling in the\nplace reserved for the ch\u00e2teau, whilst her parents remained at the\nlower end of the nave, admiring her from a distance.\n\nIn the village were some sensible people, who openly condemned the\nwhole proceeding; especially Jacques Michou, formerly a comrade in the\nsame regiment with Ragaud, and his great friend, who one day, in virtue\nof his long friendship, ventured a remonstrance on the subject.\n\n\"You see,\" said he to Ragaud, \"the preferences of great ladies never\nlast long. Suppose mademoiselle marries, or takes another caprice,\nwhat will become of Jeanne, with the habits of a nobleman's daughter?\nShe will not be able to wear wooden shoes or dress in serge; and her\nstomach will reject the pork, and cabbage, and rye bread. As for her\nmind, it will be pretty difficult ever to make her feel like a peasant\nagain. Believe what I say, Ragaud, take your daughter home; later she\nwill thank you, when her reason shall have been matured.\"\n\nIt was certainly wise counsel; but Ragaud had two reasons, sufficiently\ngood in his opinion, to prevent his accepting such advice. In the first\nplace, he thought it a great honor to see his daughter the friend and\ncompanion of M. le Marquis. This came from the heart on one side, as he\nwas devoted body and soul to the good masters who had made his fortune;\nbut I would not swear, on the other side, that it was not mingled with\na good deal of pride. Old Ragaud was easily puffed up with vanity, and\nsometimes at the wrong time, as will be seen in the sequel.\n\nThe second reason was, he had long been persuaded that mademoiselle led\ntoo secluded a life.\n\n\"So many crowns, and so few amusements,\" he often said. \"Poor, dear\nsoul! it must be hard for her.\"\n\nTherefore, he regarded as a fortunate stroke her love for Jeannette;\nand if it would have drawn down the lightning from heaven on the roof\nof Muiceron, he could not, as much from conscience as from pity, have\ndeprived mademoiselle of the daily pleasure that gave the busy-bodies\nso much to talk about. And then, it must be acknowledged that even\namong our most intelligent farmers there prevails a pernicious mania,\nwhich pushes them to elevate their children above themselves. They thus\nact contrary to the designs of God, who lets the seed fall where the\ntree should grow; and against themselves, as they are often, in the\nend, humiliated by what should have been their glory. But what can you\nexpect? A man is a man.\n\nYou cannot pour more water in a pitcher than it will hold, and in a\nhead more truth than it can understand.\n\nRagaud was ill at ease when he perceived mademoiselle's splendid white\nhorses draw up before the church door. Only fancy that before the eyes\nof the entire parish those fine horses were used as much for Jeannette\nas for the daughter of M. le Marquis! It was precisely on a Sunday, a\nlittle before High Mass, that our friend, Jacques Michou, had offered\nhis good advice; the moment was unpropitious, and Ragaud thus replied\nto his old comrade:\n\n\"Friend Jacques, I thank you for your words, as they are said with\ngood intention; but I nevertheless believe that I have not arrived\nat my age without knowing how to manage my own affairs; which I say\nwithout wishing to offend you. As for dressing in serge, my daughter,\nbeing my only child, will have enough money to buy silk dresses if she\nshould desire them; and that will not diminish her wealth. As for the\npork, do you think it never appears on the tables of the nobility?\nWho knows to the contrary better than I? Twice a year M. le Marquis\nhas a supply from Pierrette. Thus, my daughter will not lose at the\nch\u00e2teau the taste of the meals at the farm. If we speak of rye bread,\nwhich is certainly the ordinary country food, we have ours half mixed\nwith flour, that makes the bread as fine as the best made in the city.\nI can tell you that mademoiselle will not refuse it to Jeannette, as\nshe often eats it herself; in proof of which she frequently sends to\nMuiceron for some, without inquiring whether the flour is fresh or\nstale. So you may rest quiet, and let each one act as he pleases.\"\n\nAnd so, you see, without being impolite, a man can be made to feel his\nadvice is despised.\n\nWe will now, if you please, leave Jeannette to parade her fine dresses\nin the ch\u00e2teau, like the linnets that sing and hop in the sun, never\ncaring for sportsmen or nets, and return to Muiceron and Jean-Louis.\n\nI think the dear fellow thought pretty much as Jacques Michou in\nrelation to the little one; but it was in the secret of his heart, and,\nas his friends appeared happy, he asked nothing more. His character as\na child, so gentle and devoted, did not change as he grew up. Different\nfrom Jeannette, who became a young lady without learning much, he\nremained a peasant, but advanced in knowledge like a schoolmaster.\nHis love of books did not interfere with his rustic labors. After one\nyear in class, M. le Cur\u00e9 was obliged to teach him alone, as he knew\ntoo much to go with the others. But as Ragaud could not do without\nan assistant on the farm, and disliked to take a stranger, Jeannet\nreturned to Muiceron, contented himself with one lesson on Sunday, and\nstudied by himself the rest of the week.\n\nAfter his first communion, which, at his own request, was made rather\nlate, but with perfect comprehension and a heart filled with love, he\nbecame still better. He was at that time a fine boy of thirteen, larger\nthan usual for his age, with a handsome face, brunette complexion, and\nbeautiful, large, dark eyes. M. le Marquis remarked his distinguished\nair, which meant that he did not resemble the other young village boys.\nThe truth was, Jeannet, who always had lived a peasant, had the manner\nand bearing of a gentleman dressed from caprice in a blouse; and yet I\ncan assure you it was neither vanity nor pretension that gave him that\nappearance.\n\nWho would imagine that about this time he nearly committed a fault\nfrom excessive love of study? And nevertheless, it so happened in a\nway which you will soon understand. One day, M. le Cur\u00e9, wishing to\nknow how far this good child's mind could follow his, amused himself\nby explaining to him the Latin of his Breviary. Jean-Louis caught\nat this novelty like a fish at a bait. He became passionately fond\nof the language, and, as he had no time during the day, gave up the\ngreater part of the night to its study. Now, the young need good, sound\nsleep; above all, when wearied with working in the fields. Ragaud\nsoon understood it; I do not know how. He was very angry, and was not\naltogether wrong; for, besides the fact that Jeannet lost flesh every\nday, he was afraid of fire, as his room was next to the grain-loft.\nRagaud scolded Jean-Louis; M. le Cur\u00e9 also came in for his share of\nreprimand; and for the first time these three persons, who had always\nagreed so perfectly, were very unhappy on each other's account.\n\n\"If you wish to wear the cassock,\" said Ragaud to his son, \"say it.\nAlthough it will be a great sacrifice for me to lose your company and\nassistance, I will not prevent you from following your vocation. But if\nnot, I beg of you to give up all this reading and writing, which keeps\nyou up so late. I think that to tend the cows and till the earth, the\nvillage language is enough. You will know one day that for you, more\nthan for others even, the work of the hands is more useful than that of\nthe mind.\"\n\nThereupon he turned his back, and Jeannet, who was going to ask his\npardon, and assure him of his submission, could not reply. As he was\nvery quick under his quiet manner, he pondered all the rest of the\nday upon his father's last phrase. What did it mean? What was he to\nknow one day? What harm was there in becoming learned, as he would\neventually be rich? The poor boy suspected nothing; and yet from that\nmoment a secret and profound sadness entered into his heart. He bundled\nup his books, and took them back to M. le Cur\u00e9 with many thanks. Our\n_cur\u00e9_ admired his obedience, and Jeannet profited by the opportunity\nto confide his grief to his dear friend.\n\nThe good pastor reflected a moment. It was, in truth, a great pain, and\none which he did not expect so soon, to be obliged to confide to this\nchild the secret of his birth; but sooner or later he must know it, and\nwhether to-day or to-morrow mattered little.\n\n\"My son,\" said he, \"you are good and reasonable; I hope your conduct\nwill never change. Sit down there near me, and listen.\"\n\nHe related to him what we already know. He did it with gentle and\nholy words, fitted to pour balm into the wound that he was forced to\nmake. He endeavored especially to show forth the mercy of God and the\ngenerosity of the Ragauds. Poor Jeannet little expected such a blow;\nhe became pale as death and for an instant appeared overwhelmed with\nastonishment and grief. His head was in a whirl; he rose, threw himself\non his knees, weeping and clasping his hands. Our _cur\u00e9_ let this\nfirst burst of grief exhaust itself; and then, with kind remonstrance,\nfinished by proving that, after all, grateful joy was more seasonable\nthan this great affliction. How many in his place had been abandoned,\nwithout parents, without support, without instruction, condemned\nto want and suffering, and doubtless lost both for this world and\nparadise? Instead of such a fate, the good God had warmed the little\nbird without a nest, had preserved him from evil, had provided for his\nwants; and now to-day, thanks to all his blessings, he was, more than\nany other, fitted to become a man worthy to rank with those around him.\n\n\"It is true! it is true!\" cried Jean-Louis. \"But how can I reappear at\nthe farm? Alas! I left it thinking myself the son of the house, and I\nwill re-enter it a foundling!\"\n\n\"There you do not speak wisely, Jeannet,\" said our _cur\u00e9_; \"you will\nre-enter Muiceron such as you left it, with the only difference that\nyou are now obliged to be still more obedient, more industrious, and\nmore devoted to your parents than ever in the past. It is not by having\nlearned the truth that your position is changed; on the contrary, by\nnot knowing it, you ran the risk of injuring it. When you believed\nyourself the son of the house, you naturally thought it allowable to\nfollow your inclinations, and act as you wished. Now you must feel that\nis no longer possible. 'An honest heart must pay its debts.' I know\nyour heart; as for the debt, you see now how important it is. Your life\nwill not suffice to pay it, but you can greatly lessen it by taking\nupon yourself the interests of your benefactors; by relieving Ragaud,\nwho is growing old, of the heaviest work in the fields; by caring for\ngood Mother Pierrette, who is a true soul of the good God; and even\nby continuing to consider Jeannette as your sister; which gives you\nthe right to offer her good advice. For remember what I tell you: 'The\ndistaff is known by the wood'; which means that it needs a strong\nash-stick to support a roll of hemp, whilst a mahogany wand is only\nsuitable for silk. Hence, I warn you that Jeanne Ragaud, after being\naccustomed to display herself in the marquis' carriages, will one fine\nday fancy herself a silken distaff, and we will have to untwist the\nthread.\"\n\n\"Jeanne will one day know I am not related to her,\" said Jean-Louis,\nweeping. \"What then can I say to her?\"\n\n\"Why will she know it? It would be useless to tell her. And besides,\nthe little thing's heart is not spoiled; she will remember that you are\nthe friend of her childhood and her elder.\"\n\n\"Father Ragaud,\" replied Jeannet, \"told me this morning, if I wished to\nwear the cassock, he would not hinder me.\"\n\n\"Well, then?\"\n\n\"Well, then, M. le Cur\u00e9, if I am ever sufficiently learned, can I not\naspire to that great favor?\"\n\n\"Before our present conversation would you have thought of it, Jeannet?\"\n\n\"I believe not,\" replied he frankly, lowering his head.\n\n\"Then, my boy, give up the idea. To wear the cassock is, as you say, a\ngreat favor; who knows it better than I, who, after wearing it forty\nyears, acknowledge my unworthiness? But you must not start on a road\nwithout knowing where it leads; and the cassock, taken through vexation\nor disappointment, carries its wearer direct to the path in which he\nwalks with his back to heaven. You can save your soul by remaining\non the farm, which I would not answer for if you followed a vocation\nformed in half an hour.\"\n\n\"Yes, I will remain a farm-laborer,\" said Jeannet; \"that is my fate for\nall time.\"\n\n\"You are vain, God pardon me!\" cried M. le Cur\u00e9. \"I never before\nnoticed this monstrous fault in you, which has caused the loss of\nso many of the best souls. Farm-laborer! that means a tiller of the\nfields and shepherd. My son, it is one of the noblest positions in the\nworld; it was the calling of Abraham, of Jacob, of the great patriarchs\nof the Bible, that I wished you to imitate; and they were not minor\npersonages. If I were not a priest, I would wish to be a laborer; at\nleast, I would gather with my own hand the wheat that I had planted,\ninstead of receiving it as the gift of a master, often a capricious and\nbad Christian. Yes, yes, my Jean, take care not to be more fastidious\nthan the good God, who took his dear David, from minding sheep, to be\nthe ancestor of our Saviour. And then, I will ask you, how would your\ndestiny be elevated if you were really the legitimate child of the\nRagauds. Would you desire to be greater than your father? And what is\nhe?\"\n\nJeannet was convinced by all these good reasons, uttered in rather a\nfirm tone, but which did not indicate displeasure. He threw himself\ninto the _cur\u00e9's_ arms, and acknowledged his fault with a contrite and\npenitent heart. His excellent good sense showed him that, in reality,\nit was only vanity that had made him speak thus. He promised to return\nto Muiceron, to preserve his secret, and to be the model of field\nlaborers.\n\nOur _cur\u00e9_ gave him his blessing, and watched him, as he returned to\nthe farm, with much emotion. Ah! if poor Catharine had known how to\nsacrifice her self-love as her child had just done, how different would\nhave been his fate! \"But,\" sighed the good pastor, \"there will always\nbe frogs who will burst with the ambition of becoming oxen; and if the\nox, who thought the frog foolish, had known the elephant, undoubtedly\nhe would have acted in the same manner. Poor human nature! poor beasts!\nThe true Christian is the only wise man!\"\n\n                            TO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE EVANGELICAL ALLIANCE.\n\n\n\"We meet,\" said the Rev. Dr. Adams, in his address of welcome to the\nmembers of the Evangelical Alliance in New York, \"to manifest and\nexpress our Christian unity. Divers are the names which we bear, both\nas to countries and churches--German, French, Swiss, Dutch, English,\nScotch, Irish; Lutheran, Reformed, Anglican, Presbyterian, Episcopal,\nMethodist, Baptist, Independent--but we desire and intend to show\nthat, amid all this variety of form and circumstances, there is a\nreal unity of faith and life; believing, according to the familiar\nexpression of our common Christian creed, in the 'Holy Catholic\nChurch and the communion of saints.'\" Dr. Adams only gave expression\nto a thought which was uppermost in the minds of nearly all those\nfive or six hundred gentlemen who assembled in this city from the\nfour quarters of the globe in the early part of October, and filled\nthe newspapers with hymns and speeches, and professions of love, and\nlittle disputes and quarrels. \"We are living,\" continued Dr. Adams,\n\"in times when, all over the world, there is a manifest longing for\nmore of visible unity.\" So the first business of the conference, after\nthe preliminary survey of the condition of Protestantism in the midst\nof the Catholic populations of Europe--the review and inspection, so\nto speak, of the army in the field--was to devote a whole day to the\ndiscussion of Christian unity, in the hope of persuading themselves\nand the rest of mankind that these warring sects were really one body\nof Christian believers, and this theological battle, in which they\npass fifty-one weeks of the year, was nothing else than the communion\nof saints. Indeed, a day was not too long for such a task. Anglicans\nand Baptists, followers of John Wesley and disciples of Calvin, the\nclergy of Calvary and the preachers of the Greene Street meeting-house,\ndeans of the English Establishment and dissenters who hate prelacy\nas an invention of the devil--they were all here together, trying to\nagree upon something, and to reconcile the fact of their Alliance with\nthe fundamental doctrine confessed by Dr. Hodge, of Princeton, as\nthe motto of the conference as well as the excuse for its existence,\nthat \"The Church of Christ is one.\" We say it was no easy matter to\nreconcile the fact of the Alliance with the confession of this truth.\nAn alliance supposes independent forces, acting together for a special\nand temporary purpose, but preserving distinct organizations, and\nacknowledging different commanders. There can be no \"alliance\" between\nthe members of the \"one body in Christ,\" any more than there can be an\nalliance between the right and left eyes, or the foot and the great\ntoe. Every one of the speakers was painfully conscious of this false\nposition. \"There is no more common reproach against Christians,\"\nsaid Dr. Hodge, \"than that they are so much divided in their belief.\nThere is some truth in this; but, my hearers, we are one in faith.\"\nWe confess we do not fully comprehend the distinction. Matters of\nfaith, according to Dr. Hodge's definition, seem to be those great\ntruths which all members of the Evangelical Alliance hold in common;\nand matters of belief or opinion are everything else. The existence of\nGod, the Trinity, the Incarnation, the resurrection of the dead, the\npunishment of hell, the rewards of heaven, and a few other doctrines,\nmore or less--these are the Evangelical articles of faith. But on what\nauthority does Dr. Hodge restrict his creed to these few points? Every\nsect represented in the Alliance has a more or less extensive formulary\nof belief, resting upon supposed divine revelation, and including a\ngood many other tenets besides the half-dozen or so held up by Dr.\nHodge. All depend upon precisely the same sanction. All are supposed to\nbe drawn from the same source. The Baptist has just the same ground for\ninsisting upon immersion that he has for believing in the resurrection.\nThe Calvinistic doctrine of total depravity has the same basis as the\nCalvinistic belief in a divine Saviour. The Anglican theory of an\ninspired but occasionally corrupt and lying church is just as well\nsupported as the Anglican's faith in the Trinity. What right have the\nmembers of the Alliance to decide that this dogma is a matter of faith,\nand that other is only a matter of opinion? All the contradictory\ndoctrines, they tell us, are found in the Bible. Who has the right to\ndecide which are binding upon the conscience, and which are open to\nindividual choice; which are certain, and which are only probable?\nOh! these reverend gentlemen will tell us, the essential points of\nfaith are those upon which we all agree. Very well. Whom do you mean\nby \"we\"? What right have you to restrict the company of the faithful\nto your eight or nine sects? You are not a majority of the Christians\nin the world. You are even a small minority of those who believe in\nthe very points which you make the test of evangelical Christianity.\nThere are more than two hundred millions of Christians who believe,\njust as you do, in God, in the Incarnation, in the resurrection, and in\nheaven and hell; but you do not pretend to be one body with them. If\nall who accept what you style the points of faith are fellow-members\nwith you, why do you not include Catholics? And, besides, if you\nare to arrive at unity by a process of elimination--throwing out\none dogma after another until you reach a condition of theological\nindifferentism where a certain number of sects can meet without\nquarrelling--why should you stop at one point rather than another?\nThere is no logical reason why you should not eliminate the doctrine of\neternal punishment, and take in the Universalists; or the Trinity, and\ntake in the Unitarians; or Christian marriage, and take in the Latter\nDay Saints; or the whole Bible, and take in evolutionists, and pure\ntheists, and the prophets and followers of free religion. Once begin\nto make arbitrary discriminations between faith and belief, as you now\ndo, calling everything upon which your various denominations agree a\nmatter of ascertained truth, and everything upon which they differ a\nsubject of individual opinion, and it becomes impossible to say why\nyour common creed should not be narrowed down to a single dogma--for\nexample, to the omnipotence of God, or the existence of matter, or the\natomic theory, or the nebular hypothesis. Then, at least, you would be\nconsistent, and your Alliance would be a much more powerful body than\nit seems to be at present.\n\nThis difficulty seems to have been passed over by the Conference in\nNew York; but the fact of denominational differences could not be\nforgotten. It stared the meeting in the face at every turn. It got\ninto nearly all the speeches. It appeared in almost every prayer. One\nafter another, the preachers and essayists were moved to apologize for\nit and explain it. Dr. Hodge laid down the rule, with great applause\nfrom his uneasy listeners, that any organization formed for the worship\nof Christ was a church, and every church must be recognized by every\nother; that churches differed so radically about the great truths of\nreligion was no more to be wondered at, and no more to be regretted,\nthan that men and women should be organized into different towns, and\nstates, and nations; and, as a consequence, he held that the sacraments\nof one church were just as good as the sacraments of another, and the\norders of one just as good as the orders of another. In fact, said he,\n\"no church can make a minister any more than it can make a Christian.\"\nThis remark was also received with applause, in which it is to be hoped\nthat the Church of England delegates and the Episcopalians cordially\njoined. There were three bishops of the Protestant Episcopal Church in\nthe Conference; and after the centuries of war which their denomination\nhas waged for the validity of Anglican orders and the unbroken\napostolic succession, it must have been an inexpressible comfort to\nthem to be told by the Alliance that they were no more bishops than\nHenry Ward Beecher, and Octavius B. Frothingham, and the Rev. Ph\u0153be\nHanaford. They took it meekly, however, and did not even mind being\ntold that their church could not make a bishop or any other minister.\nThe Dean of Canterbury was there, as the representative of the Primate\nof all England, and he took the rather singular position, for a\nchurchman, that denominational differences are rather an advantage\nthan otherwise. God's works in nature, he said, are marked by variety.\nAll creation, from inanimate objects up to man, is characterized by\ndiversity. So it is also, he continues, with religions. The parallel,\nof course, supposes that the religions are imperfect and \"natural\"\nworks, which we hardly expected an Anglican dean to admit. An imperfect\nreligion is one that is partly true and partly false; that is to say,\nit is a system of human devising, and not a revelation from God. And\nDean Smith confesses that all the churches embraced in the Alliance\nare natural rather than supernatural works when he accounts for their\ndiversities by the limitations of human reason. \"The gift of instinct,\"\nhe tells us, \"is perfect, and produces uniformity;\" but \"reason is\nfull of diversity.\" It is \"tentative.\" \"It tries and fails, and tries\nagain, and improves its methods, and succeeds partially, and so\nadvances indefinitely onward, and, it may be, at times falls back, but\nnever becomes perfect.\" All this means, if it means anything, that the\ncardinal points of agreement between the so-called Evangelical sects,\nor their faith, as Dr. Hodge terms it, are the only points of any creed\nwhich are not subject to constant change. The dogma which is professed\nto-day may be repudiated to-morrow, and taken up again next week. The\ncreed for which Cranmer went to the stake may be denounced as heresy\nby the Archbishop of Canterbury, and preached as \"moderately true\" by\nthe Archbishop of York. In fine, Anglicans get their faith in God and\nthe resurrection by instinct, and the rest of the Thirty-nine Articles\nby reason; and the result, of course, is that the proportion of truth\nthere may be in religion is regulated entirely by the intellectual\ncapacity of the believer. Salvation, according to this view, is\nlargely the result of a school education.\n\nMoreover, says the dean, if we knew just what to believe, we should\nnot take much interest in religion. \"Truth and the Bible are nowhere\nvalued, except where there is discussion, and debate, and controversy\nabout them.\" It adds wonderful zest to a dogma to have to dig for it;\nand faith, like the biceps muscle, is developed by violent contention.\nBut if this is so, what does the world want of Evangelical Alliances?\nIf religious truth is only struck out in the heat of religious\nwranglings, like sparks from the contact of flint and steel, the more\nfighting the better. The Church of England must have found out pretty\nmuch everything worth knowing in the persecuting days of Edward and\nElizabeth, and forgotten more than half of it in the subsequent years\nof peace; while the era of brotherly love, towards which the Alliance\nlooks with longing eyes, will be a period of religious indifference or\nof almost universal negation.\n\nDean Smith is logical in one thing. \"If our state,\" he says, \"is not\none of attainment, but one of progress; if, at the most, we are feelers\nand seekers after God,\" why, then, of course, we must look upon all\ndenominations with equal favor. One is just as good as another where\nnone has any faith. But what, then, becomes of the Anglican idea of a\nvisible church and an apostolic succession? Where is that depository\nof divine truth to which churchmen comfort themselves by referring?\nWhat is the meaning of that prayer in the litany of the Anglican and\nEpiscopal service, \"From heresy and schism good Lord deliver us\"? Dr.\nHodge, indeed, believes that \"no church can make a minister\"; but the\nProtestant Episcopal Church is very positive and particular about its\norders, and is entirely satisfied that it can make bishops, priests,\nand deacons; that nobody else among Protestants can make them; and that\nthey are necessary to the legitimate administration of sacraments and\nthe well-being of Christian society. Pray, how are these contradictions\nto be settled? There was a charming illustration of unity one Sunday\nduring the sessions of the Conference, when six clergymen, representing\nfive or six different denominations, joined in a celebration of the\nLord's Supper at the Madison Square Presbyterian Church; and a very\npretty row there was about it afterwards. The service was held in\nthe afternoon, and the company of celebrants included the Dean of\nCanterbury (Anglican), the Rev. Dr. Adams (Presbyterian), the Rev.\nMatteo Prochet, of Genoa (Waldensian), Narayan Sheshadri, the Bombay\nconvert, who has been ordained, we believe, according to the rite\nof the Free Church of Scotland, Bp. Schweinitz (Moravian), and Dr.\nAngus, of London (Baptist). So far as we can understand the ceremony,\nno particular liturgy or custom was followed, but the representative\nof each sect threw in a little of his own religion. Dr. Adams opened\nthe exercises with a prologue. The dean followed with an apology,\nand then read the Apostles' Creed and a collect from the _Book of\nCommon Prayer_. Dr. Angus \"gave thanks for the bread,\" his prayer\nserving, apparently, instead of a consecration. Then the bread was\nhanded around by the lay deacons of the church. \"Bp. Schweinitz was\ncalled on to give thanks for the cup, which was afterward passed to\nthe congregation.\" After some further address, the dean dismissed\nthe assemblage with a benediction. We can understand how the various\ndissenting ministers might reasonably take part in such a ceremony;\nbut the spectacle of a dignitary of the Church of England in such a\nsituation would be incomprehensible, had not long experience taught us\nthat all manner of amazing and inconsistent things are to be looked\nfor in the Anglican Church as matters of course. No sooner had the\nstory of this joint-communion service appeared in the newspapers than\nthe bubble of Christian unity burst with a tremendous report. An\nex-bishop of the Anglican Establishment, the Right Rev. Dr. Tozer, of\nCentral Africa, who happened to be in New York, addressed a letter of\nremonstrance to the Protestant Episcopal bishop of this diocese. He was\nshocked at the dean's breach of ecclesiastical order, and terrified\nat the consequences which might follow his rash and insubordinate\nconduct. If one service is just as good as another, why naturally,\nsays Bp. Tozer, people will run after the attractive worship of the\nChurch of Rome; and \"the promise held out by the Episcopal Church in\nthis land, of becoming a haven of rest to men who are tossed to and\nfro by the multiplicity of contending creeds and systems, is nothing\nelse than a mistake and a delusion.\" Dr. Tozer's letter found its way\ninto the newspapers; and then a bitter controversy broke out among\nthe Episcopalians, bishops, priests, and laymen berating one another\nin the secular press, and striving in vain to determine whether\ntheir church was a church or not. Only one thing seems to have been\nfinally settled by the quarrel, and that was, that on two of the most\nimportant of religious questions--one relating to the very foundation\nof the visible church organization, the other to the most solemn of\nreligious rites--the Anglican denomination has no fixed belief at all.\nThat very dignified and exclusive body, which sets so much store by\nthe apostolical succession, and has strained history and reason for so\nmany years to establish the validity of its own orders, has practically\ntreated ordination as a thing of no consequence whatever. It has\nadmitted Presbyterian preachers to its benefices, and recognized the\nvalidity of priestly functions performed by men to whom it denies the\npriestly character; and the best explanation its defenders can give of\nsuch inconsequent conduct is that the \"intrusion of unordained persons\ninto English livings\" was one of the \"irregularities of the Reformation\nperiod.\" (See letter of \"Theologicus\" to the New York _Tribune_ of\nOct. 20, 1873.) With regard to the Lord's Supper, the position of the\nAnglican and Protestant Episcopal Churches is still more curious. All\nthe members of those two organizations believe it to be a sacrament of\npeculiar, if not awful, sacredness. The majority probably hold that the\nbody and blood of our Lord, in some mysterious and indefinite way, are\ncommunicated to the devout receiver of the consecrated bread and wine,\nif they are not literally present with the visible elements; and some\nHigh Churchmen actually believe in the real presence. Yet, in the face\nof all this, we find the Episcopal Church admitting that the proper\ncelebration of the Lord's Supper does not require the intervention\nof a regularly ordained minister. Any kind of a service will do, and\nany kind of a celebrant, even a layman. It is a great mistake to\nsuppose, as some Episcopalians did, that there was anything novel or\nunbecoming in the Dean of Canterbury's participation with heretics in\nthe performance of a mutilated and nondescript service. The Dean of\nWestminster (Dr. Stanley) did a similar thing at the meeting of the\nEvangelical Alliance in Berlin in 1859, and an overzealous churchman\nwho complained of it to the Archbishop of Canterbury was rebuked for\nhis pains. Dr. Muhlenberg, one of the leading Protestant Episcopal\nclergymen of this city, expressed the only logical Protestant view\nof the joint communion question in an address before the Alliance\non the last day of its meeting. The Lord's Supper, according to Dr.\nMuhlenberg, is \"the highest social act of religion,\" and the custom of\nrestricting its celebration, each denomination to itself, is in the\nhighest degree objectionable. As a matter of convenience, it is better,\nas an ordinary rule, that communicants should have their own \"church\nhomes, so to call them, where, under their own pastors, and amid their\nfamilies and friends, they feel it a good and pleasant thing so to\nparticipate in the sacred feast. They have an indisposition to go for\nit beyond these companies of immediate brethren. Nor is this unsocial,\nif it be merely a preference for their own associations, for the\nsacramental modes and customs to which they, like their fathers before\nthem, have been accustomed; but when they do it on religious grounds,\nwhen they make it a matter of conscience, when they would forego the\ncommunion altogether rather than partake of it outside of their own\nsocieties, then it is that unsocialness, to call it by its mildest\nname, which it is hard to reconcile with aught of hearty realization of\nmembership in the one body of Christ.\"\n\nDr. Muhlenberg's position is so peculiar that we have given his\nstatement of it in his own language, lest we may be accused of\nmisrepresenting him. It never occurred to us to complain of heresy\nand schism on the ground that they are \"so unsociable,\" and we\nnever supposed that the most liberal of Protestant sects defended\ndenominationalism on the plea of custom and education. The manner of\ntaking communion, according to Dr. Muhlenberg, seems to be as much\nthe result of habit as anything else--like the manner of dining or\nchewing tobacco. An Episcopalian has no better reason for kneeling\nreverently at the chancel-rail, and consuming the consecrated bread\nand wine, rather than sitting at ease in his pew while unconsecrated\nfood and drink are passed to him by lay deacons, than the reason that\nhe was brought up to that fashion, and feels more comfortable in the\nsociety of his own friends and neighbors. This being the case, it\nfollows, of course, that the bread and wine are just as good without\nconsecration as with it; just as much the body and blood of Christ in\nthe bakery and the wine-shop as on the altar; and the most rigorous\nAnglican will be entirely justified in communicating according to any\nrite that he fancies. Indeed, Dr. Muhlenberg declares that the various\nsacramental rites and ceremonies are all more or less agreeable to\nScripture, but not essential. The sacrament is just as good without\nany of them. Our Lord commanded us to celebrate the holy communion in\nremembrance of him. Well, then, let us go and do it, each in his own\nway, each after his own idea of what it means, each admitting that\nevery other way is good, and perfectly indifferent to the tremendous\nquestion whether the elements are the body and blood of the Saviour or\nonly common bread and wine. Nay, there is no need of an officiating\nministry. The Christian eucharist is only the antitype of the Jewish\nPassover; and as \"an officiating ministry was not required for the\nancient priestly dispensation, surely none can be demanded for the\nantitype under the unpriestly dispensation of the Gospel.\" That\nsimplifies the administration very much; but it occurs to us that a\nsincere Episcopalian, of less liberal views than Dr. Muhlenberg, might\nbe embarrassed by the joint communions which he so strongly recommends.\nWe can imagine such a man going into Dr. Adams's church, while the Dean\nof Canterbury, and the Presbyterian and Baptist, and other ministers,\nstood grouped together before the pulpit, and asking what the ceremony\nmeant. A deacon answers, \"Oh! it is nothing but the communion service;\nyou had better join us.\" \"But what is your communion service? Is it\nthe participation of the body and blood of Christ?\" \"Not at all; it is\nmerely the highest social act of religion.\" \"Have the bread and wine\nbeen consecrated?\" \"Oh! yes--that is to say, no; well, you see, these\ngentlemen don't all think alike about it. One says it is the sacrament\nof the body and blood of Christ, and another says it is nothing but a\nrite of hospitality; and we let every man choose for himself.\" \"But has\nthere been no blessing of the elements? No prayer over them?\" \"Yes; a\nplenty of prayers.\" \"And what was the intention of the celebrant? The\nintention, of course, regulates the quality of the act.\" \"Oh! there\nwere five or six intentions; for there were five or six celebrants,\nand no two of them meant the same thing.\" Here the inquirer, if he had\nany sense, would probably conclude that the ceremony was nothing but a\nsacrilegious travesty on the holy communion, and would retire deeply\nscandalized; and remembering, first, that the Thirty-nine Articles of\nhis creed forbid \"any man to take upon him the office of ministering\nthe sacraments before he be lawfully called and sent to execute the\nsame,\" and, secondly, that the preface to the ordination service of the\nEpiscopal Church declares that no man shall be suffered to execute any\nof the functions of a minister in Christ's church except he be duly\nordained by a bishop, he will doubtless be not a little puzzled to\naccount for the presence of a dignitary like the Dean of Canterbury in\nsuch a motley assemblage.\n\nThe protests against joint communion are not confined, however, to\nthe Episcopal denomination. The Baptists are likewise exercised\nin mind about it. They refuse to recognize the validity of infant\nbaptism, or to admit to the Lord's Supper those who have not been\nduly baptized; and hence, with the great majority of Christians they\ndo not feel at liberty to communicate. The Baptist clergyman from\nLondon who participated in the performance at Dr. Adams's church has\nexposed himself to violent criticism from his own brethren, and,\nlike Dean Smith, is accused of forgetting ecclesiastical discipline\nand theological orthodoxy under the impulse of a moment of gushing\nenthusiasm. What a charming illustration of Christian unity this\njoint-communion service has afforded!\n\nThe more closely we look into the Alliance, the more preposterous\nappear its attempts to jumble up conflicting doctrines, mingle\ncontradictions, and confuse intelligence. If it is right for different\nsects to communicate together, it must be right for them to perform\nall other religious services together, and doctrine and ritual become\nalike insignificant. Hence, we are not surprised to find among the\npapers presented to the Conference an essay on the _Interchange of\nPulpits_, in which the Rev. Mr. Conrad, of Philadelphia, argues\nthat it is a Christian duty for Episcopal congregations sometimes\nto listen to the sermons of Baptist preachers, and for Baptists to\ninvite the ministrations of a Presbyterian, and so on--hands across,\ndown the middle and up again; orthodox to-day, heretic next week. Is\nit necessary to believe anything? Is there any such thing as faith?\nIs there any reality in religions which have no dogmas, and which\nlook upon truth and falsehood, worship and blasphemy, as perfectly\nindifferent? Surely this is reducing Protestantism to absurdity. You\ngentlemen have adopted the principle of individual infallibility,\nfirst, to declare that the church of God is the mother of falsehood,\nand then to accuse each other of error and deceit; and after\nmultiplying your subdivisions till there is danger of universal ruin\nand dissension, you come together and declare that there is no such\nthing as religious certitude; no choice between one sect and another;\nno difference between God's messengers and the lying prophets of Baal.\nYour plan of composing controversies is to obliterate the distinction\nbetween good and evil; and if we can believe Mr. Conrad, the plan of\nthe apostles was the same. They founded independent congregations,\nand gave them such lax notions of faith that, as Mr. Conrad remarks,\n\"the primitive church was inoculated with error.\" Nevertheless, the\napostles and their first disciples went about freely from church to\nchurch, exchanging pulpits, so to speak; and we do not read that the\ndenomination to which Peter belonged had any objection to an occasional\nsermon from Paul, or that the Beloved Disciple was not welcomed as a\ngood Christian minister when he visited the sect established by S.\nLuke. In those blessed days there was, we believe, a true interchange\nof pulpits. But Mr. Conrad neglects to explain the warning which S.\nPaul gave to the Christians at Rome:\n\n\"Now I beseech you, brethren, to mark them who cause dissensions and\noffences contrary to the doctrine which you have learned; and to avoid\nthem.\n\n\"For they that are such serve not Christ our Lord, but their own belly:\nand by pleasing speeches, and good words, seduce the hearts of the\ninnocent.\"[130]\n\nWhat have the Episcopalians, with their fiction of a hierarchy, to say\nof this plan of undenominational preaching? How are we to reconcile\nthe presence of a Presbyterian parson in one of their pulpits with\nthe rule, already quoted, which forbids the exercise of ministerial\nfunctions by one who has not received Episcopal ordination? And what\nwould a Baptist say to a service conducted in one of their churches by\na Methodist who had been sprinkled in infancy, and therefore, according\nto the Baptist view, not baptized at all?\n\nThe plain truth of the whole matter is that there is no such thing\nas Christian unity in any of these periodical performances of the\nEvangelical Alliance. The sects are not drawing closer together.\nDenominational differences are not disappearing. The quarrelling is\nas angry and as noisy as ever. But Protestantism has taken alarm. It\nis confronted by two dangerous enemies, which are growing stronger\nand stronger every day, and it is anxious to keep the peace for a\nlittle while in its own family, that it may the better look after its\ndefence. One of these dangers is the philosophical infidelity which\nProtestantism itself has bred. The other is the Catholic faith, against\nwhich Protestantism is a rebellion. An address, prepared by the late\nMerle d'Aubign\u00e9 for the conference which was to have been held three\nyears ago, was presented at the meeting in New York. The historian of\nthe Reformation tells his brethren some plain and unwelcome truths\nabout their condition. \"The despotic and arrogant pretensions of\nRome,\" he says, \"have reached in our days their highest pitch, and we\nare consequently more than ever called upon to contend against that\npower which dares to usurp the divine attributes. But that is not all.\nWhile superstition has increased, unbelief has done so still more....\nMaterialism and atheism have in many minds taken the place of the true\nGod. Science, which was Christian in the finest intellects of former\ndays, in those to whom we owe the greatest discoveries, has become\natheistic among men who now talk the loudest.... Eminent literary men\ncontinually put forward in their writings what is called positivism,\nrejecting everything that goes beyond the limit of the senses, and\ndisdaining all that is supernatural.... Unbelief has reached even the\nministry of the word. Pastors belonging to Protestant churches in\nFrance, Switzerland, Germany, and other Continental countries, not\nonly reject the fundamental doctrines of the faith, but also deny the\nresurrection of Jesus Christ, and see in him nothing more than a man\nwho, according to many among them, was even subject to errors and\nfaults. A Synod of the Reformed Church in Holland has lately decreed\nthat, when a minister baptizes, he need not do it in the name of the\nFather, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.... At an important\nassembly held lately in German Switzerland, at which were present\nmany men of position, both in the church and state, the basis of the\nnew religion was laid down: 'No doctrines' was the watchword on that\noccasion; 'no new doctrines, whatever they may be, in place of the old;\nliberty alone.' Which means liberty to overthrow everything; and too\ntruly _some of those ministers believe neither in a personal God nor\nin the immortality of the soul_.\" Nor was Merle d'Aubign\u00e9 alone in his\nbitter judgment of European Protestantism. The same feeling is more or\nless clearly manifest in the essays of various foreign delegates. Mr.\nProchet, the Waldensian minister from Genoa, in presenting a sketch\nof the religious condition of Italy, laid great stress upon the close\nunion, brotherly feeling, and unflagging energy of the priesthood. \"The\nclergy,\" said he, \"with few exceptions, have gathered themselves more\nclosely around the Holy See, determined to stand or fall with it.\"\nFather Hyacinthe lectured in Rome; \"but the clergy left him alone, or\nhis few adherents were such that nothing of any importance could be\ndone by them.\" Among the laity there is a large proportion of devout\nadherents of the church. There is a great multitude which does not\npractise any religion, and takes more interest in politics than in\nfaith; but this party has not renounced its allegiance to the church,\nand believes in Rome as far as it believes in anything. Atheists are\nnot numerous, but their influence is constantly increasing. Protestants\nare the fewest and the weakest of all. There are congregations of\nforeign Protestants, but \"their influence is of very little value.\" The\nWaldensians have a theological school at Florence; but we are puzzled\nto know what they can teach, for \"it is open to students of every\ndenomination; they are never asked to leave their religion to join\nanother.\" Altogether, the Protestants of Italy, mere handful as they\nare, are divided into ten different denominations. The Rev. M. Cohen\nStuart, of Rotterdam, gave a somewhat similar sketch of the situation\nin Holland. Nowhere, he said, has the Pope more pious devotees and more\nzealous adherents than in the land which gave England William of Orange\nand sheltered the Pilgrim Fathers. If the church is not increasing\nthere in numbers, it is daily adding to its power and influence. \"There\nis no rent of heresy in the solid mass of that medi\u00e6val building save\nthe remarkable schism of the so-called Jansenists; ... but this sect,\nwith its few thousands of adherents, is far more interesting from its\nhistory than important from actual influence.\" Protestantism, on the\nother hand, shows little but dissension, with a strong tendency towards\nscepticism. \"There is a tide of neology, a flood of unbelief, which\nno dikes or moles can keep back.... A great many, a sadly increasing\nnumber, are more or less forsaking the Gospel and becoming estranged\nfrom Christian truth. Materialism and irreligion are slaying their\ntens of thousands in the ranks of so-called Christians.\" Mr. Stuart\ndraws a fearful picture of the disputes of the different Protestant\ntheological schools, and continues: \"It is evident, indeed, that the\nutter confusion into which the Reformed Church of Holland has fallen\ncannot last very long, lest it should lead to a total disorganization\nand overthrow of the whole.... Nothing for this moment is left but\nto bear, though not without earnest protest, a state of things too\nabnormal and too absurd to last.\" Of Switzerland, again, we have almost\nprecisely the same story. The Rev. Eugene Reichel, of Montmireil,\ncomplained of the activity of the Catholic Church in his little\nrepublic, and the great increase of infidelity among Protestants. \"A\ndeplorable unbelief has led captive the masses of the people. They have\nleft their churches to engulf themselves in the vortex of business\nand worldly pleasure.... On every side infidelity is become rampant,\nand much more aggressive than in former years. Better organized than\nonce, and finding an efficient support both in the indifference of\nthe people and the countenance afforded by government, this insidious\nfoe, closing up its ranks, is not slow to assail the truth.\" Of Spain\nMr. Fliedner gave a vague and not over-brilliant account, and of\nGreece Mr. Kalopathakes could only say that Protestants had a very\nhard time of it there, and that there were very few of them. American\nmissionaries have been sustained in Greece for forty years, and yet\nthere is only one meeting-house in the kingdom. Mr. Decoppet, of Paris,\ndeclares that \"the Protestant population of France is still but a\nfeeble minority, which holds its own, but does not sensibly increase,\"\nwhile the church is evidently gaining every day in influence; and,\nmoreover, Protestantism is torn by internal discords, and weakened\nby rationalistic tendencies, which give its enemies \"a plausible\npretext for their assertion that Protestantism leads necessarily to\nnegation, and that it is on the high-road to dissolution.\" In Denmark,\naccording to Dr. Kalkar, of Copenhagen, Catholicism has made rapid and\nextraordinary progress. In Protestant Sweden, \"unbelief has spread\namong the people, especially among the educated classes,\" and \"the\nmoral condition of the people is tolerably low.\"\n\nUpon the discussion of the various methods proposed in the conference\nto combat the enemies of Protestantism we do not know that we need\nlinger. Infidel philosophy engaged most of the attention of the German\nand American delegates; but how could Protestantism do battle with\nits own offspring? The debate on the Darwinian theory was empty--nay,\nit was almost childish. The essays on the same subject were timid and\ninconsequential. And strange to say, when the day for demolishing\nthe Pope of Rome came around, the fiery, aggressive spirit which\nanimated the Alliance in former days was wanting. There were rumors\nof dissatisfaction among the brethren at the time-honored attitude of\nthe Evangelical Alliance towards the Scarlet Woman of Babylon; and\nit was thought that while atheism was so rife, and faith so weak,\nand Protestantism dying, so to speak, of inanition, it was unwise to\nquarrel with any kind of Christianity which seemed able to arrest the\ndownward progress. Those who judged thus instinctively felt, what they\nwould be slow to acknowledge, that between the Catholic Church and\nno faith at all there is not a middle position. The whole Conference\nteaches the same truth. Protestantism drifts away into the darkness and\nthe storm, but the Rock of Peter stands immovable, the same yesterday,\nand to-day, and for all time.\n\n\"Upon this rock will I build my church, and the gates of hell shall not\nprevail against it.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[130] Romans xvi. 17, 18.\n\n\n\n\nCATHOLIC LITERATURE IN ENGLAND SINCE THE REFORMATION.\n\n\n                               CONCLUDED.\n\nAfter the death of Alexander Pope, in 1744, it was a long time before\nEnglish Catholic literature could boast of any living name. Prelates,\nindeed, and priests there were, whose admirable writings circulated\namong their co-religionists, but few who were known to the public\ngenerally as successful aspirants for literary fame. Yet the devotional\nand controversial writings of the time--the works, for example, of Bps.\nHay, Challoner, and Milner--took no mean part in the cultivation of the\nintellect and taste. The influence of classical authors from without\nwas discoverable in their style, and they kept pace in general with\nthe enlarged experience of the age. There is no philosophy so deep as\nCatholic philosophy; none so comprehensive, affecting, and complete. It\nembraces all other philosophies so far as they are sound; and far from\nbeing at variance with any branch of human science, it incorporates all\nknowledge into itself as parts of a system of universal truth. It is\nthe philosophy of life and of society; the philosophy of the soul, her\njoys and sorrows, her aspirations and ends. It solves all the questions\nwhich vex the inquiring spirit, so far as it is possible for them to\nbe solved under our present conditions of being. Catholic philosophy,\nunder this point of view, is set forth in the most touching manner by\nBp. Challoner in his _Meditations for Every Day in the Year_. Apart\nfrom the edifying character of these reflections, it is impossible to\nread them attentively without allowing them distinct literary merit.\nWhile they evince a tenderness and pathos that are sure to win on\nthe reader's heart, they exhibit also much art in composition. The\nsentences are well balanced and musical; the subject is always exposed\nmethodically; and the appeals, however addressed to the feelings, are\ncontrolled by strict reasoning.\n\nTake, again, Bp. Milner's _End of Controversy_--a series of letters\naddressed to the Protestant Bishop of St. David's. It is a complete\narmory. If Dr. Challoner's _Meditations_ was fitted to implant the\ndivine philosophy of Catholicism deeply in the breast, Dr. Milner's\n_End of Controversy_ was no less calculated to arm the sincere Catholic\nwith every needful weapon of defence against the assailants of his\ncreed. If luminous arrangement, clear reasoning, and profound learning\nconstitute claims to literary merit, that book possesses it in no\nordinary degree. Edition after edition has been published, and it has\nbeen produced in so cheap a form as to be accessible to readers in\nthe humblest circumstances. Though the face of controversy between\nCatholics and Protestants has much changed of late years in England,\nfirstly by the Anglo-Catholic or Tractarian movement, and, secondly,\nby the wide spread of infidel opinions under the form of positivism,\nyet the old arguments in support of Catholicism remain unchanged, and\nthere are few cases of heavy resistance which Dr. Milner's letters will\nnot meet even now. Ingenious additions and variations have been made by\nsubsequent controversialists to supply passing needs, but, after all,\nthese grand old field-pieces, when brought fairly into line, will be\nfound equal to the task of demolishing any bench of Protestant bishops\nand any assembly of Presbyterian elders.\n\nThe _Lives of the Saints_, by the Rev. Alban Butler, appeared for the\nfirst time in 1754, ten years after Pope's death. The venerable author\nwas Principal of the English College at St. Omer, then the principal\nseminary for English ecclesiastics. The wide celebrity of the work,\nand the fact of its having been made a reference-book in every good\nCatholic library, render it needless to dwell on its excellences.\nSuffice it to say that it exhibits a profound acquaintance with the\nsubjects of which it treats, and preserves a wise medium between\ncredulity and disbelief. The copious notes, containing accounts of the\nwritings of sainted fathers and doctors, are invaluable to literary\nmen; and the _Lives_ in general shows that the author's knowledge\nand research extended far beyond the bounds of theology, hagiology,\nand church history. His nephew, Charles Butler--himself a well-known\nliterary character--published an _Account of the Life and Writings\nof the Rev. Alban Butler_, in which he gives, as nearly as possible,\na list of the principal works and sources from which the author of\nthe _Lives of the Saints_ derived his information. He then goes on to\nsay that literary topics were frequently the subject of his uncle's\nfamiliar conversation, and quotes from memory many of his criticisms on\nHerodotus, whose style he greatly admired, Cicero, Julius C\u00e6sar, the\nworks of Plato, and the modern Latin poems of Wallius, together with\nthe relative merits of the sermons of Bossuet and Bourdaloue.\n\nCharles Butler always took a laudable pride in dwelling on his\nuncle's merits, and in making them better known to the public. To his\neditorship is owing the publication of the _Notes_ of Alban Butler's\ntravels during the years 1744-46. He informs us in a short preface\nthat in many places they were little more than mere jottings, and not\nintended for publication; that their meaning, also, was frequently\ndifficult to decipher. By his care and diligence, however, they were\nbrought into a readable form; and the volume, published in Edinburgh\nin 1803, and now rarely to be met with, is valuable as showing the\nhighest degree of knowledge of Italian ecclesiastical affairs then\nattainable by a cultivated and inquiring traveller. Seldom has a\nbook of travels had more facts condensed into it. It is a monument\nof close observation; and at a time when handbooks were very few and\nvery imperfect, it must have been a precious _vade mecum_ in the hands\nof Catholic travellers, and particularly ecclesiastics. The writer\nseems, in every spot he visited, to have gathered up all that could be\ncollected respecting it either from books or individuals. The amount of\nstatistics is enormous, and the attention to details truly laudable.\nHad these _Travels_ been written for the public, and graced with the\nflowing style and the free and copious reflections which abound in the\n_Lives of the Saints_, they would have been read frequently to this\nday, and have ranked high among compositions of a similar kind.\n\nThe writings of Charles Butler are of no mean value, in consequence\nof his having directed his attention to English Catholic history at a\ntime when scarcely any other writers thought it worth their while to\nobtain accurate information on the subject, and still less to record\nit for the benefit of others. Charles Butler made it his business to\npreserve everything of importance which he could collect respecting the\npolitical and religious condition of his co-religionists in England\nsince the time of the Reformation; and all subsequent historians have,\nin such matters, been greatly indebted to his _Historical Memoirs_\nand _Reminiscences_. His style, it is true, is very sketchy, and his\nmatter reads like notes and memoranda; but the intrinsic value of what\nhe places on record atones in some measure for this defect. In his\nopinions he inclined rather to the liberal school of thought, and this\nfact brought him into serious collision with Bp. Milner on the subject\nof the veto and other matters then in debate. There can, however, be\nno doubt of his sincere attachment to the Catholic religion, while\nhis love of literature and all that concerns mental progress is no\nless apparent in his works. Acquainted as he was with most of the\ndistinguished men of the day, he had ample opportunities of observing\ntheir peculiar gifts and habits. The remarks which he makes in his\n_Reminiscences_ on the parliamentary eloquence of Chatham, North,\nFox, Pitt, and their compeers, whom he had seen and heard, have this\nmerit, that they were derived from no second-hand sources. His _Hor\u00e6\nBiblic\u00e6_, _Germanic Empire_, _Hor\u00e6 Juridic\u00e6_, his numerous biographies,\nhis _Historical Memoirs of the Church of France_ and of _English,\nIrish, and Scottish Catholics_, were not merely up to the standard\nof his time, but often beyond it, in consequence of the peculiarity\nof the materials that he brought together. While he was familiar\nwith a wide range of literature, English, foreign, and ancient, he\nwas also conversant with algebra, music and other fine arts. The\nmotto he adopted for his _Reminiscences_ from D'Aguesseau shows his\nlove of study: _Le changement de l'\u00e9tude est toujours un d\u00e9lassement\npour moi_--\"A change of study is always a relaxation for me.\" If he\nis sometimes formal and verging on priggishness--as when he styles\nhimself all through two volumes \"the Reminiscent\"--the fashion of his\nday, which was far more stilted than we should approve, must be his\nexcuse. If we had enjoyed the pleasure of his acquaintance, we should,\nno doubt, have pronounced him \"a gentleman of the old school.\"\n\nThe Rev. Joseph Berington was another Catholic of the last century who\nhas embalmed his memory in a useful work. Charles Butler wrote of his\n_Literary History of the Middle Ages_: \"It presents the best account in\nprint of that important subject.\" The _Biographie Universelle_, that\nPantheon of genius, contains a very imperfect but interesting monument\nto his memory. He was a contemporary of Charles Butler, and a link\nin the chain of English Catholic authors since the great overthrow\nof religion. Between the years 1776 and 1786, he published several\ncontroversial works directed against infidelity and Protestantism. He\nthen published the _History of Abelard and Heloise_, with the genuine\nletters of those around whom Pope's poem had thrown much romantic\ninterest. It soon reached a second edition, and was followed by a\n_History of Henry II. and his Two Sons_, vindicating the character of\nS. Thomas \u00e0 Becket. But it was not till 1814 that he published the\nwork on which his reputation mainly rests, _The Literary History of\nthe Middle Ages_. By that time his experience had matured, and he had\ncollected a large body of materials from numberless sources. His work,\nwhen it appeared, was the best compendium to be found; but since that\nperiod the researches of Maitland, Kenelm Digby, and many others have\nthrown open to our view more clearly the fair fields and wealthy mines\nof medi\u00e6val lore. This volume served as a stimulus to the inquiries of\nother students, and it was thought worthy of republication so late as\n1846. What we admire in it is the taste of the writer and his genuine\nlove of the subject on which he treats. He does not write like a dry\nbibliographer, but in a genial way--like one whose learning has not\neaten out his individual human heart.\n\nBut the merit of Berington and Charles Butler fades into insignificance\nwhen compared with that of Lingard. Before his time, English history\nwas almost unknown. The Catholic side of a number of questions had\nnever been fairly presented, and the true sources of history had either\nnot been discovered, or were very scantily resorted to. It was Dr.\nLingard who first made the public sensible of the value of documents\nbrought to light by the Record Commission; the Close and Patent\nRolls extant in the Tower; the Parliamentary writs; the papers and\ninstruments of the State Paper Office; the despatches of De la Mothe\nF\u00e9nelon, the French ambassador in London in the reign of Elizabeth;\nthe letters and speeches of Oliver Cromwell; and the archives of the\n_Minist\u00e8re des Affaires Etrang\u00e8res_ in France. Accustomed as we now are\nto see history written by the lights of such incontestable evidence, we\noften wonder how our forefathers could have accepted with complacency\nthe jejune records founded in too many cases on tradition and fancy. To\nDr. Lingard and Miss Strickland is principally due the praise of having\nintroduced a more respectable and reliable method.\n\nHistorians generally train themselves unconsciously for their larger\nworks by the composition of some smaller ones. It was thus with\nLingard, who published, in 1806, his _Antiquities of the Anglo-Saxon\nChurch_, and lived to watch over its success, and improve it in\nnumerous editions, during a period of forty-five years. He availed\nhimself gladly of the labors of other workers in the historic field,\nand saw, with singular pleasure, the laws, charters, poems, homilies,\nand letters of our Anglo-Saxon ancestors collected and published. But\nno work on the Anglo-Saxon portion of English history is more valuable\nand interesting than his own. He causes the church of that epoch to\nlive before us with its laws, polity, doctrines, sacraments, services,\ndiscipline, and literature. He consults the original authorities, and,\nputting aside wearisome controversies on points of detail, confines\nhimself to facts well ascertained.\n\nIt was during his residence at Pontop and Crook Hall, and before\nremoving to Ushaw--in a neighborhood where Weremouth and Jarrow\nrecalled the memory of Bede, and where Tynemouth, Hexham, Lindisfarne,\nand many other spots spoke eloquently of the past--that Lingard\nused, in his spare moments, to compile the several papers on the\nreligion, laws, and literature of the Anglo-Saxons, of which his\nwork is composed. Seated by the evening fireside, he would read them\nto his companions, and their interest in his theme, and surprise at\nthe extent of his learning, increased with every reading. When, at\nlength, the series reached its close, his friends earnestly requested\nhim to publish them as a connected history; and thus the foundation\nof his future reputation and usefulness was laid. If amateur authors\nwould more frequently try their strength in this way, without rushing\nunadvisedly into print, they would be spared much disappointment and\nexpense, and the standard of current literature would be raised.\n\nThe publication of _The Anglo-Saxon Church_ naturally led to Lingard's\nbeing solicited to extend his history to a later period. Why should not\nhe, who was evidently so competent, trace the fortunes of the church\nthrough the Norman, Plantagenet, Lancastrian, and Yorkist periods?\nNay, what reason was there why he should not give the world a Catholic\nversion of the history of the Reformation, so commonly and flagrantly\nmisrepresented? How many old Catholic families would be delighted\nto peruse a faithful record of events in which their ancestors were\nconcerned! Might not he throw a halo round many illustrious Catholic\nnames, and tear up by the roots many Protestant historic falsehoods?\nHad not several of the Stuart kings shown a bias, and more than a bias,\ntowards the ancient religion? And who could exhibit the different\nphases in the career and character of those kings so well as he? If\nQueen Mary had been unduly reviled, and Queen Elizabeth extravagantly\npraised, on whom could the task of rectifying these mistakes be\ndevolved so safely as on Lingard? Such questions stirred his activity\nand laudable ambition; for he was not unconscious of his ability to\nwrite the history of his country. At first, indeed, he modestly shrank\nfrom so serious an undertaking, and contemplated only an abridgment\nfor the use of schools; but a secluded mission like that of Hornby,\nto which he had retired, is highly favorable to the composition of\nimportant works. The _Abridgment_ was revised when he had buried Henry\nVII., and, after being rewritten, was thrown aside. The scaffolding was\nthrown down, but the house stood.\n\nWhen Lingard visited Rome in 1817, he was, in the first instance,\ndiscouraged by the reception he met with. It was intimated to him by a\nmember of the Sacred College that Dr. Milner had already sufficiently\nexposed and refuted the calumnies contained in Hume, and that further\nresearches for the purposes of English history were unnecessary or\nof slight importance. Every writer of eminence has met with similar\nrebuffs. Lingard was mortified, but not deterred from the object he\nhad in view. Before he left Rome, the archives of the Vatican had been\nopened to him without reserve, his admission to the libraries was\nfacilitated, and transcripts of such unpublished documents as he might\nrequire were promised him. Unfortunately, the privilege of consulting\nthe Vatican treasures was of little use, seeing that the French\nRevolution had thrown the codices into much confusion.\n\nIn the early part of 1819 the three volumes of the _History of\nEngland_, extending to the death of Henry VII., were published, having\nbeen purchased by Mawman, the publisher, for a thousand guineas; and\nother volumes followed at irregular intervals, till, in 1830, the whole\nhistory down to the Revolution of 1688 had appeared. For the first and\nsecond editions the author received altogether \u00a34,133--an extraordinary\namount, considering the unpopularity of Catholics at the time of its\nappearance, and the small number of English Catholic readers. But its\nfame extended beyond the English shores; translations in French and\nGerman were published; and an Italian translation was printed, by the\nPope's desire, at the press of the Propaganda. His Holiness subscribed\nfor 200 copies of this translation; and Cardinal Cristaldi, the\n_Tr\u00e9sori\u00e8re G\u00e9n\u00e9rale_, for a yet larger number. It was reproduced in\nAmerica, and in Paris by Galignani, and read at Rome with enthusiastic\ndelight. Pius VII., in August, 1821, conferred on the author the\ntriple academical laurel, creating him at the same time doctor of\ndivinity and of canon and civil law. Leo XII. invited him to take up\nhis residence in Rome; but from this Lingard excused himself by saying\nthat it was necessary he should examine original papers which could be\nfound in England only. On his departure, the same pontiff presented\nhim with the gold medal which is usually reserved for cardinals and\nprinces, and he is said to have designed for him the dignity of the\ncardinalate.\n\nAs time went on, Lingard's knowledge of English history widened and\ndeepened. He availed himself eagerly of the new sources of information\nwhich this century has opened so abundantly, and, by the constant\nrevision of his work, he rendered it increasingly valuable. It would\nbe difficult to overstate its merits, one of the highest of which is\nits impartiality and fearless statement of what the writer knew to\nbe true. He avoided all appearance of controversy, and often refuted\nHume without appearing to do so. His great aim was to write a history\nwhich Protestants would read, and in this he succeeded. In 1825, the\nPresident of the English College at Rome, Dr. Gradwell, wrote to him,\nsaying: \"Your _History_ is much spoken of here as one of the great\ncauses which have wrought such a change in public sentiment in England\non Catholic matters.\" Dr. Wiseman, writing to Lingard in July, 1835,\nsaid: \"All the professors at Munich desired me, again and again, to\nassure you of the high esteem they entertain for you, and the high\nposition your work is allowed, through all Germany, among historical\nproductions. Prof. Phillips, formerly professor of history at Baden,\nnow at Munich, requested me to inform you that he owes his conversion\n(which made immense sensation, on account of his well-known talents)\nchiefly to your _History_, which he undertook to review.\" A few weeks\nonly before Cardinal Wiseman's death, he thus expressed his sense of\nDr. Lingard's merits, both as an author and a man: \"Be assured of my\naffectionate gratitude to you for much kindness in my early youth, and\nstill more for the great, important, and noble services which you have\nrendered to religion through life, and which have so much contributed\nto overthrow error, and give a solid historical basis to all subsequent\ncontroversy with Protestantism.\"\n\nIn mentioning those writers who have helped to construct an English\nCatholic literature, it would be impossible to omit the name of Thomas\nMoore. Though an Irishman by birth, the English, among whom he chiefly\nresided, are accustomed to reckon him among their own; and though,\nunhappily, he ceased, at an early period of life, to observe regularly\nthe duties of his religion, he never ceased altogether to frequent the\nservices of the Catholic Church; and in his writings he maintained to\nthe last the truth of Catholicism, and the immense superiority of its\nsystem over all modern forms and sections of Christianity. His _Travels\nof an Irish Gentleman in search of a Religion_ is no less forcible in\nargument than humorous in style; and numberless passages in his diaries\nand poems prove that Catholicism retained its hold over his heart as\nwell as his understanding, though it did not always influence duly his\npractice as a member of the church. Probably his passion for society,\nand his fondness for the great, were in some measure the causes of\nhis conforming outwardly to Protestant observances, and allowing his\nchildren to be educated in the doctrines and usages of the Church of\nEngland. Certain it is that his own affections were never weaned from\nthe faith of his parents; and one of his most intimate friends, Lord\nRussell, who was also his biographer, assures us that, when in London,\nit was his custom to frequent the Catholic chapel in Wardour Street.\n\nWe cannot in this place discuss as fully as it deserves the question\nof Moore's personal Catholicity. Suffice it to refer to a passage\nin his _Diary_, under the date November 2 to 9, 1834, and to the\nfollowing, dated April 9, 1833: \"In one of my conversations with Lord\nJohn (Russell), we talked about my forthcoming book, and I explained\nto him the nature of it, adding that I had not the least doubt in my\nown mind of the truth of the case I undertook to prove in it--namely,\nthat Popery is in all respects the old, original Christianity, and\nProtestantism a departure from it.\" Such was the lesson which the\n_Travels of an Irish Gentleman in search of a Religion_ was intended\nto teach; nor could anything less than a deep sympathy for the faith\nof the people of Ireland have inspired Moore with such touching\nlamentations over their wrongs and sufferings. The frame of his mind\nwas essentially religious; and those who have been wont to think of\nhim as a dissolute devotee of fashion will feel surprised to discover\nin the authentic records of his life a fond and faithful husband, an\naffectionate son, a loving parent, and, as far as his feelings were\nregarded, a devout Christian. His _Sacred Songs_ were not efforts\nof the imagination merely; they expressed the genuine emotions of\nhis inmost heart; and how beautifully, and in numbers how inimitably\nmelodious! There is a disposition among some critics to disparage\nMoore's poetry, and to treat him merely as a love-sick rhymer; but\nhis fame is proof against such pitiful assailants; and his poems will\nawaken echoes in the human heart when their artificial and obscure\npoetizings shall\n\n    \"... bind a book, or line a box,\n    Or serve to curl a maiden's locks.\"\n\nThere cannot be a doubt that his writings contributed largely to\nthe success of the movement in favor of Catholic emancipation, and\nthat his _Irish Melodies_ in particular conspired with the speeches\nand addresses of O'Connell to kindle in the breasts of Irishmen and\nIrishwomen the determination to set their country free. The enthusiasm,\neven to tears, which they excited on the lake, in the grove, in the\nmusic-hall and the banqueting-room, when sung to the soft notes of the\npiano or harp, burst forth sooner or later in action, and produced\nresults by which senates were moved and populations stirred. The power\nwhich poetry has over men's hearts and actions is a test of its merits\nthat rises far above the technicalities of a pedantic school; and\nMoore's lyrics are not found wanting when tried by this standard. They\nare truly \"magnetic.\" They have fired many a soldier on the field of\nbattle, and excited many an orator at the hustings; they have comforted\nmany a solitary mourner, and smoothed many a touch of sickness and\npain. We have, of course, no apology to offer for some of those in\nwhich he celebrates earthly love; though it must be admitted he has not\nbeen unmindful of that higher, that divine love, which alone can crown\nearthly affections with true happiness. No one has sung more sweetly\nthan Moore the truths that God is \"the life and light of all this\nwondrous world\"; that he dries the mourner's tear; that \"the world is\nall a fleeting show\"; that there is nothing bright but the soul may\nsee in it some feature of Deity, and nothing dark but God's love may be\ntraced therein. What hymn-book contains a spiritual lesson more true\nand beautiful than this?\n\n    \"As morning, when her early breeze\n      Breaks up the surface of the seas,\n    That in their furrows, dark with night,\n      Her hands may sow the seeds of light,\n\n    \"Thy grace can send its breathings o'er\n      The spirit, dark and lost before,\n    And, freshening all its depths, prepare\n      For truth divine to enter there!\"\n\nBut it is in Moore's national poems that we must look for the principal\ngauge of his influence on public opinion. Their effect in England was\nno less magical than in Ireland. Wherever they were sung or read,\nthey turned enemies into advocates; and mammas little dreamed that\npolitical treatises were entering their homes in the shape of rolls\nof music. By adapting modern words to ancient airs, they appealed\nto listeners by the twofold charm of antiquity and novelty. They\nsurpassed the plaintive sweetness of Carolan, being addressed to\nmore refined audiences than had ever gathered round Erin's minstrels\nof old. During one-and-twenty years, from 1807 to 1828, the _Irish\nMelodies_ transmitted the \"light of song\" \"through the variegating\nprism of harmony\"; and the cruel acts against minstrels in the reigns\nof Henry VIII. and Elizabeth were atoned for by the rapturous welcome\ngiven in England under the last two of the Georges to the most tuneful\nexpressions of patriotism that ever broke from lip and lyre since the\ndays of \"the sweet Psalmist of Israel.\" They laid bare the bleeding\nheart-strings of the Irish cotter, exile, and emigrant; they pleaded\nfor the redress of his wrongs, centuries old; they invoked a Nemesis\non his oppressor; they enlisted on his side the suffrages of the\nnoble, the tender-hearted, and the brave. They coupled Ireland with\nPoland in the minds of all lovers of political justice; and they even\nsuggested analogies between the Irish and the persecuted and outcast\npeople of Israel. That they promoted indirectly, and still promote,\nthe cause of Catholicism is certain; for the sequences of mental\nassociations are governed by rules as fixed as those which attend the\nsequences of natural products. Under the symbol of lovers, which all\ncan understand, they frequently set forth the relation between the\nIrishman and his country, including his religion. To the true Irishman,\nindeed, of that period, the ideas of his native land and his father's\nfaith were inseparable, and he would have thought that which was\ndisloyal to either to have been treason against both. Moore's Catholic\neducation--the never-forgotten lessons of Catholic parents, whom he\nfondly loved--constituted a large element in the power and charm of his\never-varied and incomparable _Melodies_.\n\nThe practical importance of journalism as a branch of literature cannot\nbe too highly rated; for, though in itself it seldom reaches the\nhighest literary excellence, it brings it down to the level of ordinary\nunderstandings, and retails to the public what in the wholesale they\nwould not buy. In the beginning of 1840, the Catholic field in England\nwas sufficiently extended, and its prospects were so promising that\na weekly organ of greater ability and wider scope than any which\nthen existed was imperatively required. No one appeared better able\nto conduct such a journal successfully than Frederic Lucas. Born of\nQuaker parents, and educated at the London University, he had, at an\nearly age, been distinguished for his ardent pursuit of literature in\npreference to art, science, or mathematics. Skilful as a debater,\nand insatiable in his historical researches, he was attracted to the\nsubject of religion by its controversial and historic side. The works\nof Bentham, and the stirring events of the revolutionary period of\n1830, drew him deep into politics, while the poetry of Byron, Shelley,\nand Wordsworth strewed his pathway with shells and flowers, and colored\nevery object around him with rainbow hues. Called to the bar in 1835,\nhe became intimately acquainted with Thomas Carlyle, personally and\nas an author. The writings of this eminent historian and philosopher\nhad for him a special charm, to which the peculiarity of their style\nwas no drawback. He took great interest in the lectures on _Heroes\nand Hero Worship_ when they were first delivered; and it was from his\naccurate notes that a full report of Lecture No. 1 was published in the\n_Tablet_. Though the tendency of Carlyle's works is towards anything\nbut Catholicism, they had, strange to say, an indirect tendency that\nway in Lucas' case. They called up many sympathies in favor of the\nmiddle ages, and pointed to increase of faith as the grand remedy for\nhuman ills.\n\nThere was about this time a great stirring of the public mind on\nreligious subjects, and Lucas, reflecting deeply on the chaotic state\nof Christendom and the ever-multiplying forms of schism, became\nattracted to views set forth with great ability by Oxford divines,\ntending to revive medi\u00e6val practices and produce a tranquil reliance on\nancient ecclesiastical authority. But he felt no inclination to stop\nat the half-way house. To exchange Quakerism for Anglicanism would, he\nthought, be a loss rather than a gain; for the doctrines of the Society\nof Friends could, at least, be stated definitely, whereas those of\nthe Church of England were matter of ceaseless debate between three\nparties--High Church, Low Church, and Broad Church. He therefore broke\nthrough every barrier, and ruptured many ties of friendship, interest,\nand old association. His _Reasons for becoming a Roman Catholic_ was a\npamphlet remarkable for the poetic exuberance of its style, and still\nmore from the fact of its being addressed to Friends, and its defending\nCatholicism from a Friend's point of view. A few articles published in\nthe _Dublin Review_ established Lucas' literary reputation among his\nco-religionists, and he was soon invited to edit a new Catholic weekly\njournal, which he named the _Tablet_. The first number appeared on the\n16th of May, 1840, and during fifteen years Lucas continued to direct\nthe undertaking, and to take a leading part in its composition. Some of\nthe literary and miscellaneous papers were, in the early days of the\npublication, contributed by non-Catholics; but it was then, and has\never since been, regarded as an exponent of Catholicism--not, indeed,\nabsolutely authoritative, but in the highest degree weighty, and\nsemi-official.\n\nIt can scarcely be necessary to speak of the ability which this journal\ndisplayed in Lucas' hands. One anecdote will suffice to prove the\nintellectual readiness and aptitude of the editor. An article which\nappeared in the _Dublin Review_ in 1849, on the \"Campaigns of the Duke\nof Marlborough,\" at once attracted the notice of Sir William Napier,\nthe historian of the Peninsular War. Competent judge as he was, he\nsupposed the article to be written by a soldier, and could not conceive\nthat any other than a military man could exhibit so much familiarity\nwith the man\u0153uvres of armies and the tactics of generals. When he\nlearned that it was a civilian who thus described and commented on\nthe battles of Blenheim, Ramillies, Oudenarde, and Malplaquet, he\nhastened to make his acquaintance, and offered him every species of\nencouragement.\n\nBut if English Catholics were fortunate in having a really literary\nman at the head of their most popular journal, they were still more\nso in possessing an archbishop who was a connoisseur in art, skilled\nin science, and profound in ancient and modern lore. There were few\nsubjects with which Cardinal Wiseman was not conversant; and when\nweary of business and serious study, he would often refresh his own\nmind and entertain his friends by discussing topics altogether outside\nthe ordinary grave circle of a prelate's discourse. He could talk of\npancakes and posy-rings, of \"Cymbeline\" and \"Peter Bell,\" as fluently\nas of general councils and the _Acts of the Martyrs_. His _Essays_,\nreprinted from the _Dublin Review_, his _Connection between Science and\nRevelation_, his _Fabiola, a Tale of the Catacombs_, and his _Lives of\nthe Last Four Popes_, abundantly establish his literary reputation,\nand are equally creditable to his research, observation, and inventive\nfaculty. The story of _Fabiola_ was composed, as he tells us, \"at all\nsorts of times and places, early and late; in scraps and fragments\nof time, when the body was too fatigued or the mind too worn-out\nfor heavier occupation; in the roadside inn, in the halt of travel,\nin strange houses, in every variety of situation and circumstance,\nsometimes trying ones.\" In the midst of his episcopal labors, he found\ntime for the delivery of numerous lectures on secular subjects, which\nattracted public attention to many curious points in literature, art,\nand science. In the present age, when every field of knowledge and\nexperiment is crowded with eager students, and when a disposition\nis seen everywhere to subordinate all discoveries and researches to\nhigh, if not always correct, views of religion, it seems to be of the\nutmost importance that Catholics in general should, as far as they are\nable, copy the example of Cardinal Wiseman in cultivating the happy\nand hallowed alliance of truth divinely revealed and truth humanly\nascertained, feeling sure that, however the two may seem here and\nthere to clash one with another, the discrepancy between them is only\napparent, and will vanish on closer investigation.\n\nDr. Newman has adopted a perfectly unique mode of enriching the\nCatholic literature of his country. He is now, in his advanced age,\nrepublishing all his works from the commencement of his author-life.\nMany of these appeared while he was still a clergyman of the Church\nof England; but to these he appends qualifying or explanatory notes,\nthus laying before his readers both his first and second thoughts.\nThis often gives him an opportunity of rebutting his former errors,\nand, by a brush of arms, laying low many a favorite Anglican defence.\nThe series serves, also, to fill up various parts of his biography\nwhich had been sketched only in the _Apologia pro Vita Sua_. It\nis, therefore, welcome to the reading public in general, to whom\nhis earlier life has never lost its interest in consequence of his\nconversion. The avidity with which his works are read by non-Catholics\nis no small proof of their merit intellectually considered. Indeed,\nto use the words of one writing in a hostile spirit in the _Pall Mall\nGazette_ of Sept. 23, 1872: \"The extreme beauty of his language, the\nrarity of his utterances, his delicate yet forcible way of dealing\nwith opposition when obliged to do so--all these things have invested\nhis image with a kind of halo, to which, for our parts, we scarcely\nremember a parallel.\"\n\nNothing could prove more conclusively the esteem in which he is held by\nthe English public than the reception given to his _Apologia_. Though\nthis publication was polemical, though Dr. Newman's adversary was a\nProtestant clergyman and professor in the University of Cambridge,\nthe verdict given by the leading journals and reviews of the day was\nemphatically on the side of the Priest of the Oratory--the convert\nfrom Anglicanism! Mr. Kingsley was universally condemned as having\nadvanced what he could not substantiate; and the beautifully na\u00efve\naccount which the assailed gave of his own life, opinions, literary and\nministerial career, was welcomed and hailed with praise, admiration,\nand delight. The _Spectator_ (than which no review in England stands\nhigher) styled the _Apologia_: \"An interior view of one of the\ngreatest minds and greatest natures ever completely subjected to\nthe influence of reactionary thought\"; and it added: \"Mr. Kingsley\nhas grievously wronged a man utterly unintelligible to him, but as\nincapable of falsehood or of the advocacy of falsehood as the sincerest\nProtestant.\" The _Union Review_, a High Church organ, said of the\nsame work: \"Since the _Confessions_ of S. Augustine were given to the\nworld, we doubt if any autobiography has appeared of such thrilling\ninterest as the present.\" The _Saturday Review_ was scarcely less\nemphatic. \"Few books,\" it said, \"have been published, in the memory\nof this generation, full of so varied an interest as Dr. Newman's\n_Apologia_.\" To these extracts we must add one more from a writer in\nthe _Times_: \"So far as one can judge from the opinions of the press,\nit is universally acknowledged that Dr. Newman has displayed through\nhis whole life, and never more so than at the time he was most bitterly\nassailed, the most transparent idea of an honorable and high-minded\ngentleman.\"\n\nIt is not so much to the theological as to the literary character of\nDr. Newman's works that we wish to call attention. As a writer of\nsermons, he has never been surpassed. Old as the Christian religion is,\nhe never failed in preaching to present some portion of it in a new\nlight. The Scriptures of the Old Testament in his hands acquire new\nmeaning and import; and the subtlety of his thought is only equalled by\nthe limpid clearness of his style. To those who remember him only as\nhe appeared in the pulpit of S. Mary the Virgin's, Oxford, his image\nis that of a seer piercing the depths of nature and redemption, and\nenunciating, under the influence of a divine afflatus, truths full of\nawe and tenderness, but often too vast for the comprehension of his\nhearers.\n\nThe test of any work of art is this--that it will bear the closest\ninspection. The fine gold of Dr. Newman's sermon-writing becomes more\nevident when his discourses are molten down in the crucible of severe\ncriticism. They have nothing to fear from dissection; rather they court\nthe anatomist's knife. Their beauty does not lie on the surface merely,\nthough that surface is passing fair; they have that interior charm and\nsweetness, that plaintive and mysterious tenderness, which belongs\nto the notes of a Stradivarius violin when played by a master-hand.\nThey suggest more than they say; they are replete with thoughts that\noften lie too deep for tears, and make us feel that we are greater\nthan we know. They win upon our hearts like a living voice, and make\nus love the writer, whom we have perhaps never seen. \"Eloquent\" would\nbe a poor and vulgar adjective to apply to them. They are more than\neloquent; they are poetry, religion, and philosophy combined in prose,\nwhich is prose only because it is not in rhythm.\n\nLargely as Dr. Newman is gifted with the imaginative faculty, he has\nnot acquired, nor, indeed, deserved to acquire, the same honors as\na poet as by his prose writings. His verses entitled \"Lead, kindly\nLight,\" are faultlessly beautiful, and some parts of _Gerontius_ are\nvery fine; but in his poetry in general there is a want of color and\ndetail. His mind has not been turned sufficiently to the minuter\nqualities and phases of natural objects to make a consummate poet. He\nis too abstract, chill, and classical for the luxurious requirements of\nmodern verse. But when, in his prose, he launches into matter highly\npoetical in its nature, as in _Callista_, when he describes the ravages\nof the locusts, or in his _Sermons_, when he dwells on the assumption\nof Our Lady's body into heaven, his language is equally copious and\nbrilliant, reaching the highest form of speech without any sacrifice of\nsimplicity, point, or color. Whatever Dr. Newman writes, be it sermon,\nhistory, or fiction, it has the air of an essay. It is a charming\ndisquisition--the outpouring of the thoughts of a great and original\nmind on some point which deeply interests him, and the connection of\nwhich with other matters of high import he sees more clearly than other\nmen. But he is not discursive; he does not straggle about from one\nsubject to another, but keeps closely to that which is in hand. Hence,\nto cursory readers he often seems to be forgetting some truths, because\nhe dwells so fully and forcibly on others. It is their minds which are\nat fault, not his. All parts of a large system of Christian philosophy\nare present to his view at all times; and for this very reason he can\nafford to spend himself on each in detail and labor upward from the\nparticular to the universal. In this respect he resembles Plato, while\nin others he has been compared, not unjustly, to S. Augustine:\n\n    \"Whene'er I con the thoughtful page\n      My youth so dearly prized,\n    I say, This foremost of his age\n      Is Plato's self baptized!\n\n    \"But kindling, weeping, as I read,\n      And wondering at his pen,\n    I cry, This Newman is indeed\n      Augustine come again.\n\n    \"The sweet, sublime 'Athenian Bee'\n      And Hippo's seer, who ran\n    Through every range of thought, I see\n      Combined in this _new man_.\"\n\nWhen Thomas Moore was visiting Sir Walter Scott at Abbotsford, nearly\nfifty years ago, they both agreed that much of the poetry then\nappearing in periodicals, and passing comparatively unnoticed, would,\nnot many years before, have made the reputation of the writers. If\nthey were alive now, with how much stronger emphasis would they make a\nsimilar remark! Magazine poetry in England now is as superior to that\nof 1825 as that of 1825 surpassed that of 1775. There are not a few\npoets at this moment, whose names are scarcely known, who would, at an\nearlier period of English literature, have been crowned with laurel\nby general consent. The great poets of this century have raised the\nstandard of poetry, and verse nowadays is what Scott and Wordsworth,\nByron and Moore, Shelley and Tennyson, have made it. Mr. Aubrey de\nVere, in the time of Daniel, Carew, Drummond, and Drayton, would have\nbeen a star of the first magnitude; whereas he is now, partly on\naccount of his Catholic principles, observed and admired by the public\nfar less than he deserves. Born of a Protestant family, and educated\nin the Protestant religion, he has in ripe years chosen the better\npart, and embraced the faith of the large majority of his countrymen.\nHe has thrown himself into the views of Irish Catholics on political\nsubjects, and has, without disloyalty to the existing government,\nreproduced in modern verse the passionate sentiments of Irish\nchieftains, captives, exiles, emigrants, and serfs of the soil in days\nlong past. Residing, however, chiefly in England, and representing,\nas he does, the later colonists of Ireland, we may venture to class\nhim among English authors, or, at least, to consider his poems as a\ncontribution to English Catholic literature. Occasional obscurity\nand faulty rhymes are, in his case, redeemed by poetry's prime\nexcellence--originality of thought and expression. Lines pregnant with\ntruth and beauty are constantly recurring, and the deeply religious\nfeeling which pervades all has the great advantage of not being\nexpressed in hackneyed and conventional language. The _May Carols_ is\na perfect conservatory of lovely images clustering round the central\nfigure of immaculate Mary. The 21st carol, on \"The Maryless Nations,\"\nis perhaps better known in the United States than in England, for it\nis said that this prophet is less honored in his own country than in\nAmerica; yet it may fairly be quoted here as a very favorable specimen\nof Mr. Aubrey de Vere's reflective verse:\n\n    \"As children when, with heavy tread,\n      Men sad of face, unseen before,\n    Have borne away their mother dead,\n      So stand the nations thine no more.\n\n    \"From room to room those children roam,\n      Heart-stricken by the unwonted black:\n    Their house no longer seems their home;\n      They search, yet know not what they lack.\n\n    \"Years pass: self-will and passion strike\n      Their roots more deeply day by day;\n    Old servants weep; and 'how unlike'\n      Is all the tender neighbors say.\n\n    \"And yet at moments, like a dream,\n      A mother's image o'er them flits;\n    Like hers, their eyes a moment beam,\n      The voice grows soft, the brow unknits.\n\n    \"Such, Mary, are the realms once thine\n      That know no more thy golden reign.\n    Hold forth from heaven thy Babe divine!\n      Oh! make thine orphans thine again.\"\n\nThere is another \"May Carol\" which has always struck us as particularly\nbeautiful, because so highly figurative. Metaphor and music make up the\nsoul of poetry. It is an apostrophe to the south wind, and is headed\nby the motto, _Adolescentul\u00e6 amaverunt te nimis_, a text from the\n_Canticles_, which sufficiently explains the mysticism of the lines:\n\n    \"Behold! the wintry rains are past,\n      The airs of midnight hurt no more;\n    The young maids love thee. Come at last:\n      Thou lingerest at the garden door.\n\n    \"'Blow over all the garden; blow,\n      Thou wind that breathest of the South,\n    Through all the alleys winding low,\n      With dewy wing and honeyed mouth.\n\n    \"'But wheresoe'er thou wanderest, shape\n      Thy music ever to one Name;\n    Thou, too, clear stream, to cave and cape\n      Be sure to whisper of the same.\n\n    \"'By every isle and bower of musk\n      Thy crystal clasps as on its curls;\n    We charge thee, breathe it to the dusk,\n      We charge thee, grave it in thy pearls.'\n\n    \"The stream obeyed. That Name he bore\n      Far out above the moonlit tide.\n    The breeze obeyed; he breathed it o'er\n      The unforgetting pines, and died.\"\n\nThis is the very algebra of language, and all the terms employed are\nraised, as it were, to their highest powers. Such verse could proceed\nonly from one of\n\n          \"The visionary apprehensive souls\n    Whose finer insight no dim sense controls.\"\n\nThere is another poem by Mr. Aubrey de Vere, which deserves to be\nquoted for its ingenuity; nor can we, in reading it, but be reminded\nof what was said of Euripides, and might, with equal truth, be said of\nhim: \"In all his pieces there is the sweet human voice, the fluttering\nhuman heart.\" The Irish race in these verses is compared to a great\nreligious order, of which England is the foundress:\n\n    \"There is an order by a Northern sea,\n      Far in the west, of rule and life more strict\n    Than that which Basil reared in Galilee,\n      In Egypt Paul, in Umbria Benedict.\n\n    \"Discalced it walks; a stony land of tombs,\n      A strange Petr\u00e6a of late days, it treads.\n    Within its courts no high-tossed censer fumes;\n      The night-rain beats its cells, the wind its beds.\n\n    \"Before its eyes no brass-bound, blazoned tome\n      Reflects the splendor of a lamp high hung;\n    Knowledge is banished from her earliest home\n      Like wealth: it whispers psalms that once it sung.\n\n    \"It is not bound by the vow celibate,\n      Lest, through its ceasing, anguish too might cease;\n    In sorrow it brings forth, and death and fate\n      Watch at life's gate, and tithe the unripe increase.\n\n    \"It wears not the Franciscan's sheltering gown,\n      The cord that binds it is the stranger's chain:\n    Scarce seen for scorn, in fields of old renown\n      It breaks the clod; another reaps the grain.\n\n    \"Year after year it fasts; each third or fourth\n      So fasts that common fasts to it are feast;\n    Then of its brethren many in the earth\n      Are laid unrequiem'd like the mountain beast.\n\n    \"Where are its cloisters? Where the felon sleeps!\n      Where its novitiate? Where the last wolf died!\n    From sea to sea its vigil long it keeps--\n      Stern Foundress! is its rule not mortified?\n\n    \"Thou that hast laid so many an order waste,\n      A nation is thine order! It was thine\n    Wide as a realm that order's seed to cast,\n      And undispensed sustain its discipline!\"\n\nThe Catholic press in England, which at the commencement of this\ncentury was smitten with barrenness, now teems with ceaseless\nproductions. Few of them, however, except those we have mentioned, are\ndestined to form part of standard literature. Even Miss Adelaide Anne\nProcter's verses are not as widely appreciated as they deserve to be,\nthough, during her lifetime, they obtained for her the reputation of\nbeing one of the most tuneful moralists that ever sung or breathed.\nMrs. William Pitt Byrne has earned well of the public by the lively\nmanner in which she has described so many Catholic countries, and\nthe diligence with which she has collected her materials. Her works\non Belgium, France--Paris in particular--Spain, and Hungary have\nsupplied amusement and instruction to a large number of subscribers\nto circulating libraries, and have thus accomplished a great part of\nthe purpose for which they were written. F. Faber's numerous volumes\nare too well known to need much comment on this occasion. They are\nintensely devotional, full of fervid eloquence, and rich with the\ncoloring of a poetic mind. Many of his _Hymns_ are popular, and will\nlong remain so, because they are simple, forcible, and direct. Lady\nGeorgina Fullerton has succeeded as a religious novelist, and has been\nthe first as an English Catholic to occupy the ground which is now\nespecially hers. Kenelm Digby's _Ages of Faith_, _Compitum_, and other\nworks have a special charm for those who love choice quotations and\npictures of medi\u00e6val piety; Mr. T. W. Allies has ably and valiantly\ndefended the Papal supremacy; Mr. John Wallis has rendered _Heyne's\nSongs_ in graceful English lyrics; Mr. Charles Waterton's _Wanderings_\nare deservedly prized by naturalists; Mr. Richard Simpson's _Life of\nCampion_ displays much historical research; F. Morris has depicted\nadmirably the sufferings of Catholic martyrs and confessors under the\nReforming sovereigns; the _Life of the Marquis of Pombal_, by the Conde\nda Carnota (an English work), though too favorable to the Portuguese\nprime minister, is highly valuable so far as it is documentary; and\nthe papers read before the _Academia of the Catholic Religion_, and\npublished in two volumes, supply in themselves a test of the literary\nproficiency of many distinguished members of the church in England at\nthe present time. The following works also deserve to be mentioned\nas valuable additions to the stock of English Catholic literature:\n_The Evidence for the Papacy_, by the Hon. Colin Lindsay; _The Life of\nCardinal Howard_, by F. Palmer; Buckley's _Life and Writings of the\nRev. Father O'Leary_; _Christian Schools and Scholars_, by the author\nof _The Knights of S. John_; Dr. Husenbeth's _Life of Bishop Milner_;\nMr. Maguire's _Rome, its Ruler and its Institutions_; and Dr. Rock's\n_Hierurgia_.\n\nAmong Catholic poets, we ought not to forget Mr. Coventry Patmore,\nwhose playful, pleasing, and thoughtful octosyllabics--_The Angel of\nthe House_ and _Faithful for Ever_--found many admirers ten or twelve\nyears ago. There is in these fluent productions a simplicity which\nat first sight strikes one as namby-pamby, but which, on further\nconsideration, is seen to be a light veil of serious thought and\ngenuine emotion. There are minds which can never appreciate poetry of\nthe highest order; who admire it only because they are taught that they\nought to do so, but cannot love it, even though it be stamped with\nthe approval of ages. \"None ever loved _because he ought_\" is true in\nreference to more subjects than one; and it is well that second-rate\npoetry should be written and preserved for second-rate appreciations.\nMr. Coventry Patmore's works fulfil a purpose, and are therefore not to\nbe despised, though they will never obtain a large reward.\n\nIt is to be hoped and expected that, as time goes on, Catholic\nliterature in England will enlarge its borders without declining in\northodoxy. Colleges and universities yet to be founded will encourage\nlearning in all its branches, and prove to the world by new examples\nthat science and religion mutually support each other. The more firmly\nthe children of the church are rooted in the faith, the more strength\nwill their intellect acquire, and the more freedom will they be able\nto indulge with safety. The literary spirit, animated and guided by\nthe true religion, will ever find new fields of useful speculation and\nresearch; and the rebuke of ignorance, so often cast on members of the\nchurch, will fall pointless when they are able to meet non-Catholic\nhistorians and professors on their own ground, and to rob them\nfrequently of a crown in the arena of literary combat.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SONG OF ROLAND.\n\n\nAmong the epic romances of the middle ages, the first place must be\ngiven to the _Song of Roland_. It deserves this, not only on account\nof its antiquity, but also for the importance of the hero, and for\nthe _triumphant loss_, as Montaigne would have called it, which it\nimmortalizes. It is a _chanson de geste_, supposed to have been\ncomposed by Turold or Th\u00e9roulde, a troubadour who lived during the\nfirst thirty years of the XIth century, though the only place where he\nis mentioned is the line with which the Bodleian MS. of the _Chanson de\nRoland_ terminates.\n\nThis poem is a curious example of the work of popular imagination upon\nactual events, and shows, with remarkable unity and originality, the\npower of this species of transformation.\n\nThe historical narrative, as related by Eginhard, son-in-law of\nCharlemagne, recounts a grievous and unavenged disaster--the complete\ndestruction of the rear-guard of the French army, which, after a\nsuccession of victories, was returning from Spain, and, being surprised\nby mountaineers in the gorges of Roncevaux, left no living witnesses.\n\nBut Charlemagne's nephew, Roland, with all his peers, were among the\nslain; it was needful, therefore, to do honor to his fall, and wash\naway the affront against the arms of the always victorious king. Grief\nand admiration combined to accomplish the task, and we have before us\nthe legend, which not only perpetuates the memory of the catastrophe,\nbut which makes of a death-dirge a hymn of victory.\n\nThe most ancient manuscript of this poem extant is, without doubt,\nthe copy in the Bodleian library at Oxford, which is supposed to be\nof the XIIth century. Among other considerations, the brevity of this\nmanuscript as compared with others is a proof of its greater antiquity.\nIt has not more than four thousand lines, whereas others have six, and\neven eight, thousand. But whether even this is the primitive version,\nwithout alteration or addition, we have not the means of knowing.\n\nThat which, in the first place, distinguishes the _Chanson de Roland_\nfrom all other productions of the medi\u00e6val poets anterior to Dante\nis its unity of composition; but there are also other noticeable\ndifferences. The first is in the subject itself, which is matter of\nactual history, as we have seen from the testimony of Eginhard, who\nadds, \"This reverse poisoned in the heart of Charles the joy of all the\nvictories which he had gained in Spain.\" It was not a simple skirmish,\nbut the utter defeat of a valuable portion of his army--the only defeat\nhe had known during the thirty-eight years of his reign. It is easy\nto understand how profound would be the impression produced by the\ncatastrophe, which, moreover, was indelibly deepened, when, half a\ncentury later, the army of one of the sons of Charlemagne, by a fatal\ncoincidence, was cut to pieces in this same defile.\n\nThe imagination of the people was not long in merging these two\ndisasters into one, and in gradually changing nearly all the accessory\ncircumstances of the first event. But it matters little that Charles\nis invested with the imperial purple more than twenty years before\nthe time; that he is represented as a white-bearded patriarch, when,\nactually, he could not have been more than thirty-five years of age;\nthat his relationship to the hero of Roncevaux is more than doubtful;\nthat the Gascon mountaineers are transformed into Saracens; and that,\ninstead of their chief, Lopez, Duke of Gascony, of whom the charter\nof Charles the Bald speaks as \"a wolf in name and in nature,\" we have\ntwo personages--King Marsilion and the traitor Ganelon. All these\ntransformations, which are easy to be accounted for, alter in nothing\nthe basis of the poem, which is historic truth, while legendary truth\nhas become its surface and superstructure.\n\nAnother point to be remarked is that in the _Chanson de Roland_\nthe subject is national. In other compositions of the period, the\nheroes are Normans, Proven\u00e7als, Gascons, and so forth, animated by a\npatriotism either as circumscribed as their own domain, or as wide as\nthe world which they traversed in search of adventures. In the poems\nrecounting their acts and deeds, the name of France, when it happens\nto be mentioned, has merely a geographical sense, being used as simply\ndesignating the province of which Paris was the capital--\"La France,\"\n\"La douce France,\" so often invoked in the \"Lay of Roland\"; and the\nglow of true and loving patriotism which warms this poem would alone\ndistinguish it from every other _chanson de geste_ that has been\nwritten.\n\nThe figure of Charlemagne next demands our attention. By a strange\ncontradiction the Carlovingian poems, so called because they glorify\nthe companions of the great emperor and the deeds performed by them\nduring his reign, are, with scarcely any exception, nothing more than\nso many satires upon Charlemagne himself, who is represented either as\na mute and doting imbecile, or else as a capricious despot; all the\nwisdom and courage of the time being monopolized by the great barons.\nThe reason is not far to seek. At the epoch when these poems were\nwritten or \"improved,\" royalty in France was struggling to recover the\npower of which the great crown vassals had possessed themselves at its\nexpense, and the feudal league defended its acquisitions _not_ by force\nof arms alone. One of the most effectual means at that period of acting\nupon the popular mind was by the influence of minstrelsy--that is to\nsay, by poesy and song; and the troubadours and _jongleurs_ of the time\nwillingly gave their services to promote the interests of their more\nimmediate protectors and patrons. Under the name of Charlemagne, it is,\nin fact, Louis le Gros or Louis le Jeune whom they attack, glorifying\nhis epoch, but depreciating himself, as in \"Les Quatre Fils d'Aymon\"\nand similar sarcastic romances. Turold is almost alone in showing\nus the king \"\u00e0 la barbe grifaigne,\" with the authority and grandeur\nbefitting so great a monarch, and as one who rises above his peers more\nby his dignity than by his lofty stature. The knights by whom he is\nsurrounded are noble and valiant, but he surpasses them all.\n\nIn this homage rendered to the personal glory of Charlemagne, and\nin this sentiment of nationality, which is a remnant of the old\nmonarchical unity, of which, in the XIIIth century, the remembrance\nhad long been extinguished, but which, towards the close of the XIth,\nstill existed, we have two characteristics which stamp the date of\nthis poem more unmistakably than could be done by any peculiarities of\northography or versification.\n\nIt is marked by two other specialties: the absence of gallantry or\namorous allusions, and the austerity of the religious sentiment.\nScarcely a line here and there lets us know that Roland has a\nlady-love. It is his own affair, with which the public has nothing\nto do. In the whole poem two women only appear, and these only in\nslightly sketched outline. One is Queen Bramimonde, who appears for\nan instant, as she unfastens her bracelets, and lets their priceless\njewels sparkle temptingly before the eyes of Ganelon; while later on\nwe are again given a passing glimpse of her, first as captive, and\nthen as Christian. In the other, \"la belle Aude,\" the affianced bride\nof Roland, we have a momentary vision of beauty and faithful devotion\neven to death. She appears but to die of love and grief too deep for\nwords. A few centuries later, could any French poet have been able\nto resign so excellent an opportunity for pouring forth a flood of\nsentimental verses? Even the poets of the XIIIth and XIVth centuries\nhave lengthened out this tempting subject in endless variations.\n\nAs we pass on to the last consideration, we meet with other contrasts\nbetween the forefathers and their posterity. Religion, in the time of\nWace and of Chrestien of Troyes, was still powerful and honored. Their\nheroes, even the most worldly and pugnacious, are exact in saying their\nprayers, kneeling devoutly, and confiding their souls to the care of\nthe Blessed Virgin; still, in times of great solemnity or extremity,\nin the midst of danger, or face to face with death, we do not find the\ncalm and serene fervor, the submission as well as faith, which fill the\nheart of Roland and his companions.\n\nWith regard to another point: if the \"Lay of Roland,\" or, rather, if\nthe popular tradition which gave it birth, makes Saracens instead of\nGascons appear at Roncevaux, it is not pure fiction. After the death\nof Charlemagne, the Saracens had so often quitted their province of\nCastile to make inroads upon Aquitaine, and Western Europe had them\nin such terror, that the fear of present misfortune had soon effaced\nthe remembrance of the old combats of Christian against Christian\non the Spanish frontier. A fixed belief had grown that every enemy\nambushed in the Pyrenees could not at any period have been other than\nan army of mis-believers; and to this may be added the idea, which was\ngerminating, that a day would come when, in defence of Europe and of\nthe faith, it would be necessary to destroy the vulture in its nest\nby carrying the sword into the country of Mahomet. It was not only\nthat the slaughter of Roncevaux cried out for vengeance; the Holy\nWar was in the spirit of the times, and naturally passed into the\npoems. These, without preaching a crusade, prepared the way a century\nbeforehand, and the idea, dimly shadowed, it is true, but actually\npresent, is expressed in the last five or six lines of the poem, which\nis, moreover, especially noticeable as being one which immortalizes\ndefeat and death. It is the glorification of courage, in misfortune and\nin success, vain as to this world, but of eternal value for the next,\nwhere the glory of the warrior pales before the glory of the martyr.\n\nAnd this thought leads us to our last consideration, namely, the\nmeaning of the vowels A O I, with which every stanza terminates. From\nthe moment that Roland had died fighting against the Mussulmans, he\nbecame a saint, whose name must forthwith be inscribed in the popular\nmartyrology. It was, therefore, only fitting to consecrate to him a\npoem after the model of the hymns of the church, so many of which, as\nwell as the Latin poem on S. Mildred, are terminated by the vowels e u\no u a e--the modulation of _s\u00e6culorum amen_. This is the opinion of the\nlearned Abb\u00e9 Henry, although neither he nor any of the other writers\nwhom we have consulted mention their suppositions as to the exact\nmeaning of the vowels A O I.\n\nThe _Song of Roland_ is mentioned in numberless romances, was imitated\nin almost every language of Western Europe, and appears to have been\nmade use of as a war-song by the French armies before it had developed\nitself to the proportions in which it has reached us. There is no\nreasonable doubt that it was parts of this poem that were sung by\nTaillefer on the advance of the Normans at the Battle of Hastings, and\nnot the \"Song of Rollo,\" their first duke, as several modern authors\nhave supposed. We quote the words of Robert Wace:\n\n    \"Taillefer, qui moult bien cantait,\n    Sur un cheval qui tost allait,\n    Devant as (eux) s'en alait cantant\n    De Carlemanne et de Rollant,\n    Et d'Olivier et des vassaus\n    Qui moururent \u00e0 Raincevaus.\"[131]\n\nAlthough we are not about to give a translation of the whole poem of\nfour thousand lines, we will present the reader with an abridgment\ncontaining not only the thread of the narrative, but also all the\nprincipal parts of the poem, without change or abbreviation; commencing\nwith the first stanza in the original French, as a specimen of the rest:\n\n\nLA CHANSON DE ROLAND.\n\nI.\n\n    Carles li reis, nostre emper\u00e8re magne,\n    Set ans tuz pleins ad ested en Espaigne,\n    Tresqu'en la mer cunquist la tere altaigne,\n    Ni ad kastel ki devant lui remaigne,\n    Mur ne citet n'i est remes \u00e0 fraindre\n    Fors Sarraguce, k'i est en une muntaigne.\n    Li reis Marsilie la tient, ki Deu n'enaimet;\n    Mahummet sert e Apollin recleimet\n    Ne s'poet guarder que mals ne li ateignet, AOI.[132]\n\n\nABRIDGED TRANSLATION OF THE SONG OF ROLAND.\n\nCharles the king, our great emperor, has been for seven full years in\nSpain, where he has conquered the mountainous land even to the sea. Not\na castle which has held out before him, not a town which he has not\nforced to open its gates; Saragossa on the height of its mountain alone\nexcepted. King Marsilion holds it, who loves not God, serves Mahomet,\nand invokes Apollo(!) Nor can he hinder that evil shall befal him.\n\nKing Marsilion is reclining in his orchard, on a marble terrace, in\nthe shade of the trees, and surrounded by more than twenty thousand\nmen. He takes counsel of his dukes and of his counts how to escape\ndeath or an affront; his army not being strong enough to give battle.\nHe asks, What shall be done?\n\nNo one answers. One only, the subtle Blancandrin, then ventures to\nspeak. \"Feign submission,\" he says; \"send chariots, laden with gold, to\nthis proud emperor. Promise that, if he will return to France, you will\nthere join him in his chapel at Aix on the great feast of S. Michael;\nthat there you will become his vassal, and receive his Christian law.\nDoes he demand hostages, we will give them. We will send our sons.\nAt the risk of his life I will send mine. When the French shall have\nreturned to their homes far away, the day will arrive, the term will\npass by; Charles will have no word from us, no news of us. Should the\ncruel one cut off the heads of our hostages, better is it that they\nshould lose their heads than we our fair Spain.\"\n\nAnd the pagans answered, He is in the right.\n\nKing Marsilion has broken up his council. He commands that six\nbeautiful white mules be brought, with saddles of silver and bridles of\ngold. To Blancandrin and nine others who are faithful to him he says:\n\"Present yourselves before Charles, carrying olive branches in your\nhands in token of peace and submission. If by your skill you compass\nmy deliverance from him, what gold, what silver, what lands will I not\nbestow upon you!\"\n\nThe messengers mount their mules, and set forth upon their journey.\n\nThe scene changes. We are at Cordova. There it is that Charles holds\nhis court. He also is in an orchard. At his side are Roland, Oliver,\nGeoffrey of Anjou, and many others, sons of sweet France; fifteen\nthousand are there. Seated upon silken stuffs, they pass their time\nin playing; the oldest and wisest exercise themselves in the game of\nchess, the young knights in fencing.\n\nThe emperor is seated in a chair of gold, in the shade of a pine-tree\nand an eglantine. His beard has the brightness of snow, his figure is\ntall and nobly formed, and his countenance majestic. Any man seeking\nhim has no need to be told which is he.\n\nThe pagan messengers, alighting from their mules, humbly salute the\nemperor. Blancandrin then addresses him, showing the rich treasures\nwhich his master sends him, and saying: \"Are you not weary of remaining\nin this land? Should you return to France, the king, our lord, promises\nto follow you thither.\" Thereupon the emperor raises his hands towards\nGod; then, bending down his head, he begins to reflect. This was his\nwont, never hasting to speak. Presently raising himself, he says to the\nmessengers, \"You have spoken well; but your king is our great enemy.\nWhat shall be a pledge to me for the fulfilment of your words?\"\n\n\"Hostages,\" replies the Saracen. \"You shall have ten, fifteen, or even\ntwenty, and among them my own son. What more noble hostage could be\ngiven? When you shall have returned to your royal palace, on the great\nfeast of S. Michael my master will follow you thither. There, in those\nbaths which God has made for you, he desires to become a Christian.\"\n\nAnd Charles made answer, \"He may, then, yet be saved!\"\n\nThe day was bright, the sun shining in full splendor. Charles caused a\nlarge tent to be prepared in the orchard for the ten messengers. There\nthey passed the night.\n\nThe emperor rises betimes. He hears Mass and Matins, and thence going\nforth, under the shadow of a tall pine-tree prepares to take counsel\nwith his barons; for without them he will do nothing.\n\nSoon they are all before him: the duke Oger, the archbishop Turpin,\nRoland, the brave Oliver, and Ganelon, the one who would betray them\nall.\n\nThe council opens. Charles repeats to his barons the words of\nBlancandrin. \"Will Marsilion come to Aix,\" he asks. \"Will he there make\nhimself a Christian? Will he be my vassal? I know not what to deem of\nhis words.\"\n\nAnd the French reply, Beware of him.\n\nRoland rises, saying: \"Trust not Marsilion. Seven years have we been\nin Spain, and during all that time naught have you had from him but\ntreachery. Fifteen thousand of his pagans have already been to you,\nbringing olive branches and the same words as to-day. Your counsellors\nadvised you to allow a truce. What did Marsilion? Did he not behead two\nof your counts, Basan and his brother Basil? Continue the war. Continue\nit as you have begun it: lead your army to Saragossa, besiege the city,\nand avenge those whom the felon has caused to perish.\"\n\nWhile listening to him, the emperor's countenance darkens. He strokes\nhis beard, and answers nothing. All the French keep silence. Ganelon\nalone rises, and, advancing to the emperor with a haughty air, thus\naddresses him: \"Heed not the headstrong! Heed not me nor any other, but\nyour own advantage. When Marsilion declares to you with joined hands\nthat he desires to be your liege-man, to hold Spain from your hand,\nto receive your sacred law, are there those who dare to counsel you to\nreject his offers? Such have scant regard to the sort of death they are\nto die. It is a counsel of pride which ought not to prevail. Let us\nleave fools to themselves, and hold to the wise.\"\n\nAfter Ganelon rises the duke Naymes. In the whole court there is no\nbraver warrior. He says to Charles: \"You have heard Count Ganelon.\nWeigh well his words. Marsilion is conquered; you have razed his\ncastles, overthrown his ramparts; his towns are in ashes, his soldiers\nscattered abroad. When he gives himself up to your mercy, offering you\nhostages, wholly to overwhelm him would be a sin. There ought to be an\nend to this terrible war.\"\n\nAnd the French said, The duke has well spoken.\n\n\"Lords barons,\" resumes Charlemagne, \"whom, then, shall we send to\nSaragossa to King Marsilion?\"\n\n\"By your favor, I will go,\" answers Naymes. \"Give me, therefore, the\ngauntlet and the staff.\"\n\n\"No,\" says the emperor. \"No, by my beard! A sage like you go so far\naway? You will in nowise go. Sit down again.\" ... \"Well, my lords\nbarons, whom, then, shall we send?\"\n\n\"Send me,\" says Roland.\n\n\"You!\" cries Oliver. \"Your courage is too fiery. You would not fail to\nget yourself into some difficulty. If the king permits it, I can very\nwell go.\"\n\n\"Neither you nor he,\" answers the emperor; \"both of you hold your\npeace. In that place not one of my twelve peers shall set his foot!\"\n\nAt these words, every one keeps silence. However, Turpin rises from his\nseat--Turpin, Archbishop of Rheims. He, in turn, asks for the glove\nand staff; but Charles commands him to sit down, and not say another\nword. Then addressing himself once more to his barons, he says, \"Free\nknights, will you not, then, tell me who shall carry my message to\nMarsilion?\"\n\nAnd Roland answers: \"Let it be my father-in-law, Ganelon.\" And the\nFrench agreed, saying: \"He is the man you want; for a more skilful one\nyou could not find.\"\n\nGanelon at these words falls into a horrible anguish. He lets slip from\nhis shoulders his great mantle of marten; his figure is imposing, and\nshows well under his coat of silk. His eye sparkles with anger. \"Fool!\"\nhe says to Roland, \"whence this madness? If God permits me to return,\nthe gratitude I owe thee shall end but with thy life!\"\n\n\"I heed not your threatenings,\" answers Roland. \"Pride takes away your\nreason. A wise messenger is needed. If the emperor gives me leave, I\nset out in your stead.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" replies Ganelon, \"I go. Charles commands me, and I must obey\nhim; but I would fain delay my departure for a little season, were it\nbut to calm my anger.\"\n\nWhereupon Roland began to laugh. Ganelon perceived it, and his fury\nwas redoubled, insomuch that he was well-nigh out of his senses. He\ndarted words of wrath at his son-in-law, and then, turning towards the\nemperor, said: \"Behold me ready to do your bidding. I see well that I\nmust go to Saragossa; and he who goes thither returns not. Sire, forget\nnot that I am the husband of your sister. Of her I have a son, the most\nbeautiful that could be seen. Baldwin will one day be brave. I leave to\nhim my fiefs and my domains. Watch over him, for never shall I see him\nmore!\"\n\nAnd Charles made answer: \"You have too tender a heart. When I command\nit, you must go. Draw near, Ganelon; receive the staff and gauntlet.\nYou have heard that our Franks have chosen you.\"\n\n\"No, sire, but it is Roland's work; therefore, I hate him--him and his\ndear Oliver, and the twelve peers likewise, who love him so well! I\ndefy them all before your eyes!\"\n\nThe emperor silences him, and commands him to depart. Ganelon\napproaches to take the gauntlet from the hand of Charlemagne, but it\nfalls to the ground. Heavens! cry the French; what may this forebode?\n\n\"My lords,\" says Ganelon, \"you will know by the tidings.\" He then turns\nto the emperor for his dismissal, saying, \"Since I must go, wherefore\ndelay?\" Charles with his right hand makes him a sign of pardon, and\nplaces in his hands a letter and the staff.\n\nGanelon, retiring, equips himself in preparation to depart, fastening\non his heels his beautiful gold spurs; and with his good sword Murgleis\nat his side, he mounts his horse Tachebrun, while his uncle Guinemer\nholds his stirrup. The knights of his house entreat him with tears to\nlet them accompany him. \"God forbid!\" he answers. \"Better that I alone\nshould perish than cause the death of so many brave knights. Go home to\nsweet France. Salute on my behalf my wife, and Pinabel, my friend and\ncomrade; likewise, Baldwin, my son. Aid him, serve him, and hold him\nfor your lord.\" Having said thus, he departed on his way.\n\nHe had not ridden far before he came up with the Saracen messengers;\nBlancandrin, in order to wait for him, having slackened his pace. Then\nbegan between them cautious words. It is Blancandrin who speaks first:\n\"What a marvellous man is this Charles! He has conquered Apulia,\nCalabria, passed the sea, and acquired at St. Peter's the tribute of\nthe English; but what comes he to seek in our land of Spain?\"\n\nAnd Ganelon makes answer: \"Thus his courage wills it. Never will any\nman hold out before him!\"\n\n\"The French,\" replies the other, \"are an exceedingly brave people;\nbut these dukes and counts who give council to overturn and desolate\neverything do great wrong to their lord.\"\n\n\"Of such I know but one,\" says Ganelon; \"it is Roland, and he shall\nrepent him yet.\" Thereupon he relates that on a certain day, before\nCarcassone, the emperor being seated in a shady meadow, his nephew came\nto him, clad in his cuirass, and holding in his hand a rosy apple,\nwhich he presented to his uncle, saying: \"Behold, fair sire, of all the\nkings in the world I offer you the crowns!\" \"This mad pride will end in\nhis ruin, seeing that every day he exposes himself to death. Welcome\nwill be the stroke that shall slay him! What peace would then be ours!\"\n\n\"But,\" said Blancandrin, \"this Roland, who is so cruel--this Roland,\nwho would have every king at his mercy, and take possession of their\ndominions--by whose aid will he accomplish his design?\"\n\n\"By the aid of the French,\" answered Ganelon. \"They so greatly love\nhim that never will they suffer any fault to be laid at his door. All\nof them, even to the emperor, march but at his will. He is a man to\nconquer the world from hence to the far East.\"\n\nBy dint of talking as they rode along, they made a compact to work the\ndeath of Roland. By dint of riding, they arrived at Saragossa, and\nunder a yew-tree they got down.\n\nKing Marsilion is in the midst of his Saracens. They keep a gloomy\nsilence, anxious to learn what news the messengers may bring.\n\n\"You are saved!\" exclaims Blancandrin, advancing to the feet of\nMarsilion, and holding Ganelon by the hand--\"saved by Mahomet and\nApollo, whose holy laws we observe. Charles has answered nothing; but\nhe sends this noble baron, by whose mouth you shall learn whether you\nwill have peace or war.\"\n\n\"Let him speak,\" said the king.\n\nGanelon, after considering a moment, thus begins: \"May you be saved\nby the God whom we are all bound to adore! The will of the puissant\nCharlemagne is this: you shall receive the Christian law; the half of\nSpain will be given you in fief. If you refuse to accept these terms,\nyou shall be taken and bound, led to Aix, and condemned to a shameful\ndeath.\"\n\nAt this discourse the king grows pale, and trembles with fury. His\ngolden javelin quivers in his hand; he is about to cast it at Ganelon,\nbut is held back. Ganelon grasps his sword, drawing it two fingers'\nlength out of the scabbard, and saying, \"My beautiful sword! while you\ngleam at my side, none shall tell our emperor that I fell alone in this\nstrange land; with the blood of the best you shall first pay for me.\"\n\nThe Saracens cry out: Let us hinder the combat. At their entreaties,\nMarsilion, calming himself, resumed his seat. \"What evil possesses\nyou?\" said his uncle, the caliph, \"that you would strike this Frenchman\nwhen you ought to hear him?\" And Ganelon, meanwhile, composed his\ncountenance, but kept his right hand still on the hilt of his sword.\nThe beholders said to themselves, \"Truly, he is a noble baron!\"\n\nGradually he draws nearer to the king, and resumes his discourse: \"You\nare in the wrong to be angry. Our king bestows upon you the half\nof Spain; the other half being for his nephew Roland, an insolent\ncompanion I admit; but if you do not agree to this, you will be\nbesieged in Saragossa, taken, bound, judged, and beheaded. Thus says\nthe emperor himself in his message to you.\" So saying, he places the\nletter in the pagan's hands.\n\nMarsilion, in a fresh access of rage, breaks the seal, and rapidly\nglances over the contents. \"Charles talks to me of his resentment!\nHe calls to mind this Basan, this Basil, whose heads flew off at my\nbidding! To save my life, I am to send him my uncle, the caliph;\notherwise he listens to no terms!\"\n\nUpon this the king's son exclaims: \"Deliver Ganelon to me, that I may\ndo justice upon him.\" Ganelon hears him, and brandishes his sword,\nsetting his back against a pine.\n\nThe scene suddenly changes. The king has descended into his garden; he\nis calm, and walks with his son and heir, Jurfalen, in the midst of his\nvassals. He sends for Ganelon, who is brought to him by Blancandrin.\n\n\"Fair Sire Ganelon,\" says the king, \"it may be that I received you\nsomewhat hastily, and made as if I would have stricken you just now.\nTo make amends for this mistake, I present you with these sable furs.\nTheir value is more than five hundred pounds of gold. Before to-morrow,\nstill more costly ones shall also be yours.\"\n\n\"Sire, it is impossible that I should refuse, and may it please Heaven\nto recompense you!\"\n\nMarsilion continues: \"Hold it for certain, Sir Count, that it is my\ndesire to be your friend. I would speak with you of Charlemagne. He is\nvery old, it appears to me. I give him at least two hundred years; how\nworn out, therefore, he needs must be! He has spent his strength in so\nmany lands, when will he be weary of warfare?\"\n\n\"Never,\" said Ganelon, \"so long as his nephew lives. Roland has not his\nequal in bravery from hence to the far East. He is a most valiant man,\nand so, likewise, is Oliver, his companion, and these twelve peers, so\ndear to the emperor, who march at the head of twenty thousand knights.\nCan you expect that Charles should know fear? He is more powerful than\nany man here below!\"\n\n\"Fair sire,\" replies Marsilion, \"I, also, have my army, than which a\nfiner cannot be found. I have four hundred thousand knights wherewith\nto give battle to Charles and his French.\"\n\n\"Trust it not at all,\" the other answers; \"it will cost you dear,\nas well as your men. Lay aside this rash boldness, and try a little\nmanagement instead. Give the emperor riches so great that our French\nwill be dazzled by them, and give him twenty hostages. He will then\nreturn into the sweet land of France, leaving the rear-guard to follow,\nin which, I trust, may be Count Roland and the valiant Oliver. Only\nlisten to my counsel, and, believe me, they are dead.\"\n\n\"Show me, fair sire (and may Heaven bless you for it!), how I may slay\nRoland.\"\n\n\"I am well able to tell you. When once the emperor shall be in the\ngreat defiles of Cisaire, he will be at a great distance from his\nrear-guard. He will have placed in it his beloved nephew and Oliver,\nin whom he so greatly confides, and with them will be twenty thousand\nFrench. Send, then, a hundred thousand of your pagans. I do not in\nany wise promise that in a first conflict, murderous as it will be to\nthose of France, there will not also be great slaughter of your men;\nbut a second engagement will follow, and, no matter in which, Roland\nwill there remain. You will have done a deed of exceeding bravery, and\nthrough all the rest of your life you will have no more war. What could\nCharles do without Roland? Would he not have lost the right arm of his\nbody? What would become of his wonderful army? He would never assemble\nit more. He would lose his taste for warfare, and the great empire\nwould be restored to peace.\"\n\nScarcely has he done speaking, when Marsilion throws his arms round his\nneck, and embraces him; then offers, without more delay, to swear to\nhim that he will betray Roland.\n\n\"Be it so, if so it please you,\" answers Ganelon; and upon the relics\nof his sword he swears the treason, and completes his crime.\n\nMarsilion, on his part, causes to be brought, on an ivory throne, the\nbook of his law, even the book of Mahomet, and swears upon it that, if\nhe can find Roland in the rear-guard, he will not cease fighting until\nhe has slain him.\n\nThereupon Valdabron, a Saracen, who was formerly the king's guardian,\ndraws near, and, presenting his sword, the best in the world, to\nGanelon, says: \"I give you this for friendship's sake; only help us to\nget rid of Roland, the baron.\"\n\n\"With all my heart.\" And they embrace.\n\nAnother, Climorin, brings him his helmet: \"I never saw its like. Take\nit, to aid us against Roland, the marquis.\"\n\n\"Most willingly,\" says Ganelon; and they also embrace.\n\nComes at last the queen, Bramimonde. She says to the count, \"Sire, I\nlove you well, seeing that you are very dear to my lord and to all\nhis subjects. Take these bracelets to your wife. See what gold, what\namethysts and jacinths! Your emperor has none like these; they are\nworth all the treasures of Rome!\"\n\nAnd Ganelon takes the jewels.\n\nMarsilion then summons Mauduit, his treasurer. \"Are the gifts prepared\nfor Charlemagne?\"\n\n\"Sire, they are in readiness. Seven hundred camels laden with gold and\nsilver, and twenty hostages of the noblest under heaven.\"\n\nThen, with his hand on Ganelon's shoulder, the king says to him:\n\"You speak fair and fine; but, by this law which you hold to be the\nbest, beware of changing purpose towards us.\" After this, he promises\nthat every year he will send him, as rent, ten mules laden with\ngold of Arabia; he gives him the keys of Saragossa to be carried to\nCharlemagne. \"But, above all, see that Roland be in the rear-guard,\nthat we may surprise him, and give him mortal combat.\"\n\nGanelon replies, \"It seems to me that I have already tarried here too\nlong.\" And he mounts his steed and departs.\n\nAt daybreak he reaches the emperor's quarters. \"Sire,\" says he, \"I\nbring you the keys of Saragossa, twenty hostages, and great treasure;\nlet them be guarded well. It is Marsilion who sends them. As to the\ncaliph, marvel not because he does not come. With my own eyes I saw\nhim embark on the sea with three hundred thousand armed men; they were\nall weary of the rule of Marsilion, and were going forth to dwell in\nthe midst of Christians; but at four leagues from the coast a furious\ntempest overwhelmed them, so that all were drowned. If the caliph had\nbeen living, I would have brought him hither. Believe me, sire, before\na month is over, Marsilion will have joined you in France; he will\nreceive the Christian law, and will, as your vassal, do you homage for\nthe kingdom of Spain.\"\n\n\"Then God be praised!\" said Charles. \"You have well delivered your\nmessage, and it shall profit you well.\"\n\nThe clarions sound. Charles proclaims the war at an end. The soldiers\nraise the camp; they load the sumpter horses; the army is in motion,\nand on its way towards the sweet land of France. Nevertheless, the\nday closes; the night is dark. Charlemagne sleeps. In a dream he sees\nhimself in the great defiles of Cisaire, with his lance of ash-wood in\nhis hand. Ganelon seizes hold of it, shaking it so violently that it\nflies in pieces, and the splinters are scattered in the air.\n\n                      TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[131] \"Taillefer, who excellently sang, Mounted upon a charger swift,\nBefore them went forth singing Of Charlemagne and Roland, Of Oliver and\nof the vassals Who died at Roncevaux.\"\n\n[132] The ancient MS. of Versailles, now in the possession of M.\nBourdillon, begins,\n\n    \"Challes li rois \u00e0 la barbe grifaigne\n    Sis ans toz plens a este en Espaigne,\" etc.,\n\nthe thirteen lines of the stanza all ending with the same rhyme.\n\n\n\n\nLAUS PERENNIS.[133]\n\n\nIn the early days of emigration, before the industry of the Old World\nhad cut down the forests and muddied the streams of the New, a young\nman sat at noontide by the banks of a river, an insignificant tributary\nof one of those mighty veins that intersect the continent from Canada\nto Florida. His face was a study. He had the features of the North,\nwith thick, fair hair and glittering blue eyes, but his form was\nslighter, though not less sinewy, than a Saxon's. Nerves of steel\nand a will of iron, generosity and self-sacrifice, the bravery of an\nIndian and the fidelity of a dog--such was the tale revealed by his\nexterior. His history was simple. He was the son of a petty farmer in\nNormandy, and the foster-brother of the Baron de Villeneuve. He had\nbeen brought up with the young baron, an only child, and had been his\ncompanion in his studies as well as his sports. Every one noticed how\nrefined his manner was, how noble his bearing; and yet his village\nfriends never had reason to complain of any superciliousness in his\ndeportment towards them. His mother, feeling that his superiority\nwould be wasted if he remained in the groove in which it seemed his\nnatural destiny to travel, earnestly wished for a different career for\nher favorite, and urged him to enter the priesthood. This he was too\nconscientious to do, feeling no call to so high an office; and his\nfoster-brother, in his turn, warmly recommended the army. Napoleon was\nthen in the full blaze of his military glory, and merit might win the\nmetaphorical spurs of what remained as the substitute of knighthood,\nwithout the weary delays of official routine. But the young Norman was\ninsensible to military glory. There was no fair damsel, with high cap\nand ancestral gold necklace, with spinning-wheel and a dowry of snowy,\nhomespun linen, who had made his heart beat one second faster than\nit had in childhood. If his foster-brother had had a sister, Robert\nMaillard would have been the very man to have loved her as the knights\nof old loved the lady of their dreams, hoping for no reward save a\nknot of ribbon and a pitying glance of faint approval. He had read of\nsuch love, and of fairies, elves, and witches, of impossible quests,\nand of princely donations; but he felt that the world had changed,\nand that these things could never be again. Strong and brave as he\nwas, he began life with a secret hopelessness, knowing that it could\nnever give him the only things he longed for. One day, in the midst\nof his irresolution as to what work he should undertake, knowing all\nwork to be but a _passe-temps_ until eternity gave him the life he\ncoveted, an old sea captain made his appearance in the inland village,\nand electrified the inhabitants by tales of discovery and adventure,\nof which curious proofs were not wanting in the shape of carved idols\ntwo inches long, mineral lumps of diminutive size, a string of wampum,\netc., etc., and, above all, a tame monkey. Robert listened to the\n\"ancient mariner\" with delight, and, never having seen the ocean, was\nsuddenly fired by a wild wish to try his fortune across the Atlantic.\nHere was a land as wild as the Armorican forests in the old tales\nof chivalry and legends of monasticism--a virgin land of practical\nfreedom, where new empires might be carved by the strong and willing\nhand, and new mines of knowledge laid open by the daring intellect. It\nwas not money that the simple Norman thought of; it was excitement,\nadventure, vague possibilities, limitless solitudes where hermits and\nhunters might live and dream. To leave Normandy was not exile to him;\nto leave all those he loved was not separation; but do not think he was\nheartless. He only lived in a shadow-world of high, heroic deeds, and\nthe commonplaces of bucolic life palled upon him. Instinct bade him\nseek something beyond home, with its petty interests; and never slow to\nexecute his resolutions, once they were formed, he bargained with the\nold sailor to take him to America as soon as he recrossed the ocean.\nFrom his father he received his portion of the scanty inheritance due\nto him, and left home as the prodigal--so said his weeping mother. His\nfoster-brother loaded him with weapons of all kinds, and forced upon\nhim clothes enough to last a lifetime in a country where fashion seldom\nchanged. The first sight of the ocean was a poem to Robert. He thought\nof the galleys of the Crusaders, as they sailed to the Land of Promise;\nof Columbus and his unbelieving crew on their perilous way to the land\nof faith. The glorious western sunsets awoke a new feeling in the heart\nof the adventurer; he felt that this new \"Ultima Thule\" was the land of\nthe poet as well as of the warrior, and that its majesty, its serene\nmassiveness, should be, not the prey of murderous passion, but the\nfield of a new-born art. Here was a land whose history, if it had any,\nhad been blotted out, but whose immortal beauty was a picture of the\nlost Eden--the true home of enthusiasm, the virgin parchment on which\nto write a new hymn to the God whom its beauty revealed almost in a new\nlight. Such were not the thoughts of most pilgrims to the New World; if\nthey had been, people would have said that the millennium had come.\n\nA Sir Galahad walks the earth but once in a century, and he has no\ncompeers. Such was our Robert. Why does the world call those men\n_dreamers_ whose ideal is the only true reality, while the life of the\nworld around them is one long nightmare?\n\nRobert's life, after he had landed in one of the old sea-coast cities,\nwas a checkered one. He fled from the civilization that had stifled\nhim at home, and which he saw with dismay roughly reproduced in the\ncommunities of the sea-board; he found few men whose talk did not jar\nupon him; even in the wilderness, when he came to a log-cabin, he\nheard the oaths of low city haunts; in pastoral settlements, he found\nno pastoral innocence; and even among the friendly Indians they asked\nhim for spirits, when he would have spoken of God. Discouraged and\noppressed, he persisted in setting his face ever westward, till at last\nhe came to a river, as it seemed to him; a brook, as it would figure\non the map. He wondered if man had ever been here before, but smiled\nto himself the moment after, knowing that the red man, the natural\npossessor of this princely inheritance, must have often breathed his\nprayer to the Great Spirit by the banks of this stream. He began to\nthink how useless the discovery of this new continent had been, since\nhitherto the country had been but a new field for the white man's sins,\na new theatre for the red man's sorrows. He fell to thinking of his own\nfar-off ancestors, roaming morass and forest, like these sturdy men\nof bronze, hunting the deer, and wolf, and bear, like them, painting\ntheir bodies like them, worshipping bloody gods of war, rearing\nchildren indefatigable on sea and land--Scandinavian vikings, fair,\nand ruddy, and golden-haired, each man a chief in stature, and their\nchiefs giants. How like the race that still lorded it over these new\nrealms! But God's messengers had come among the Norsemen and daunted\ntheir fierceness, turned their vices into virtues, and leavened, with a\ntrue and manly, a Christian, civilization, their hardy, freedom-loving\ntribes. Robert knew of the many efforts of the missionaries among the\nIndians; but he knew, also, that it was the evildoing of the whites\nthat made these efforts so fruitless. It seemed as if wherever the\nhuman race set foot it must disturb God's working; and in sudden\ndisgust at his kind, he vowed never willingly to enter again any\ncommunity of whites. Commerce was imposition, respectability was\nhypocrisy, civilization was cruelty. \"God and my dreams alone remain,\"\nhe cried; \"with them I will walk, and forget that any other building\nexists save a church; that there is any language save prayer; any human\nbeings save God's worthy ministers!\" Before long, the scent of the\npines and cedars lulled him to sleep, and, happy in his isolation, he\ndid not resist the drowsiness that, by the banks of Norman streamlets,\nhad often preceded the sweetest moments of his life.\n\nSoon the pines began to sing in the strong wind that rocked them, and\nthe song shaped itself into a hymn of praise, the words seeming to\necho the form of David's psalm: \"Then shall all the trees of the wood\nrejoice before the face of the Lord, for he cometh.... Praise him, ye\nstrong winds that fulfil his word; ... fruitful trees and all cedars.\"\n\nA voice came out of the rocks, as if wafted over miles of space,\nand, mingling with the song of the pines, chanted with it, \"The\ntreasure-house of the Lord is in the stones of the earth; from my\nbosom flow the rivers of life-giving waters\"; and gently the sound\nof tinkling rivulets was added to the deep song of praise. It seemed\nas if all creation, bent upon doing the task respectively allotted\nto each of its parts, had met in conclave round that obscure Western\nriver, before the tribunal of a sleeping mortal. As the shadows grew\ndarker, the howl of wild beasts was heard, inexplicably free from\nthe impression of terror, and strangely fitting in with the hymn of\ninanimate nature. At twilight, a concert of sweet scents rose from the\nearth, and vaporous clouds bore up the prayer of the fruitful soil, a\ngentle sound, as of crystal bells, accompanying the sacrifice.\n\n\"Let your prayer arise before me as an evening offering,\" came faintly\nfrom somewhere, and the cry of myriads of insects rose to greet\nthe echo. Nothing seemed discordant. Robert, as it were, heard the\nworld-pulse beat, and yet was neither appalled nor astonished; it was\nthe same voice, whose whispers he knew, which was speaking to him now,\nonly it spoke aloud. A moaning sound, muffled and sad, but grave as the\nvoice of a teacher, now rose above the others, and the sleeper knew\nthat it was that of the ocean:\n\n\"The floods have lifted up their waves with the voices of many waters.\nWonderful are the surges of the sea; wonderful is the Lord on high.\"\n\nRobert thought how true and how grand was this remorseless servant of\nthe Almighty will. It does its work though fleets brave its decrees,\nand science peers into its secrets like a child feebly grasping a\ntwo-edged sword. It obeys God, and its work, not its voice, is its hymn\nof praise. But there is another mighty angel at work in the heavens,\nand the trumpet-tones of his voice ring in the thunder behind those\nfast-coming clouds. Tawny gold and ashen gray, like the shroud of a\nfallen world, those clouds sweep up on the horizon; blades of light\nrend them for a moment, and a livid radiance darts into every crevice\nof the forest; the song of the pines is hushed, and the hymn of the\nstorm peals out:\n\n\"Holy and terrible is thy name.... Fire shall go forth before\nthee; ... thy lightnings shine upon the world; ... for thou art\nfearfully magnified!\"\n\nA cathedral of ice seems to grow suddenly out of the pine forest; the\ntrees are turned to crystal pinnacles, a world of untrodden snow lies\nall around, and within the silence of the grave. Rose-colored lights\nplay on the fairy turrets, and turn the ice-pillars to amber and topaz.\nMore sublime than any dream of medi\u00e6val enchantment, Robert gazes\nspellbound on this crowning marvel, and, though no articulate words\nstrike his ear, he is conscious of a life permeating this realm of\nsilence; of a link with all other creatures of God, which, if it spoke,\nwould utter the words that well spontaneously from his own heart:\n\n\"Thy knowledge is become too wonderful for me.... Whither shall I go\nfrom thy spirit, and whither shall I flee from thy face?\"\n\nBut he is no idle gazer, treating the world as a show; he is a\ndisciple--the Dante of Nature, led by her to the song-halls of her\neverlasting concert, taught by her that all things have a voice to\nglorify God and a mission to execute for him. He may not stay in the\nheart of the pole, for other lessons are all around him, and the time\nto learn them is so short--never more than a hundred years, seldom even\nthe third of that time!\n\nThe silent world melts from sight, and the earth seems to recede;\nthe blue vault of heaven is nearer; a rushing sound, so awful that\nhis humanity shudders at it, yet so beautiful that it deadens the\nremembrance of the gentle sounds of the pine-trees, the crystal\nflower-bells, the wind, and even the rolling of the sea, wraps his\nbeing into itself, and holds him in its mighty spell. Worlds of light\nflash by him; of their size he knows naught, of their qualities less;\nbut their radiance seems to him the face of God, \"which no man can look\nupon and live,\" while their voice is as that of a thousand cataracts,\neach ringing forth a separate and harmonious note. \"The heavens\ndeclare the glory of God, and the firmament proclaimeth the works of\nhis hands.\" Did these words come out of the sound, or were they in\nhis own heart, and did the sound draw them into itself, as the great\nocean would draw back to its bosom some lonely fragment of its realm,\nstranded for a moment by the last wave that kissed the shore? Robert\ncould not tell. He scarcely breathed. He would fain have kept this\nvision for ever; he trembled at the idea of leaving a world after which\nhis own would look like a hive of bees, and whose sounds were so potent\nthat all the sounds of earth, massed together in one, would barely\nseem a whisper in comparison. But his pilgrimage was not a reward,\nnot even a trial; it was only an apprenticeship. Hardly a transition,\nsave the coming of dawn and a consciousness of some void, and again\nRobert gazed upon familiar scenes of earth. The sun's forerunner was\nflushing the sky, and a wall of living water stood before him. He\nwatched intently; no sound came to his ears. Yet he could see the\ncoronal of rainbow-tinted foam rising at the feet of the cataract, and\nfelt as if this must be the very passage through which God's people\nof old had come dry-shod in the bed of the sea. As he stood below,\nbreathlessly waiting, the crown of the waterfall quivered with a new\nlight, and the sun a crimson disk, rose slowly into sight. It seemed\nas though a bleeding Host were lifted up to heaven in a chalice of\nliving jewels. A murmur began to rise from the clouds of spray; it grew\nlouder and stronger, and Robert knew that the voice of the cataract had\nreached his ears at last. It was but a faint echo of that ineffable\nhymn of the spheres which rang yet in his memory, but it was none the\nless the sublimest sound he had heard on earth. Vaguely came to his\nunderstanding a fragment of its meaning:\n\n\"Glory to the Power whose breath has built us into a wall, and whose\nbreath could hurl us like a flood over the corn-fields of man.\"\n\nWhen Adam disobeyed God in Eden, this cataract was already thousands\nof years old, and for ages had done God's bidding, calm as eternity,\nregular as the course of the planets. Robert pondered on this sublime\nobedience of all strong things to the law of the Creator, while man,\nthe weakest of creation, thought it a shame to follow any will but\nhis own. But even as he stood thinking, the earth seemed to tremble\nbeneath him, and he sank gently into its heaving bosom. A darkness that\nbred more awe than terror encompassed him, and he felt that he was in\nthe presence of one of God's most dreaded ministers. Strange thunders\nechoed around him, and a bewildered consciousness of some mysterious\nagency being about him came to his wondering spirit. Out of the\ndarkness grew a twilight, in which objects began to be distinguishable;\nprecious ore glistened on the face of the rocks; metals and jewels,\nheaped in confusion, met his eye; silver daggers hung within reach of\nhis hand, like bosses from a Gothic roof; columns of sparkling minerals\nshot up like enchanted trees by his side; while the plashing of\nfountains, the rushing of lava-rivers, and the dull, perpetual thunder\nof ascending flames reached his ear--a dusky kingdom, awful in the\nforce it suggested, but hushed and chained by a power greater still;\na silent kingdom, the workshop of nature, where our dreamer feared\nbut to tread, lest a volcano might be set in motion on the earth, or\nan earthquake overwhelm a score of cities. But not before hearing the\n_credo_ of this mighty world could he leave its regions; it smote upon\nhim from out the roar of a furnace, whence a stream of blinding light\nran slowly into a rocky channel. Molten iron flowed at his feet, and a\nvoice sang in his ear:\n\n\"The earth is the Lord's; the compass of the world, and all that dwell\ntherein.\"\n\nLike hammer-blows came the dread words; no spirit in living shape was\nnear, yet a living presence seemed to glow in each fiery stream or\nglittering rock: the guidance of a will that, millions of ages ago,\nspoke one creative word, was enough to lead the revolutions and point\nthe unerring road of this grim realm till time should be no more.\n\nSlowly the walls of darkness dissolved, and the hard floor of metals\nturned to a fine white powder, soft yet firm; trees grew up, but they\nwere white as with hoar-frost; and a marvellous vegetation sprang into\nbeing, the mosses swaying to and fro, the flowers moving from rock to\nrock, the fields of greenest grass swaying as if with animal life.\nJewels hung from the fairy rocks, but they closed a strong grip on the\nfinger that touched them; pearls lay scattered on the sandy floor, and\nback and forth fled swift creatures all lace and film, like animated\ncobwebs. Robert felt, by instinct, that as he had visited the bowels of\nthe earth, so now he was roaming the garden of the ocean. In reverent\nwonder he paused, looking upward as if to the sky; and in the liquid\nfirmament wandering stars of fitful radiance shone out upon him. They\ncame now singly, now in strings like the milky way, or again in fields,\nas if a flag had been studded with glow-worms. As he could not tell\nwhy in the heart of volcanic fires he had been neither stifled nor\nconsumed, so now he knew not why he was not drowned; but with the water\nveiling everything around, dripping in the coral caves, beating against\nthe rocks, stirring the living petals of millions of sea-flowers, he\nstood upright, waiting for the voice that must swell the everlasting\nsong. It rose at first, as though muffled by the water, grew stronger\nand clearer, till, in a tone of triumph, it gave forth its glad p\u00e6an:\n\n\"Bless the Lord, all ye seas and floods; ... all that move in the\nwaters; ... ye dragons of the deep.\"\n\n\"Is man, then, the only rebel in creation,\" Robert thought sadly, \"the\nonly ungrateful one, who thinks it a loss of time to sing the praises\nof God?\" And an answer seemed to knock at his heart, saying:\n\n\"Work is prayer, work is song.\"\n\nAgain the sea-walls broke, the jewel-flowers disappeared, and a change\ncame over the dreamer. Snowy mountains; fleecy peaks, purple-shadowed\nwhere the sunset light caught their sides; level horizons of gold,\nsuggesting far lands of miraculous radiance; banks of crimson by dun\noceans, seeming the grave of a thousand worlds; a solitude oppressive\nand sublime; a silence which not even the riving asunder of the gray\nmountain or dissolving of the tawny shore into the ocean of blue can\nbreak--such was the new scene on which Robert gazed. Entranced with\nits beauty, he told himself that this was lovelier than even the\nice-cathedral amid the soundless world of snow; and here would he\nfain build him a home, and wander out his pilgrimage; for \"this is the\nthreshold of heaven.\" Now the sun came from behind the translucent\nmasses, and left streaks of opal and amethyst where his footprints had\npressed the fleecy snow; and the dreamer started as the device of this\nworld of amazing beauty and absolute obedience flashed into his eyes\nfrom out the great, golden heart of the sun. Here there was no voice,\nas elsewhere; but the words were burned into Robert's mind as he gazed\nat the mighty orb:\n\n\"He has set his tabernacle in the sun; hereafter ye shall see the Son\nof man sitting at the right hand of the power of God, and coming in the\nclouds of heaven.\"\n\nNo sooner had the dreamer gathered this new verse of the world-song\ninto his memory, than the mountains and plains, the valleys and the\nsea, began to dissolve in mist. He stretched out his hands imploringly,\nas if to stay the wondrous vision in its flight; but he struck at empty\nair, and sank gently towards the earth. An echo from afar wafted him an\nanswer, which seemed a promise that the cloud-land would receive him\nonce more at some distant day, but the words were rather a command than\nan encouragement:\n\n\"Work is prayer, work is song.\"\n\nAnd now a scene broke upon his sight, which made him think he was back\namong the apple-orchards and smiling farms of Normandy--a fair and\ntranquil scene: wide meadows, with flocks of kine grazing, fields of\ncorn ripe for the sickle, and orchards, round which girls and boys\nwere frolicking in holiday costume. Beyond that was a village of white\nhuts and a church all of wood, its porch hung with evergreens, and a\nwedding-party grouped beneath; and through the landscape the same\nriver on whose banks Robert thought he had fallen asleep once years\nago, when it flowed through the heart of the primeval forest. Higher\nup in the distance were still the old pine-woods; but there was much\ntimber felled, and great rafts were paddled down the stream, laden with\nthe wealth of the forest. Robert knew that civilization had come to\nthis spot with a cross in its hand instead of a sword, and baptismal\ndews instead of \"fire-water.\" He saw the bronzed, athletic men of\nthe New World working like brothers side by side with the stalwart,\ngolden-haired pilgrims from the Old; and he looked around to see who\nhad thus brought about that which his former experience had sadly told\nhim was an impossibility. Just then there rose a chant from the village\nchurch:\n\n\"Sing to the Lord a new song. Offer up the sacrifice of justice and\nhope in the Lord, ... who showeth us good things.... By the fruit\nof their corn, and wine, and oil are they multiplied\"; while from\nthe fields where the red man and the white toiled together rose an\nanswering chorus: \"Behold how good and pleasant it is for brethren\nto dwell together in unity.\" Then from the church came a long file\nof dark-robed men, with cowls of ancient make, like those that the\nNorman boy had seen carved on the monuments of the abbots in his own\nland--nay, his own village (for Villeneuve had once belonged to the\nBenedictines)--and they marched in slow procession to a spot of ground\na mile beyond the gathering of white huts.\n\nHere a large area was marked out in the shape of a cross, the outline\nbeing drawn in wreaths of gaily-colored autumn leaves. Many Indians\nstood round the enclosure, and one old chief kept in his hands a\nquantity of wampum belts. Opposite him was a man of athletic build,\nnearly seventy years old, in whom Robert thought he saw a great\nlikeness to himself as he might become in a happy and prosperous old\nage. The chief of the dark-robed men lifted up his voice, and addressed\nthis figure:\n\n\"Robert Maillard\"--and the dreamer started to hear his own name--\"this\nday you end a noble work; you crown a life worthy to be held in\nremembrance for ever. You came to this spot a wanderer without an aim,\nat war with man, almost despairing of God. You stand here, after half\na century has gone over your head, the father of your people, the\nbenefactor of two races, the founder, so to speak, of a new kingdom.\nYou crown the sacrifice of a lifetime used in God's service by a free\ngift of your choicest possession to his everlasting majesty. To all\nages will a school of holy discipline and of sacred song plead for\nyou at the throne of God, and the _laus perennis_ of holy lives shall\nrepresent the ceaseless hymn of inanimate creation to its Lord.\"\n\nThen the old man turned to the Indian chief, and called him. \"My\nbrother,\" he said, \"I have only given to God what you gave me; without\na fair title to your land, I durst not have offered it to the God whose\neldest child on this side of the sea is the red man; and half the\nblessing which this reverend minister of our Lord has promised me falls\nto your share.\"\n\n\"My pale-faced brother speaks words of justice and of wisdom,\" answered\nthe chief; \"his God shall be my God, and his people my people, because\nhis faith has taught him truth and honesty towards his red brother. The\nblack-robe hath spoken well, and Great Eagle is glad to hear him praise\nthe friend of his people, and he who hath taught the Indian maidens to\nsing the song of the stars and the clouds.\"\n\nSo saying, he laid at the priest's feet a wampum belt; and as each\nceremony of the laying of a first stone was completed, he laid down\nanother, as if ratifying the compact after the manner of his people.\nThe dreamer stood apart in silent wonder; the dark-robed choir intoned\nthe psalm _Lauda Jerusalem_:\n\n\"Praise the Lord, O Jerusalem! Praise thy God, O Sion!\"\n\n\"For he hath strengthened the bars of thy gates; he hath blessed thy\nchildren within thee.\n\n\"He hath made peace within thy borders, and filleth thee with the\nfatness of corn.\"\n\nAt last the procession turned back towards the white church, and all\nthe people, Indians as well as white men, joined its ranks. Robert\nfollowed last of all, and an echo to the song of joy and praise rose\nfrom his enlightened heart, whispering:\n\n\"Work is prayer, work is song.\"\n\nHe looked around; he knew the spot well; a little higher up the stream\nwas the place where he had rested at noontide, before his eyes were\nopened to the true mission allotted him in life. He knew that this was\nthe warning, which, if he neglected it, would make of him no longer an\ninnocent dreamer, but a useless vagabond, a rebellious creature of God.\nIf poetry and beauty, truth and honesty, were things of the past, it\nwas at least the duty of every Christian to do what he could to make\nthem once more things of the present. No man who owed allegiance to the\ngreat Maker of all things could go idly through life, a vain mourner\nover an impossible ideal; he must bear his share of work, and do his\nutmost to build up anew the spiritual temple of truth. And he, above\nall, who had been led through the secret treasure-houses of nature,\nand had listened to the ceaseless hymn of praise which the creatures of\nGod sang as they followed the immutable laws set down for them by their\nLord--he, above all, dared not stand still nor refuse the tribute of\nhis voice. He would not be an alien among his brethren, the children\nof God. With these thoughts, he slowly followed the crowd as it filled\nthe little church, and broke out again into strains of solemn gladness,\nsinging:\n\n\"Now dost thou dismiss thy servant in peace, O Lord, according to thy\nword; for my eyes have seen thy salvation.\"\n\nThe song grew fainter, and the multitude seemed to dissolve before his\neyes, as Robert, standing up, gazed around him. Everywhere the primeval\nforest hemmed him in; the river flowed at his feet, clogged with mossy\nboulders, and fringed with delicate fern; the squirrels rattled in the\ntrees with a sound like castanets; and the silvery disk of the moon was\njust visible over the tree-tops. The young wanderer knew that he had\nslept for many hours; but he awoke a new being. Reverently he gazed\nupon the silent landscape, to which a fellowship beyond the expression\nof human tongues now bound him; and, as he repeated slowly the prayers\nthat he had said at his mother's knee in the old Norman homestead,\nhe felt that at last his life's work had been pointed out to him.\nHe had read the pages of a book more wonderful than the romances of\ntroubadours, the tales of the Minnesingers, and even the chronicles\nof olden abbeys; he had heard how the world was bound by a chain of\nsong, never ceasing, never wearying; and henceforth his frail human\nlife must not mar this awe-inspiring harmony; his heart must throb with\nthe world's heart, his voice sing in unison with the great voice of\ncreation. Night passed, and he scarcely slept; morning came, and found\nhim still in his holy rapture. Before long, an Indian approached him--a\ntall and stately son of the forest, one still uncorrupted by the thinly\nveiled heathenism of the white \"children of the sun.\" He had never seen\na white man, though he had often heard of them. Robert knew a little\nof some of the Indian tongues, but not that of the new-comer. What\nwith signs and a few words akin to those which the Indian spoke, they\ngradually made friends; but the red man still gazed upon Robert with an\nawe not unmixed with terror. He handled his weapons and his garments,\ntouched reverentially his fair and tangled locks, and at intervals drew\nlong breaths of astonishment and admiration. He then led him to the\nassembly of his tribe, and Robert soon learnt enough of their language\nto be able to speak fluently with them. He told them how he came there,\nand spoke to them of the true God; and, though at first they listened\nquietly, they soon grew grave. They had heard of the cruelty and\ntreachery of white men, who all professed to believe in this true God,\nand they dared not trust to this teaching.\n\nThen Robert had a happy inspiration. He told them of his dream, and\nthey brightened up at once; this was language such as they loved to\nhear; these were parables such as they instinctively understood. He\ntold them of his life in Normandy, of his journey across the great salt\nwater, of his longings after a beautiful land of brotherly love, such\nas had been shown to him in his dream. He asked them to help him in his\nwork for God.\n\nWe cannot dwell longer on the details of the story of this settlement\nin the wilderness, but some things must be briefly touched upon. In\ndue time, the Indian tribe gave Robert a grant of many miles of land,\nand he, in return, promised them protection, justice, equality, and\npeace. One priest at first, then gradually others, came to preach the\nGospel; and the path of truth was exceptionally smooth in this strange\noasis. Robert called his settlement by a name which few at first\ncould understand--Perpetual Praise. Parts of the forest were cleared;\na thriving lumber trade was established; cottages sprang up; many\nemigrants from fair Normandy flocked in, yet settlers of other lands\nwere all welcomed as brothers; a civilization that was rather that of\nthe monastery than of the factory sprang up, and Indians and whites\nworshipped God side by side in joy and peace.\n\nAs years went by, Robert took an Indian wife, and loved her as\nfaithfully as though she had been the princess of some chivalric\nromance: he had found his ideal at last. Sometimes--it was impossible\nthat it should be otherwise--there would be a ripple of adversity over\nthe smooth waters of this pastoral life; crime might throw a shadow\non the settlement; but peace was promptly restored, and Robert became\nknown as the justest and most merciful judge for hundreds of miles\naround. He was the arbiter and referee of every feud, the father of\nhis colony, the terror of evil-doers. Over his house-door--a wide,\nopen-armed porch where his Indian sons, with locks of bronze, played\nthe games of infant Samsons at his feet--was carved in crimson letters\nthis brave motto:\n\n\"Work is prayer, work is song.\"\n\nAs his years advanced, he grew more thoughtful yet. One idea remained\nunrealized; and now that the settlement had had a life almost as long\nas the third of a century, he felt that it was time to begin the new\nand crowning work. He negotiated with the Benedictine abbeys of France,\nand held out hopes to them of the free gift of at least five hundred\nacres of land for the foundation of a priory of their order, together\nwith a school of missionaries for the Indians, and for the revival of\nsacred chant--a study Robert had greatly at heart. He received very\nfavorable answers and, before he died, he saw the wish of his heart in\na fair way to be accomplished.\n\nThe day of the arrival of the first Benedictine monks was a festival\nthroughout the settlement. Indian and European decorations vied with\neach other; beads, feathers, flags, lanterns of painted birch-bark,\nflowers strewn on the paths, wreaths hung from tree to tree, all\nrepresented but poorly the heartfelt enthusiasm of the people. In a few\nmonths, the old chant of the church in the early ages echoed through\nthe woods and corn-fields of the New World; the Divine Office was sung\nin the intervals of agricultural labor; seven times a day did the bells\nutter their summons to prayer, yet the fields and flocks thrived none\nthe less for this continuous intercession. The boys of red and white\nrace mingled their locks of black and gold, poring over the books of\nchurch psalmody; the maidens and matrons joined in from their seats in\nthe body of the church. The wilderness became populous, great artists\ncame to sketch the stately figures of the monks and the innocent faces\nof the choristers as they moved from choir to ploughed field, from\nschool to pasture; curious folks came to visit the little spot of land\nwhere a great experiment had been tried and had not failed; musicians\ncame to seek rest for their minds and inspiration for their art; poets\ncame to describe the new Arcadia, and holy men to praise God in the\ntemple where such great graces had been conferred.\n\nRobert Maillard began to fear that such publicity would endanger the\nvery perfection which was the theme of admiration, and with redoubled\nfervor did he pray for his beloved work. As last came a day when\nhe knew that his earthly task was over; like a patriarch among his\npeople, he gathered the heads of the little community around him, and\nblessed them, exhorting them to persevere in the happy and innocent\nlife of \"Perpetual Praise.\" His wife knelt at his feet, his sons stood\naround him, and one of them led by the hand a young child, whose eyes\nwere Indian eyes, but whose skin was nearly as fair as that of her\ngrandfather.\n\nThe Benedictine monks stood around Robert's bedside, chanting the\nDivine Office; but suddenly the dying man raised his hands to heaven,\nand, mingling his voice with the song of Compline, called out clearly\nand joyously, as if in answer to some interior voice: \"I come, O Lord!\nWork has been prayer; be it now song.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[133] It was the custom in many of the monasteries of the VIth and\nVIIth centuries, especially those of the rule of S. Columba, for\nthe monks to be divided into choirs, alternately officiating in the\nchurch, and by means of which the divine praises were uninterruptedly\nsung during the whole twenty-four hours. The \"Perpetual Adoration\"\nis the only similar institution in our day, and the small number of\ncommunities accounts for the discontinuance of the custom.\n\n\n\n\nENGLISH SKETCHES.\n\n\nII.\n\nRUINS OF AN OLD ABBEY.\n\nIn the year of grace 1121, Henry I. was reigning in England. On the\nsudden death of his brother, William Rufus, he had seized the crown,\nwhich devolved by right on the next elder brother, Robert of Normandy,\nRobert being just then absent in the Holy Land, where, by military\nexploits of high renown and sweet courtesy of manner, he was winning\nthe hearts of his soldiers and of Christendom. Hearing how things\nwere going in England, he set sail in haste for Normandy; and there\ncalling a fleet together, he steered towards Dover, where the usurper,\napprised of his arrival, stood with an army drawn up upon the shore\nawaiting him. For three days and nights the brothers stood at bay,\nlike two tigers ready to fly at one another's throats, but neither\ndaring to strike the first blow in their fratricidal war. Presently\nwe see gliding high up along the cliffs a venerable figure, clad in\npriestly garb, and bearing an olive branch in his hand. His name is\nAnselm. He has been roughly handled by Rufus, and has little kindness\nto expect from his successor. But Anselm heeds not his own interest or\nhis life; he goes boldly forward, and with outstretched hand entreats\nthe brothers to desist from their bloody intent, to exchange the kiss\nof peace, and settle their quarrel as became men and Christians. They\nhearkened to the voice of the saintly primate. This was his first\nservice to Henry, and it was quickly followed by others so numerous\nand so important that the scholarly king, moved partly by gratitude,\nand partly by a desire to atone for certain of his own and his\npredecessor's misdemeanors towards the church, resolved, in 1121, to\nbuild a monastery which should be one of the glories of his reign, and\nbear witness to the end of time to his devout allegiance to the faith.\nWith this view he built the Benedictine Abbey of Reading. It was on\nso royal a scale, both of magnitude and architectural splendor, that\neven now, in their utter dilapidation, the fragments of the cyclopean\nruins give us no inadequate idea of what it must have been in the days\nof its strength and glory. The gigantic skeleton walls, as they stand\nout gaunt and ragged against the sky, resemble rather rocks than the\nremains of the work of puny human hands. The style was in the massive\nand lofty Norman Gothic of the period, as may be seen from the few bold\narches that have withstood alike the ravages of time, the artillery of\nCromwell, and modern depredations. The abbey was one of the wealthiest\nin the kingdom, and the mitred abbot was counted among the notable\nauthorities of the land. He not only took rank with the highest nobles,\nbut he enjoyed, likewise, many of the supreme prerogatives of royalty;\nhe was privileged to coin money, and to confer the honor of knighthood.\nHe exercised hospitality to kings and princes, and that right royally.\nKing Henry, the founder, was a frequent guest at the monastery with\nhis court, who were entertained there for weeks at a time with regal\nmagnificence. The king was extremely fond of the abbey and the monks,\nand made it his custom to spend Holy Week there every year. After\nperforming his Paschal duties in company with his family and his court,\nand passing the solemn week in fasting and prayer, he celebrated the\njoyful Easter dawn with a festive merriment, in which all the town was\ninvited to join. Bonfires blazed on every surrounding hill, ale ran\nin the gutters, the poor were clad and fed, and all within reach of\nthe royal bounty felt the joy of the Paschal alleluia. Queen Adeliza\nshared her husband's partiality for this lordly monastic retreat, and\nat various festivals through the year repaired to it, sometimes with\nher son, sometimes only with her women-in-waiting. When Henry died of\noverindulgence in his favorite dish of lampreys, at Rouen, he directed\nthat his heart should remain there, but that his body should rest\nunder the roof of his beloved Benedictine abbey. After his demise, it\nstill continued to be a royal residence, and was often frequented by\nHenry II., who held a parliament there for the first time in 1184--an\nexample which was followed repeatedly in the course of the succeeding\nreigns; the calm of the cloister offering a fitter atmosphere for grave\ndeliberation to the law-makers than the hall of Westminster, disturbed\nas it was by courtly intrigues and political agitations. In 1452,\nParliament was adjourned to Reading Abbey from Westminster, on account\nof the sudden outbreak of the plague, and later, in 1466, for the same\nreason. It was the scene of other meetings not devoid of historical\nimportance. Here the Patriarch of Jerusalem, Heraclius, visited Henry\nII., and presented him with the keys of the Holy Sepulchre and the\nroyal banners of the city, in hopes of luring him to undertake another\ncrusade for the deliverance of the holy places.\n\nHenry III. passed more of his time at Reading Abbey than at any of his\nown palaces; here he convoked assemblies of the nobles, and received\nbrother princes and European guests of distinction. It was in the west\nhall of the monastery that Edward IV. received his fair young queen,\nElizabeth Widville. In this same hall Longchamp, Bishop of Ely, who\nhad the regency in the absence of Richard C\u0153ur de Lion in Palestine,\nwas put upon his trial. Two other ecclesiastical councils were held\nhere in the reign of John. When Richard II., through the intervention\nof John of Gaunt, was reconciled to his nobles, he chose Reading Abbey\nas the ground of meeting. So it continued, up to the reign of Henry\nVIII., the resort of kings, and nobles, and prelates, until that\nruthless despoiler passed an act for the suppression of monasteries,\nand converted the sacred precincts into a palace for his own sole\nuse. The monks were scattered, and their brave and loyal abbot, Hugh\nFarringdon, having dared to denounce the iniquitous edict and defy\nthe king, was sentenced to be hanged, drawn, and quartered. With him\ncloses the line of the Benedictine abbots. It is curious to see Henry\nVIII., after thus uprooting the church in his dominions, plundering\nher treasure, and persecuting her in every way, leaving a large sum of\nmoney in his will for \"Masses to be said for the deliverance of his\nsoul.\" He had made it high treason to hold the doctrine of purgatory,\nor to pray for the dead; and the act of saying Mass was punishable with\ndeath. He had overturned altars and banished priests; yet, when he came\nto die himself, he turned, in abject and cowardly fear, towards the\nchurch that he had so outraged, and besought her help in his extremity.\nSpeaking of this act of Henry's, which throws such a sinister light on\nhis fanatical hatred to Catholicism, and his violent enforcement of\nthe \"reformed religion,\" as it was styled, Hume, whose statements are\nas accurate as his views are false, remarks na\u00efvely that it is a proof\nof the tenacity of superstition on the human mind, and says that it\nwas one amongst so many of \"the strange contrarieties of his conduct\nand temper,\" that he who had \"destroyed those foundations made by his\nancestors for the deliverance of _their_ souls,\" should when it came to\nbe the hour of death \"take care to be on the safer side of the question\nhimself.\" At the time of the dissolution, the revenues in money of this\nroyal abbey did not exceed the small sum of \u00a3675 a year. Its wealth\nconsisted not in accumulated riches, but in lands, and fisheries,\nand flocks, and herds. Many English sovereigns had bequeathed their\ndust to the consecrated shelter of Reading Abbey; amongst others, the\nEmpress Matilda, wife of Henry I., and mother of Henry II., had been\ninterred in its vaults. Their ashes found no mercy at the hands of\nthe infuriated fanatics, who seemed bent on erasing from the face of\nthe country every vestige of its ancient faith. The majestic pile,\nwhich had witnessed so many royal marriages, and echoed to the dirges\nof so many sovereigns, fell before the cannon of Cromwell, planted on\nCaversham hill. The beautiful church of S. Thomas \u00e0 Becket, where the\nunfortunate Charles I., with a little band of his trusty cavaliers,\nhad halted and knelt in prayer for protection against the mad soldiery\nbefore whom they fled, fared no better than the rest. The walls that\nstill exist bear traces at every point of this savage act of vandalism.\nWhat the fury of the Roundheads left unfinished the more recent vandals\nhave completed. The ruins have been plundered of every vestige of\nstone-facing; and those immense blocks that gave the old pile, even\nin its decay, such an air of imperishable strength and grandeur were,\nat great cost of labor and money, torn away and carried to Windsor,\nto serve in building the Poor Knights' Hospital. Some were condemned\nto the more ignoble use of erecting a bridge over the Wargrave Road.\nIt is difficult to go beyond mere speculation in fixing the spots\nillustrated by so many memorable associations in the history of the\nold abbey. There can be no mistake, however, about the Chapter Hall,\nwhere the parliaments were held, and where kings and prelates feasted.\nThere is a tradition that after the battle of Newbury, Charles I. and\nall his troops were daily fed for a considerable time in the refectory\nof the monks, one wall alone of which is now standing, but which quite\njustifies the supposition of this wholesale hospitality when we see the\narea formerly occupied by the apartment. The site of the church is also\ndiscernible, but the relative positions of the altars, transepts, and\nnave are but dimly suggested by the broken bases of the four enormous\npillars that supported the towering dome. The present beautiful little\nCatholic church, with its adjoining presbytery, is built entirely\nfrom the ruins, so cruelly dismantled by successive goths. But all\ntheir efforts have failed to obliterate the royal aspect of the\nwreck, or to rob it of its air of immortality. The walls are built of\nsharp, small flint, imbedded in mortar that has now become as hard as\niron--a circumstance which we may hope will put an end to any further\ndevastation, as the tools of the workmen break like glass in the effort\nto penetrate it and dislodge the flint.\n\nA fact that added to Reading Abbey a higher kind of interest than\nany earthly privilege can convey was that it possessed the hand of\nS. James the Apostle--a relic which had been brought from Germany\nto France by the Empress Matilda, and given by her to her father,\nHenry I., who presented it to the Benedictine monks encased in a rich\nshrine of gold, where devout worshippers came from great distances to\nvenerate it. When the dissolution of monastic orders was decreed, the\nsacred relics which each community possessed were secreted in secure\nplaces, and often defended from outrage at the peril and sacrifice of\nlife; but no mention is anywhere to be found of similar precautions\nbeing employed in the case of the famous Benedictine treasure. The\nRoundheads desecrated the tombs of the kings, and threw to the winds\nthe bones of the monks who slept in the vaults around them; but we\nfind no trace of insult offered to the hand of S. James, nor is any\nnotice taken of it in the local chronicles of Reading from this time\nforth. There was a vague rumor of its having been conveyed to a convent\nin Spain; but no evidence of the slightest description supports this\nnotion. About seventy years ago, some workmen, employed in breaking\ndown a portion of the walls, came upon a small wooden box containing\na human hand; it was bought as a curiosity for a mere trifle by a\nphysician of the town, and after a while, we know not how or wherefore,\nit found its way to the Museum of the Polytechnic, where it remained\nuntil that institution was broken up; then the hand was transferred\nto the Athen\u00e6um, in Friar Street. Meantime, the circumstance of the\ndiscovery had travelled far beyond Berks, and some devout persons,\nbelieving this could be none other than the lost relic of S. James,\noffered considerable sums for it; but, for some reason that we can\nneither discover nor surmise, these offers were declined, and the hand\nremained \"amongst other nick-nacks\" to which some interest, historical\nor otherwise, was attached. Finally, the vicissitudes of fortune\ncarried it to a shop-window, where it was long to be seen under a glass\ncase so insecurely guarded that any expert thief might easily have\npurloined it. A Scotch Catholic gentleman saw it here, and offered\nfifty pounds for it. It was sold to him for this sum, and he placed\nit in the care of Canon B----, the dean of the church which is built\non the original resting-place of the real relic, and dedicated to S.\nJames. It was with the understanding, however, that he would claim the\nhand as soon as he had a suitable place for it in his own house. Canon\nB----himself was strongly inclined to disbelieve in the genuineness\nof the relic. In the first place, the box in which it was found bore\nno sign or symbol of its being a reliquary, and there was no mark or\nseal attached to the contents indicating their character; then, again,\nthe hand was small and the fingers tapering, much more like the hand\nof a woman than of a rude-limbed fisherman like the Apostle of Spain.\nThere was one way of ascertaining with certainty that it was _not_\nthe real hand, and this was by learning whether the body of S. James,\nwhich is preserved in the Cathedral of Compostela, wanted one hand. If\nthe two were there, there was an end of the controversy, and it would\nbe clearly proved that the hand found at Reading Abbey had been, at\nsome unknown date, returned to its place. If one hand was missing, and\nif that corresponded to the one in his possession, it was at least\na strong argument on the side of its genuineness, which other steps\nshould be thenceforth taken to prove. At the canon's request, Dr.\nGrant, the late saintly Bishop of Southwark, wrote to the Archbishop\nof Compostela, asking him to allow the shrine to be opened and the\nnecessary inspection of the relics made; but the archbishop replied\nthat he could on no pretext, however laudable, consent to such an act,\nwhich, in his eyes, appeared like a desecration of their venerated\npatron. The question fell back, therefore, into impenetrable doubt\nas before. The hand remained at Reading, until at last the purchaser\narrived and claimed it. He was persuaded that it was the real hand\nof S. James, and as such claimed to have it in his possession and\nunder his roof. Canon B---- gave it up at once; but it was remarked\nby a pious Catholic at the time that if it was the real relic, the\nact of _purchasing_ it for private possession, and removing it from a\nchurch dedicated to the apostle to whom it was supposed to belong, to\na private house, could bring no blessing on those connected with it.\nThese warnings were laughed at as superstitious by the owner of the\nrelic; but they were strangely and fearfully fulfilled before long. He\nand three clerical friends were one day seized at dinner with agonizing\npains, and, after a few hours' suffering, expired. One of the dishes\nhad, by some unaccountable accident, been poisoned by the cook, who\nhad employed some venomous root in mistake for horse-radish. We do not\nattach for a moment any supernatural significance to the incident, but\nmerely give it as a strange coincidence. After this violent and sudden\ndeath of its owner, the hand passed into the possession of a relative,\nto whom he bequeathed it. Perhaps this short record of its recent\nhistory may meet the eye of some one who may be induced to search out\nthe missing limb, and clear away the mystery that still hangs over\nthe supposed relic of the apostle who warned us so solemnly against\nthe iniquity of idle words. Who knows? Perhaps we may yet live to see\na Benedictine monastery rise on the site of the ancient one where\nhis hand was so devoutly venerated; monks, wearing the dark cowl of\nthe inspired author of the _Regula Monachorum_, may again tread the\nhallowed ground of the old abbey, where in bygone days their fathers\nlived grand and awful lives under the serene and solemn shadow of\ntheir mighty cloisters, adjusting the strife of nations and of kings,\nteaching Christendom, feeding the poor, and taking the kingdom of\nheaven by violence amidst long vigils, and fasting, and humiliation,\nand the heroic practice of Christian sanctity; the old stones may yet\necho to the chant of psalms as in the days of our forefathers, and the\nsong of praise resound again in the desert--the same words, with other\nvoices; for God changes not, neither does his church; for, like her\nFounder, she is immutable, the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.\n\n\n\n\nTHE COURT OF FRANCE IN 1830.[134]\n\n\n                            BY M. MENNECHET.\n\n                FROM PARIS, OU LE LIVRE DES CENT-ET-UN.\n\nYou think, my dear friend and editor, that the place occupied by the\nTuileries in the panorama of Paris is so prominent a one that you\ndesire to include a variety of accounts of it in the rich gallery of\ndescription you are now giving to the world, and you ask me, unskilful\nartist though I am, to draw you a faithful picture of its interior as\nI once knew it. You say that, having for fifteen years inhabited this\npalace, I must necessarily be well acquainted with all the details\nof it, and you wish me to take upon myself the office of introducing\nyour numerous readers, and of giving them a nearer view of the chief\npersonages of this royal domain. I may, you add, imagine myself once\nmore at my bureau, distributing to curiosity or to attachment tickets\nof admission for some _f\u00eate_ or ceremony, and that this will perhaps\nprove, for the time being, a pleasant illusion for me. Dreams like\nthese, however, would possess no attraction for me. I have been too\nnear a spectator of the court for it to have any illusions for my mind.\nIn this respect, I may compare myself to an actor at the theatre,\nover-familiar with the scenes of the green-room. I need realities now\nto awaken my interest; and since the course of events has plunged me\nagain into my original obscurity, I can no longer abandon myself to\nreveries of pride or of ambition. Nor had I risen so high that there\nwas any danger that my fall would distract my reason or shake my\nphilosophy. I had reached only that elevation which gives to objects\ntheir due proportions. I was neither too near nor too far, neither too\nhigh nor too low, not to be able to see and to judge calmly; and it\nis in my former observatory that I am now about to replace myself, in\norder to comply, as far as it may lie in my power, with your request.\nPerhaps I ought to fear that it may be said of me, He served the exiled\nfamily for fifteen years; he was indebted to them for his maintenance\nand that of others connected with him; he is biassed by feelings of\ngratitude; we cannot but distrust what he is about to tell us. God\nforbid that the reproach of fidelity and gratitude should ever offend\nme: these are virtues too rare for any one who is conscious in his own\nheart of possessing them to be ashamed of the fact. If, therefore, I\nshould be accused of flattery, I shall not feel much grieved at the\ncharge; for at least I shall have flattered only the unfortunate. Had\nnot the sanguinary events of July shattered at one blow the crown of\nCharlemagne, the sceptre of S. Louis, and the sword of Henri IV.; did\nthe family of Charles X. now reign at the Tuileries, I might be silent,\nlest my encomiums should be deemed interested; or were I to take up\nmy pen, it would only be to demonstrate that the liberal ideas of the\nyouth of the present day were even then admitted to the court; there\nwas no exclusion, excepting for revolutionary principles.\n\nHere might be a fine opportunity for me to enter upon a chapter of\npolitics. I might prove to the partisans of the sovereignty of the\npeople that they alone invoke the divine right, since the voice of the\npeople passes for the voice of God--_Vox populi, vox Dei_; or, on the\nother hand, that their adversaries do well to range themselves on the\nside of hereditary right, which is a principle of order and security,\nas well for governments as for families--a right sacred and inviolable,\nand which has existed unquestioned from the days of Adam until the\npresent time.\n\nBut I should find myself quite out of my sphere in the domain of\npolitics, having always withheld myself from its complications. I\ntherefore give your readers notice that I shall not introduce them into\nthe great cabinet in which the councils of the ministers were held. I\nwas not admitted there myself; and as I never listened at the doors,\nit would be impossible for me to relate anything that took place. All\nI know is that under the last ministry they used three sheets of paper\ntoo much, since the latter kindled so deplorable a conflagration.\n\nThe exterior aspect of the Tuileries is doubtless well known to my\nreaders, at least from description, or through pictures or engravings.\nBut those who have never had the opportunity of penetrating further\nI now invite to follow me into the interior, while I endeavor to\nbring before them some of the _f\u00eates_ and ceremonies of the court\nof Charles X. Unless you are in full dress, let us not enter by the\ngreat staircase. There we should find a man, who is called a _Suisse_,\nalthough he is a Frenchman, who would tell you that etiquette does not\npermit you to enter the palace of the king wearing boots. You might\nexclaim against etiquette, forgetting, however, that, at least, it\nimposes upon vanity the obligation of enriching labor. The staircase by\nwhich I shall introduce you is free from such restrictions. You will\nfind the steps much worn. They lead to the treasury of charities--a\ntreasury quite the opposite of the cask of the Dana\u00efdes; for although\nit be constantly drawn from, it is never empty.\n\nLet us ascend another flight, and cross the _black gallery_, where, on\nthe right and left sides, are lodged, in narrow and inconvenient rooms,\nthe great lord and the _valet de chambre_, the _ma\u00eetre d'hotel_ and the\nphysician, the _aide-de-camp_ and the chaplain, the gentleman and the\nplebeian. Here all ranks, all grades, all dignities, are confounded.\nWhen we shall repair to the final judgment, I suppose we shall all pass\nthrough a black gallery, in which, like that of the Tuileries, will\nbe mingled all social ranks. We will now descend a flight, and enter\nthe apartment of the first gentleman of the chamber, one of the great\nofficers of the household. Let us request of him tickets of admission\nto the ceremony of the Supper; and, when we shall have obtained them\nfrom his habitual complaisance, let us hope that there may not have\nbeen, the night before, between him, the captain of the guards, and\nthe grand-master of ceremonies, any dispute regarding the rights,\nprivileges, and attributes of their respective offices. In that case\nit is by no means certain that the life-guardsman would permit us to\nenter, the password being frequently regulated by some petty revenge of\nthe chief. This time, however, all is harmonious; the life-guardsman\nhas made no objection, the usher has taken our tickets, and the\n_valet de chambre_ has indicated our places behind the ladies. What\nan interesting tableau is presented by this religious solemnity! The\nchapel of the ch\u00e2teau being too small for the occasion, the gallery of\nDiana has been arranged for the ceremony. I see you smile as you raise\nyour eyes to gaze upon the rich paintings which decorate the ceiling\nof this gallery. Cupid and Psyche, Diana and Endymion, Hercules and\nOmphale--all these gods and goddesses of paganism appear, little in\nkeeping with the scene of a Christian celebration. But lower your eyes;\nlook at this simple altar, at this pulpit, from which the minister of\nGod will shortly speak, and you will no longer be tempted to smile, for\nyou will have realized the distance which separates truth from error.\n\nAt one of the extremities of the gallery is laid an immense table, on\nwhich thirteen dishes of different kinds are thirteen times repeated.\nEach one of them is decorated with fragrant flowers, which exhale a\ndelicious perfume. Along the entire length of the gallery are placed,\nright and left, three rows of benches. On one side are seated the\nladies, whose elegant costumes are, it is true, somewhat worldly;\nbut the books they hold in their hands attest, at least, their pious\nintentions.\n\nFacing the pews reserved for the royal family, and on more elevated\nbenches, are ranged thirteen poor young children, representing the\nthirteen apostles; for, at the time of the Supper, Judas had not denied\nhis Master. Behind these are placed the musicians of the king, at their\nhead Cherubini and Lesueur, and directed by Plantade; this combination\nof talent exhibiting a taste and power of execution unrivalled at that\nperiod, and which will still be remembered by many who have had the\nprivilege of listening to them.\n\nBut suddenly a voice is heard--\"The king.\" All advance, lean forward,\nand endeavor to obtain a view of him. He salutes all with the grace so\nnatural to him; and respect alone represses the demonstration which\nhis kindness seems to encourage. The divine office begins; at its\nconclusion comes the sermon; and finally, carrying out the pious custom\nof the kings of France, he himself washes the feet of the thirteen\napostles as a token of Christian humility. The impious may smile at\nthese touching solemnities of the worship of their forefathers; had\nthey once assisted at a ceremony like this, they would smile no more.\nAfterwards, the officers of the household advance in a procession,\nholding in their hands the insignia of their office and bouquets. After\nthem marches the dauphin of France, followed by the high officers.\nThirteen times in succession they approach the table to seek the bread,\nthe wine, the different dishes intended for the representatives of the\napostles. They carry them to the king, who deposits them in baskets\nat the feet of each child. To these gifts he adds a purse for each,\ncontaining thirteen five-franc pieces. Then the ceremony is over, and\nthe king may say to himself, \"I have not only fulfilled an act of\ndevotion and humility; I have also made thirteen families happy.\"\n\nHaving beheld the Most Christian King stooping from his royal majesty\nto those whom P\u00e8re Bridaine called the best friends of God, let us\nnow view him in that ceremony which alone, until lately, recalled the\nancient traditions of chivalry. Here he is not only King of France; he\nis Grand Master of the Order of the Holy Ghost. This order, founded\nby Henri III., and which all the sovereigns of Europe were proud and\nhappy to wear; this order, which decorated the breast of Henri IV., of\nLouis XIV., and of all the great warriors and statesmen of the last two\ncenturies; this order, the most glorious recompense, and the one most\ncoveted by the celebrated personages of the beginning of the present\nepoch, is at an end--the late revolution did not choose that it should\nsurvive the monarchy.\n\nThe last ceremony of the Order of the Holy Ghost took place on May 30,\n1830, at Whitsuntide. The most perfect taste and the greatest luxury\nwere displayed in the hangings which decorated the great vestibule and\nthe stone gallery that lead to the chapel; the ingenious and varied\ntalents of Hittorf, Lecointe, and Ciceri being brought into requisition\non this occasion. The chapter of the order was held at eleven o'clock\nin the grand cabinet. There were assembled, in their rich costumes\nof black velvet, embroidered with gold and faced with green silk,\nthe knights already received into the number, wearing crosswise\nthe collar of the order, and on their cloaks the silver plates--the\nbrilliant insignia of their dignity. The king, the natural nobility of\nwhose appearance was enhanced by this picturesque costume, opened the\nassembled chapter; then the cort\u00e9ge took up their march to the chapel,\nwhere the knights lately promoted were to be received. They marched in\ndouble-file through rows, on either hand, of ladies elegantly dressed;\nthe bystanders gazed eagerly on the knights as they advanced, and many\nsatirical remarks were made upon the singular junction of the new\ncelebrities with the members of the old aristocracy.\n\nThere walked together the Duc la Tremouille and M. Lain\u00e8, M. Ravez and\nthe Duc de Montmorency.\n\nTo show how ambition may attain its ends by different paths, the Duc de\nD\u00e9caze and the Comte de Villete, the Comte de Peyronnet and the Duc de\nDalmatie; and as if to demonstrate how differently two gentlemen may\ncomprehend the duties of their position, the Duc de Mortemart and the\nVicomte de Ch\u00e2teaubriand.\n\nAn especial circumstance added the attraction of curiosity while it\nlent a more touching interest to this scene; the king received as\nChevalier of the Order of the Holy Ghost the young Duc de Nemours, in\nthe presence of all his family. All those who were present on this\noccasion cannot fail to remember the noble and gracious air of the\nyoung prince, and the deep emotion perceptible in the voice of the\naugust old man as he defined the duties of a true knight. One might\nhave supposed him a father, happy and proud to find in his son a heart\nin which the seeds of honor and loyalty must necessarily germinate. All\nthe spectators were moved. A mother wept. Would that these had been\nthe last tears she was destined to shed!\n\nLet us now pass from this grave and imposing ceremonial to those\nanimated and joyous _f\u00eates_ which took place every year at Saint-Cloud\non the day of S. Henri. Shall I show you the _Trocadere_, filled with\ngames of every description, shops of all kinds, in which the most\nfamous actors of the capital, transformed into foreign merchants,\ndistributed to all comers songs, toys, bonbons, and flowers, all for\nthe trifling remuneration of thanks? Will you assist with the whole\ncourt at that brilliant representation of the heroic drama of _Bissen_,\nin which Franconi and his actors, men and horses, give proofs of such\nrare intelligence and address? At the conclusion of this spectacle, the\nDuc de Bordeaux[135] assembles his little army of children, and before\nthe eyes of the astonished crowd causes them to man\u0153uvre with all the\ncoolness and experience of a veteran captain; then he leads them to the\ngymnastic games, in which he surpasses them all in strength, daring,\nand skill. Then, mingling with the soldiers of a neighboring post, he\nplays at quoits with the latter as if with comrades; but he takes care\nto lose the game just as he is on the point of winning it, so as to be\ngenerous without the appearance of it. Perhaps you might be interested\nto know that this promising child likewise ardently devotes himself to\nhis studies under the care of his admirable instructors, MM. de Barande\nand Colart, and more especially to the history of his country; he\nobstinately refuses to call the Constable of Bourbon anything but the\n_bad Constable_, asserting that he has forfeited his right even to his\nname, having borne arms against his sovereign.\n\nBut whither have my reminiscences carried me? Here we are at\nSaint-Cloud; the games of a child have made me forget the pomps of a\ncourt, and, besides, I was only to speak to you of the Tuileries.\n\nThis court was not wanting in brilliancy; its luxury, however, was\nby no means extreme. These three hundred gentlemen of the chamber,\nthese equerries, these officers of ceremony for the household and\nhunting service, richly dressed in vestments embroidered in gold, were\ntributaries to industry, and willingly paid the tax of vanity. We too\noften forget that the bread of the poor is in the hands of the rich,\nand that it is better for the former that this bread should be the\nprice of labor than the gift of charity.\n\nIn order to reconcile ourselves with this luxury, which many\nunthinkingly condemned, let us assist at those _jeux du roi_, to which\nall the social notabilities were invited.\n\nA week before the invitations had been issued, it would be known in all\nthe workshops of Paris that a reception was to take place at the court,\nand more orders would be received than could be executed. Tailors,\ndressmakers, embroiderers, _modistes_, hair-dressers, jewellers, etc.,\nall rejoiced; and the happiness of the invited guest, who repaired to\nthe _f\u00eate_ in a showy equipage, was shared by the workman who saw him\npass.\n\nLet us hasten to follow the line of those thousand carriages which\nadvance in order towards the Tuileries some time before the hour\nindicated by the card of invitation; for here it is quite different\nfrom those balls of society where the fashion is to arrive late in\norder to produce a sensation; on the contrary, every one desires to be\namong the first to obtain a glance from the king. Already crowds are\npressing into these vast drawing-rooms, where innumerable wax candles\nshed so favorable a light over the beauty of the women and their superb\ndresses. It is impossible to imagine, without having seen it, the\nmagnificent spectacle presented by the throne-room and the Gallery of\nDiana; on entering these, the dazzling _ensemble_ could be taken in\nat a glance, and each one stops for a moment, lost in admiration, to\ncontemplate it.\n\nHere are assembled the late minister, thinking how he may seize again\nthe reins of power; the present minister, absorbed in the fear of\nlosing them; and the future minister, musing over the chances he may\npossess of obtaining them. All three salute each other, press each\nother's hands affectionately: one might mistake them for friends. Here\nare grouped peers of France, proud of their hereditary rights, and\nconfident in the stability of them, calculating how much the son of\na lord may be worth, and by what dowry the daughter of a banker may\npurchase the title of countess and the _entr\u00e9e_ to the court. Here\nwe behold the former senators of Napoleon, who have not, perhaps,\nrenounced their own ideas and illusions; see beside them old generals,\nwho, from the epoch of the Republic down to Charles X., have served all\nthe different governments. The banner has changed, but what does that\nmatter? Military honor has not suffered; that is to be placed only in\ncourage.\n\nThese officers, with their large epaulettes, appear to cast disdainful\nglances on the crowd of men in blue coats, the collars of which,\nembroidered in _fleur-de-lis_, designate civic functions. The\nsupporters of the ministry are surprised that so many members of the\nopposition should have been invited; the latter complain that there are\nso few of their own party present compared with the number of their\nadversaries. There is, however, for the time being, neither Right side,\nLeft side, nor Centre--all appear harmonious; and should a vote now be\ntaken, the urn would be filled with white balls, so great in those days\nwas the influence of an invitation from the king--almost equal to that\nof a ministerial dinner at the present time.\n\nBut to the hum of conversation suddenly succeeds a profound silence;\nthe king appears, followed by all the royal family. He circulates\nslowly through the apartments, and his kindness of heart suggests to\nhim what to say, so as to please each one in turn. None are forgotten;\nand in addressing himself to the ladies, he perfectly understands the\nart of complimenting so as to flatter without embarrassing them. I must\nnot omit, in my description of these brilliant assemblies, to speak of\nthe members of the diplomatic corps, the richness and variety of whose\ncostumes enhanced the magnificence of the scene; nor can I conclude\nwithout some mention of the courtiers of Charles X. I know it is a\nusual thing on the stage, and perhaps elsewhere, to depict a gentleman\nof the court as a low-minded, grasping, insolent imbecile. Those who\nview them all in this light resemble the traveller who, passing rapidly\nthrough a town, and seeing at a window a woman with red hair, came\nto the conclusion, and wrote, that all the women of the place were\nred-haired.\n\nThe gentleman of the court, such as I have usually known him, since the\nRestoration, is proud of his birth and of his name; but he knows that\nhe has no more reason to pride himself upon their possession than a\nsinger has to boast of the voice with which nature has gifted him, or\na rich man of the fortune left him by his father. Devoted to the king,\nhe does not consider himself the humble servant of the ministers; and\nwhen his conscience prescribes it, he places himself in the ranks of\nthe opposition. He is extremely polite, knowing that this is the surest\nmeans of securing the recognition of his social superiority. He does\njustice to merit, and admires it frankly and without envy; but should\nthis merit exist in a man of equal rank with himself, he would be\ntempted to dispute it. He is generous, for he knows that generosity is\na great and noble virtue; and even should it not be a pleasure, it is a\nduty, for him to exercise it. Without being learned, he is not ignorant\nof any of the sciences, and he has a tact which enables him to appear\na connoisseur in art even when such is not the case; but he no longer\ntakes upon himself to be the protector of artists; he is their friend.\nHe understands that the empire of the white plume and of the red heel\nis at an end, and that, in order to be respected, he must deserve to be\nso.\n\nFinally, his morals are good, and this is, perhaps, the greatest change\neffected by the revolution.\n\nSuch, as a general rule, were the courtiers of my time, and amongst\nthem were men full of talent, courage, and energy, sincerely devoted\nto the true interests of the people, who hated without knowing them;\nmen of noble and loyal souls, filled with devotion to their country,\nand possessed of that strong, real, and passionate eloquence which\nastonishes, moves, and persuades those who are resolved to oppose them;\nmen, in short, who, finding it impossible to do the good they desire,\nand unwilling to participate in the evil which may be done, retire\ninto private life, carrying with them the regrets and the admiration\nof their fellow-citizens. I do not need to name them. The days devoted\nto _jeux du roi_ were not the only ones on which persons of various\nstations were invited to the court. The birthday of the king was the\n_f\u00eate_ of the people; on that day, every cottage was made happy, every\nfamily was supplied with bread. But as this _f\u00eate_ was not celebrated\nin the year of grace 1830, I will speak only of New Year's day, on\nwhich, according to custom, all the different state corporations come\nto renew to their sovereign, whoever he may be, their pledges of\nfidelity and attachment, to pay their homage and proffer their good\nwishes. To these uniform speeches, prescribed by etiquette, expressive\nof sentiments more or less real, and couched in phrases more or less\nhigh-sounding, according to the taste or ability of the orator, Charles\nX. had the faculty of returning answers marked by kindness and good\nsense, rendered with a grace and facility of execution which no one has\never thought of disputing.\n\nThe custom which obliged the king to dine in public on New Year's day\nwas not an unpleasant one to Charles X. He had no reason to fear that\nhe might be compared to those Oriental monarchs who, when they have\ndined well themselves, think that none of their subjects ought to feel\nhungry. He knew that the wish of Henri IV. had been realized, and that\nthe chicken in the pot was wanting neither to the industrious artisan\nnor to the hard-working laborers.\n\nIf, however, these state dinners were not destitute of charm for\nhim, how much more did he enjoy that family reunion on the _jour\ndes rois_, which, with its simple pleasures, is an inheritance of\npast generations! The customs attending this festival, on which\nroyalty is freed from all cares or regrets, are of long standing. The\nancients, when they desired to render a feast an especially gay one,\nalways appointed a king, who was elected for the time. Neither is\nthe use of beans, as a distinctive mark of power, a modern idea. The\nGreeks employed them in the nomination of their magistrates; and when\nPythagoras told his disciples to _abstain from beans_, he gave them a\nwise counsel, of which every one does not comprehend the enigmatical\nand mysterious meaning.\n\nAmongst us, however, the bean is attended by none of the dangers\ndreaded by Pythagoras. How happy is the king of the bean! He has\nneither courtiers who flatter him nor ministers who betray him; his\nsubjects are his friends; he chooses his queen without regard to\npolitical considerations; he eats, he drinks, and, fortunate man, his\nreign is but for a moment!\n\nThe delights of this passing royalty were never more keenly experienced\nthan at the Tuileries on the 6th of January, 1830. All appeared\nprosperous in the kingdom, and the descendants of Henri IV., assembled\nat a family dinner, were united in opinion and in affection. It was\na _f\u00eate_ day for all, and especially for the children, who rejoiced\nat the unwonted freedom from the restraints of etiquette. Around the\nroyal table were seated, first the august old man, whose goodness of\nheart ever shone through the dignity of his character. On one side of\nhim was placed the Duchess of Orl\u00e9ans, the happy mother of a numerous\nand handsome family; on the other the dauphiness, who endeavored to\nconsole herself for the want of the same happiness by adopting all the\nunfortunate--a woman sublime in misfortune, heroic in danger, and who,\npassing through every stage of affliction, at length reached that\nheight of virtue before which all human glory must bow. Beside her\nwas the Duc d'Orl\u00e9ans,[136] who, when exiled in foreign lands at the\nsame period with Charles X., had given proofs of fidelity, affection,\nand devotion; he had shared the same trials, and conceived the same\nhopes. Then came the Duchess de Berri, handsome, happy, proud of her\nson, imparting gaiety and vivacity to all around her, little dreaming\nof the future which awaited her, and certainly very far from imagining\nthat, ere long, the poor and afflicted of her asylum at Poissy would\nbe obliged to petition for the charity of the public. We must not\nforget to mention, in this family group, the dauphin, Mlle. d'Orl\u00e9ans,\nthe Ducs de Chartres, de Nemours, d'Aumale, the Prince de Joinville,\nthe two young and pretty Princesses of Orl\u00e9ans. The Duc de Bourbon is\nnot able to be present; his infirmities confine him to his ch\u00e2teau of\nSaint-Leu, where he had, at least, expected to die in peace. But let us\nreserve our attention for this child who is about to play so important\na part among the guests.\n\nBy this time, the first two courses have exhausted the patience of\nthese young hearts, but respect restrains any expression of this\nfeeling in them. At length, however, the wished-for moment has arrived,\nand all eyes are turned towards an officer of the table, who carries\non a silver salver, covered with a napkin, fifteen cakes, one of which\ncontains the coveted bean. It falls to the lot of the Duc d'Aumale, as\nbeing the youngest, to distribute them among the guests, taking care\nto keep one for himself. Each one makes haste to ascertain his fate,\nand exclamations of disappointed ambition are heard on all sides. One\nchild alone blushes and is silent; not that he is embarrassed by the\nrank about to devolve upon him, but he does not wish to mortify his\ncompetitors by giving vent to his innocent delight. His new majesty\ncannot, however, long remain incognito, and the Duc de Bordeaux is\nproclaimed king of the bean by universal acclamation. Then, following\nthe example of their new sovereign, the children all give way to an\nextreme of gaiety, which the king encourages and partakes, and which\nthe dauphiness does not seek to restrain. Soon the choice of the queen\nis made; it is the Duchess of Orl\u00e9ans, who willingly lends herself to\nreceive an honor which, perhaps, she might not have coveted; and the\ndinner is concluded amidst shouts of laughter and cries of _The king\ndrinks! The queen drinks!_ frequently re-echoed.\n\nThe august personages seated around the royal table are not the only\nones who share the cakes of the king. Pieces of these cakes are\nprofusely distributed throughout France. Poets, authors, artists,\nactors, artisans, old and infirm servants of the Republic and of the\nEmpire, destitute widows and orphans partake of the cake of the king\nand the bounty of Charles X. on this occasion.\n\nBut the time has come to rise from table, and Charles X. requests a\nmoment of silence, which he succeeds with difficulty in obtaining.\n\n\"Sire,\" he says to his grandson, \"your reign will be at an end in\nabout five minutes; has your majesty no orders to give me?\"\n\n\"Yes, grandpapa. I wish....\"\n\n\"You wish! Take care; in France the king always says _we wish_.\"\n\n\"Well, then, we wish that our governor would advance us three months of\nour allowance.\"\n\n\"What will you do with so much money?\"\n\n\"Grandpapa, the mother of a brave soldier of your guard has had her\ncottage burned down, and this will not be too much to build it up\nagain....\"\n\n\"Very well. I will undertake it....\"\n\n\"No, grandpapa; because, if you do it, it will not be I.\"\n\n\"And how will you do without money for three months?\"\n\n\"I shall try to gain some by the good marks I get from my teachers, and\nfor which you always pay me.\"\n\n\"Ah! you depend upon that?\"\n\n\"Certainly; for I must dress my poor people. I have my poor people,\nlike you, like mamma, like my aunt.... Oh! I have made my calculations,\nand I am quite satisfied. When I shall have given ten francs to the\npoor woman in the Bois de Boulogne, who has a sick child, I shall still\nhave twenty sous left for the prince.\"\n\nAt these words Charles X. tenderly embraced his grandson, and\nexclaimed, \"Happy France, if ever he should be king!\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[134] We translate the following chapter from a work published in Paris\nmany years ago, on account of its historical interest, containing, as\nit does, reminiscences of the youth of Comte de Chambord and other\ncharacters since become prominent.--ED. C. W.\n\n[135] Afterwards Comte de Chambord.\n\n[136] Afterwards Louis Philippe.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FUR TRADER.\n\nA TALE OF THE NORTHWEST.\n\n\nFew men are now living who remember Montreal as it was in the beginning\nof this century, when the Northwest Fur Company had reached the summit\nof its prosperity, and the Frobishers, McGillivrays, McTavishes, and\nMcKenzies, with a host of their associates, were \"names to conjure\nwithal\"; so potent had they been made by a long and uninterrupted\nseries of successful adventures in the fur trade of the northwestern\nwilds.\n\nThe princely hospitality exercised by the partners in their Montreal\nhomes, and the fitful deeds of profuse generosity with which they\ndelighted to surprise the people on both sides of the border, served\nto spread their fame far and wide, and to keep their \"memory green\" by\nmany a sequestered hearthstone long after the Northwest Fur Company had\nceased to exist, and its members had all passed away.\n\nFor many years the fireside legends of rural hamlets on the frontier\nwere made up in a great measure from narratives of startling\nadventures, hazards, fatigues, and privations encountered by the\nclerks, agents, _voyageurs_, and _coureurs des bois_ employed by this\nmost energetic and enterprising, if at the same time most unscrupulous,\ncorporation. Its schemes were devised with masterly skill, and executed\nwith reckless daring. Not content to limit its transactions within\nthe extensive regions allotted to its sway, it extended them north\ninto territories over which the Hudson's Bay Company had long held\ncontrol, and south into a large domain belonging to the United States,\nand occupied to some extent by traders under the protection of our\ngovernment.\n\nThese invasions of the rights of others brought the servants of the\ncompany into frequent collision with its rivals; but the men appointed\nto such posts were selected from a large band of trained and tried\nveterans in the service, and the dashing promptitude with which they\nmet or evaded opposition and obstacles seemed like magic to the\nopposing parties of trappers, free-traders, and half-breeds thus\nencountered, and gained them the reputation, among that superstitious\nclass, of being in league with the father of all evil.\n\nThese collisions and outbreaks among the disciples of Mammon, as well\nas the pernicious influence gained and exercised by them over the\nsavage tribes with whom they were engaged in traffic, were the occasion\nof great grief and anxiety to a widely different class of men, who\nhad long occupied those territories, and braved the difficulties,\ndangers, and hardships of those bleak and desolate regions, on a widely\ndifferent errand. Dauntless sons of Loyola, they had steadfastly\npursued their vocation, \"in journeyings often, in perils of waters, in\nperils of the wilderness, in labor and painfulness, in much watching,\nin hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness,\"\nproving their allegiance to the Prince of Peace and their claim to his\napostolic mission, while proclaiming the Gospel of salvation to the\nnative children of those boundless deserts.\n\nAnd so it befell that the servants of lucre, who traversed the same\ndistricts, at later periods, in pursuance of their vocation, not\nunfrequently took advantage of the openings thus prepared, and pitched\ntheir outposts side by side with the humble chapel and lodge of the\nmissionary. Then the conflict between good and evil, between avarice\nand generosity, selfishness and benevolence, which had always agitated\nthe Old World, was renewed in the wilderness, and carried on as\nearnestly as if rival crowns were striving for the mastery. An unequal\nstrife it must always prove, so long as poor human nature prefers to be\nthe victim of evil rather than the servant of virtue.\n\nMany years ago--and long before Catholic missions interested us further\nthan to excite a certain vague admiration for the self-sacrificing\nzeal with which they were prosecuted--we listened to the following\nrecital from the lips of an old clerk of the Northwest Company, which\nwe repeat as it was told to us, to set forth some of the difficulties\nthat encompassed the missionaries among the Indians of the Northwest,\ntending to impede, if not frustrate, the object of their efforts.\n\nOn a fine day in the month of September, 18--, a fleet of canoes\nwas sweeping down one of the large rivers which flow through the\nnorthwestern portion of our country. They were manned by Canadian\n_voyageurs_, the plash of whose paddles kept time with the gay\n_chansons_, which were borne in such unison upon their blended voices\nas to seem, except for the volume of sound, the utterance of but one.\n\nIn the leading vessel of the little squadron, well enveloped in the\nfolds of a magnificent fur mantle, to shield from autumnal chills,\nwhich settle early upon those regions, their commander reclined at his\nease. He was a person of imposing presence and stately manners, whose\nface, grave and thoughtful for one from which the flush of youth had\nscarcely passed, presented that fine type of manly beauty peculiar to\nthe Highland Scotch.\n\nHe seemed too entirely absorbed in his own thoughts to notice the songs\nof his light-hearted companions, the merry chat with which they were\ninterspersed, or even the sly jokes that, with the freedom produced by\nthe lawless habits of the wilderness, were occasionally levelled at\nhimself and, the confidential clerk who was his inseparable attendant.\nNor did his reflections seem to be of an agreeable nature; for at times\nhis dark eye would flash fiercely, and his brow contract to an ominous\nfrown, and again his countenance would subside into its habitual and\nsomewhat pensive expression.\n\nTwilight was closing around them as they approached a trading-post\nof the Northwest Company, which had been recently opened near a\nlong-established missionary station, the spire of whose humble chapel\nwas lifted above the numerous huts that formed an Indian village of\nconsiderable extent along the bank of the river.\n\nHere their commander ordered them to land, and, after securing the\ncanoes for the night, to transfer their cargoes to the storehouse of\nthe company. He directed in person the removal of the most valuable\nmerchandise, and, entrusting the remainder to the care of his clerk,\nproceeded with haughty strides toward the lodge of the resident\nmissionary.\n\nHe was met at the entrance by a reverend father in the habit of the\nSociety of Jesus, and saluted with a distant politeness which quite\nunsettled his accustomed expression of composure and easy indifference.\nAn embarrassing silence followed his admission within the lodge--a\nsilence which the good father seemed in no haste to break--when the\ngentleman began with a hesitating manner, as if his proud spirit\ndisdained what he was about to say in opening the conversation:\n\n\"I regret to hear, reverend father, that we have been so unhappy as\nto incur your displeasure in the course of our transactions with the\nnatives; and I frankly confess that this regret is greatly increased\nby our knowledge of your influence over them, the exercise of which we\nwould gladly have secured to promote the interests of our trade.\"\n\n\"It is not a question of my displeasure,\" the priest replied sadly. \"To\nmy Master you must answer for the crying injustice you have practised\ntowards his children of the wilderness, and for the sinful courses\ninto which they have been beguiled. You have betrayed his cause with\nthose who trusted you on account of the name of Christian, which\nyou so unworthily bear, and to him you must answer for it. As to my\ninfluence, it would have been easily secured, if your dealings with\nthese untutored natives had been governed by justice and integrity.\nBut I warn you, that unless you repent the wrongs you have inflicted\nyourself, and by the hands of your agents, upon them, making such\nrequital as remains within your power, a fearful retribution awaits you\nin this world, and eternal despair in the next. 'Vengeance is mine,\nsaith the Lord, and I will repay.'\"\n\n\"Pardon me, good father; but I think you greatly exaggerate the wrongs\nof which you speak. It is not possible for men of your calling to\nestimate or understand the scope of vast commercial enterprises and the\ncourse of great mercantile operations. Your imagination has brooded\nover the transactions which you so sternly condemn, until it has given\nthem a false magnitude. They transpired in the ordinary course of\nbusiness, and though followed by results which I deplore as deeply as\nyourself, I do not feel disposed to take blame to myself or our company\nfor them.\"\n\n\"You will not plead 'commercial enterprise' or 'mercantile\ntransactions' before the bar of the great Judge in excuse for eternal\ninterests which have been sacrificed to your greed for gain; for\nconfiding and innocent souls that have been betrayed and lost by your\nfault. Through your iniquities and those of your servants in dealing\nwith these children, once so willing to be taught and to practise the\nduties of our holy religion, they have been transformed into demons\nof revenge; and, disregarding our remonstrances, have committed, and\nwill continue to commit, deeds of bloody vengeance at which the world\nwill stand aghast. Alas! the world will never know the provocations\nthat goaded them to madness; for who will tell the story for the poor\nIndian? Merciless slaughter and extermination is all they have to look\nfor at the hands of men calling themselves Christians.\"\n\n\"Good father, your imagination or ambition, or both, have led you\nastray in these matters, and hoodwinked your reason. You wish to be the\nsole power among these people, and are jealous of intruders who may\nendanger your sway. Your order, if it has not been greatly belied, has\nmore than once mistaken worldly ambition for zeal in the service of\nGod.\"\n\n\"One would think,\" the priest replied, smiling and casting his eyes\naround the comfortless apartment and its meagre furniture--\"one would\nthink that the scattered sons of a suppressed and persecuted order, who\nmust toil diligently with their own hands to procure their sustenance,\nwhile they break the bread of life to these poor savages, might have\nescaped such accusation, if any servant of their Master might; but I\nthank him that he thus permits our enemies to set the seal of sacred\nverity upon the bleakest altars of our sacrifice!\"\n\n\"All this is foreign to the purpose of my visit. I do not wish to\ndispute the glories of your exalted mission or to interfere with its\ndominion, but simply to inquire if we may not in some way propitiate\nyour favor in the interests of our business. I am a man of few words,\nmore accustomed to command than to entreat, and go directly towards the\nobject at which I aim, instead of seeking out crooked paths. We will\nfurnish money, if that will gain your patronage, to build and decorate\ntemples and houses for your missions in these deserts that shall\ndazzle the senses of their savage tribes, and allure their souls to\nChristianity; for a master of the craft needs not to be told how easily\nthey are impressed by external splendor. You would be wise to accept\nour proposal, were it only to promote the great ends for which you are\nstriving.\"\n\n\"Sell the flock to the wolf, for the purpose of building and\nembellishing the fold! But in what direction do you wish our influence\nwith this people to be exercised?\"\n\n\"To draw back to us the trade which they withheld at first through\ndislike of our agents, and are now preparing to transfer to our\nrivals, these newly established American companies, greatly to our\ndisadvantage. We have incurred enormous expense and labor to organize\nand provide our trading-posts at points accessible to them on the\nnorthern rivers, for their convenience as well as our own, to prevent\nthe necessity for frequent and tedious journeys to Montreal; and it\nis unjust to deny us the benefit of them, and transfer it to rival\nassociations. Then, these Americans have interests opposed to ours in\nevery respect. I should think that you, who are a Canadian citizen,\nfrom Montreal like myself, would naturally take our part against our\nProtestant rivals.\"\n\n\"As befits my calling, I shall most approve those who deal most\njustly with my flock, of whatever name or nation. As to religion, I\ngreatly fear it holds but feeble sway, by any name, among those who\nare fighting the fierce battles of Mammon! The officers and agents\nof the new establishments, like those of the Hudson's Bay Company,\nhave, however, given an example, which you would do well to follow,\nby treating the missionaries and their cause with great respect, and\nrefraining from defrauding the natives or seducing them into evil\npractices by the unlimited sale of liquors, by which they are changed\nto demons. The persuasions and example of your _coureurs des bois_ have\ndone much to demoralize the Indians; but your own conduct has done\nmore, as your conscience must testify. Though you renounced the name\nof Catholic when you turned your back upon the obligations it imposes,\nyour apostasy will not shield you from the consequences of your acts.\"\n\nThe gentleman started suddenly to his feet, as if stung by the words,\nhis voice trembling with agitation as he said: \"I see I but waste time\nand words in this parley, since you are resolved to magnify trifling\nfaults into enormous crimes. But remember, should these natives\npersevere in their present savage schemes, and, from refusing to trade\nwith us, proceed in their senseless anger to deeds of blood, it will be\neasy to fasten the odium of instigating their crimes upon you and your\nfraternity, who have stubbornly refused our proffered friendship.\"\n\nAs he gathered his mantle about him to depart, the priest replied\nmeekly: \"Your threats are vain; we have planted the grain of\nmustard-seed in these wilds, and it will grow and flourish. It matters\nnot whether our hands or those of others shall carry on the work we\nhave begun. Our times are in the hands of God, and not of men.\"\n\nAs his visitor withdrew, the reverend father opened his Breviary, and,\npacing the apartment with measured steps, soon forgot the griefs,\nannoyances, and discouragements of his position in the consoling\noccupation of reading his Office, which now entirely absorbed him.\n\nWhile he was thus engaged, the door was opened quietly, and a\nsingular-looking stranger entered without hesitation or ceremony,\ndepositing his rifle at the door. After peering inquisitively around\nthe room, and casting sundry furtive glances towards the deeply\nabstracted priest from keen, gray eyes, which were deeply set under\nshaggy eyebrows, he proceeded to divest himself of a large package\nof furs and a miscellaneous assortment of traps that had been thrown\nover his shoulder, and, taking the place lately occupied by the lordly\ncommander of the post, seated himself on one of the rude settles\nwhich served as chairs in the simple furniture of the lodge, with the\ncareless ease of one accustomed to make himself quite at home wherever\nhe might chance to halt.\n\nThe appearance and dress of this free-and-easy guest were so peculiar\nas to merit description. He was very tall, of lean and bony but\nmuscular frame. He wore a hunting-frock, made from the dressed skin of\nthe antelope, and confined at the waist by a leathern girdle buckled\nfirmly; from which depended, on his right side, a sheath, into which\na large hunting-knife was thrust, and on his left a shorter one for\nanother knife of smaller size, used in skinning the animals taken.\nBy the side of the latter hung a powder-horn and a large leathern\npouch for other ammunition. His nether gear was a compromise between\ncivilized and savage attire, as it served the united purposes of\ntrowsers, leggings, and hose, being laced on one side with thongs of\ndeer's tendons from the knees to his huge feet, which were encased in\nstout moccasins made of buffalo-hide.\n\nHe sat very composedly, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin\non his clasped hands in a musing attitude, his battered, sunburnt, and\nhardened face wearing an expression curiously compounded of shrewd\nintelligence, simplicity, inquisitiveness, and good-humor, over which\na slight dash of veneration cast an unwonted gleam of bashful timidity\nas he threw occasional sidelong glances towards the good father, who,\nwhen he had finished his Office and closed the Breviary, noticed the\npresence of his guest for the first time, and, approaching to greet\nhim, asked whom he had the pleasure to address.\n\n\"Wa'al,\" he replied in a voice cracked, as it were, by the northern\nblasts to which he had long been exposed, and marked by the sharp nasal\ntwang of his native State--\"wa'al, I'm Hezekiah Hulburt, at your\nsarvice. I hail from Conneticut, and follow trappin' for a livin'.\nThe Injins call me Big Foot, and they've told me 'bout you and your\ndewins. Though I haint no great 'pinion of 'em, wild or tame, and don't\nput much faith in what they say, I conclude, from all I've seen and\nheard, that you're a preachin' the Christian religion among 'em under\nconsid'able many difficulties. An Injin needs more'n a double load\nof Gospil truth to overbalance the evil that's in him, and then's,\nlike's not, the fust you know, his Christianity'll kick the beam when\nopportewnity sarves. I know the critters well; and here, a while ago\nwhen our Methodist preachers undertook 'em, I told 'em 'twas no go, the\nChristian religion wouldn't fit an Injin no how; and they found t'was\nso. Mebbe you'll come eout better; and I guess likely you will, for\nyou seem to know better how to go to work with 'em and keep the right\nside on 'em, which is everything with Injins. And then, you've got\nmore things to 'tract their attention, and help to 'splain and 'spound\nScripter truths to an Injin's idees. But this an't what brought me here\nneow. I come to have a little talk with you 'bout the doins of these\nhere fur companies that are kickin' up such a shine among themselves\nand the trappers. It's gittin' to be a plaguy risky bizness to trade\nwith any on 'em, they're so 'tarnal jealous of one another, and each\none's so mad if a fellow trades with any but themselves. Nat'rally\nenough, I take to my own folks, and would ruther trade with the new\ncompany, bein's they're Americans and my own flesh and blood, as a body\nmight say. Now, in this awfully spread-out country, for one who's only\na pilgrim and sojourner, as 'twere, like myself, and who has nothin'\nbut his own broad shoulders to depend on for carrying his marchandise,\nit makes a sight of odds whether he can trade it off near by, or has to\nfoot it across the plains, and as like's not clean to the big lakes,\n'fore he can onshoulder it. I'm a man of peace, and haint no notion\nof goin' in for a fight with 'em, du what they will. But they better\nlook out for them Injins! These Nor'westers haint seen the airthquake\nyet that's to foller that are bizness of the Big Feather; but when it\ncomes, it'll shake 'em in their shoes for all their big feelin's, and\nswaller their proud and scornful leader quicker'n a feller could wink.\nI wash _my_ hands of the whole consarn, but I've hearn the rumblin'\non't, and it's a-comin' as sure's my name is Hezekiah, if suthin' an't\ndone, an' pretty quick time, too! Revinge is an Injin's religion; and\nbe he Christian or be he pagan, what's bred in the bone stays long in\nthe flesh.\"\n\nThe attention of the reverend father was now thoroughly awakened. He\nhad heard from the Indians of the friendly Big Foot and the frequent\nassistance he had given to protect them from the dishonesty of the\ntraders. He proceeded at once to draw from the trapper further\nparticulars of an affair, the rumor of which had reached him and been\nalluded to by him in his interview with his preceding guest, but of\nwhich he could gain but little information from the natives.\n\nThe facts communicated were, that as soon as the new company was\nformed, the Northwest traders had scattered their spies among the\nIndians to watch any symptoms of an intention to transfer the trade,\nwithheld from them on account of their dishonest conduct, into the\nhands of their rivals. These scouts had reported a general movement\nof all those tribes to whom the American stations were accessible,\nindicating their intention to unite among themselves, and open a\nfriendly traffic with the new traders.\n\nThe \"Northwesters,\" as those connected with the old company were\ncalled, took the alarm at the prospect of seeing a large and very\nlucrative branch of their business pass to the benefit of rivals, who\nwere the more formidable from being on their own territory and under\nthe protection of the United States government.\n\nTheir leader in that department, who visited the lodge of the\nmissionary, was a man of unlimited resources; clever and crafty in\nscheming, unscrupulous in executing his devices. He entered without\ndelay upon a systematic course of harassing and perplexing measures\nto clog the machinery and impede the operations of his competitors.\nThere is reason to believe he found efficient aid in these from former\npartners and clerks of the Northwest Company, who, in accordance with\nthe terms of agreement between the two companies at the time the\nAmerican association was organized, had unfortunately been retained in\nits service.\n\nHe also enlisted a motley crew of _voyageurs_, _coureurs des bois_,\nhalf-breeds, free trappers, and renegades from civilization, to carry\nout his well-concerted plans for embarrassing the enterprises of his\nrivals by land and water, and discouraging their officers and agents in\nevery department. All these designs were accomplished with such silent\nadroitness as not only to baffle detection, but to avoid awakening any\nsuspicion in the minds of his victims, who found themselves thwarted\nand defeated at every point without being able to discover the cause.\n\nAs part of his general policy, he dispersed a large body of hirelings\namong the tribes who had formerly been hostile to those embraced in\nthe newly contemplated alliance (but whose animosity had been quelled,\nand mutual friendly relations between the factions established, by the\ndiligent exertions of the missionaries), representing to them that\ntheir ancient enemies were about to unite, under the approbation of\nthe missionaries, with the American companies, to destroy them and\ntake possession of their hunting-grounds; that the missionaries had\nbeen insincere in their professions and instructions, aiming only to\nkeep them quiet until measures were perfected for their ruin. These\nemissaries were also instructed to offer them arms and ammunition, if\nthey would waylay the different parties on their course to the American\ntrading-posts, and prevent their reaching them; and the highest price\nfor any peltries thus obtained.\n\nThe most considerable body of Indians, bound for one of these posts\nwith a large amount of valuable furs, was under command of the great\nchief, Big Feather. Against this band the hostile force was directed.\nIt was surprised, completely routed, and the chief, with many of his\nfollowers, killed. All the goods were conveyed by the victors without\ndelay to the nearest station of the Northwest Company.\n\nTheir operations were equally successful in other quarters, and the\ntrade entirely secured for that season.\n\nThe free trapper whom the Indians called Big Foot had held himself\nneutral, but had noted, with the keen shrewdness of his race, the\ncourse affairs were taking, and had traced the disturbing cause to his\nown satisfaction. He exerted all his influence to pacify the outraged\nIndians, so cruelly betrayed and plundered, and used his best efforts\nto convince the victors of the stratagems and falsehoods by which they\nhad been deceived.\n\nBoth parties listened with cool decorum to his arguments, but would\nmake no reply. This silence was deemed an ill omen by the priest and\nthe hunter.\n\nNow, this chief, Big Feather, had a young daughter, who was the delight\nof his heart and the glory of the whole tribe. She was beautiful,\ngraceful, and modest; with a quiet stateliness of manner that\ndistinguished her among the daughters of her people, and was attributed\nby them to the power of the Christian faith, which she was the first\nof her nation to profess, and soon led her father and brother also to\nreceive.\n\nShe had been so unfortunate as to captivate the unprincipled commander\nof the Northwestern trading-posts, who had used every artifice to gain\nher young heart, and, it was well known, had long sought an opportunity\nto get her within his power. On the night of the ambush and attack\nby which her father lost his life, the quarters where she was left\nwere also attacked, some of the women and children cruelly massacred,\nbut her body and that of her nurse, or attendant--with whom she was\nprovided, as daughter of the chief, according to the custom of the\nnatives--were not to be found among the slain. Her people suspected\nthey had been carried captive to the headquarters of the company.\n\nThe trapper was convinced that her brother, who escaped from the fatal\naffray, and was now chief in the place of his father, was preparing to\nmake a vigorous effort to recapture her and avenge the death of the\nold chief. It would need little persuasion to bring all the natives\nfriendly to his tribe to make common cause with him in such a conflict,\nand scenes of frightful bloodshed must ensue, the end of which could\nhardly be conjectured.\n\nThe question discussed with painful anxiety between the missionary\nand the trapper was, whether anything could be done to prevent this\nshocking result. To this end, a Christian brave of the village was\nsummoned, and the subject of their conference explained to him.\n\n\"And now,\" said the reverend father, \"if you know of any plans of this\nkind, or of any means by which their execution can be prevented, it is\nyour duty, and I conjure you, to reveal them.\"\n\n\"The voice of our father is good,\" replied the Indian with great\nrespect, \"and, when he speaks for the Great Spirit, his words are\nstrong; but would he make of his son a babbling woman? Who drew the\nknife? Was it the hand of thy children that dug up the hatchet? And\nshall they talk of peace when the blood of their chief and his men\ncries to them for vengeance. When the daughter of our nation is seized\nfor the wigwam of him whose words filled the coverts with creeping foes\nto drink our blood, shall we give him our Bird of Heaven and say 'it is\nwell'?\"\n\n\"But if she could be recovered without the shedding of blood; if a\ncouncil of the Indians on both sides could be called, that the truth\nof this matter might be fully revealed and understood, would it not be\nbetter than useless strife? The traders care not for your race. They\ncare not if you fight until there is no one left of your tribes to tell\nthe tale; and will you give them that satisfaction? They have set you\nagainst each other. They have deceived your brothers with lying words;\nand will you crown their lies with success? Above all, shall it be said\nthat we have delivered the message of peace and the commands of the\nGreat Spirit to his children of the wilderness in vain?\"\n\n\"If he loves his children, why did he not smite their foes? The tongue\nof the pale-face is long; its words reach afar. They are sweet as\nhoney, while his heart is full of poison. His arm is strong, and the\nknives in his camp are sharp. His coverts in the wilds are many, and\npast finding out. Who shall find and bring back our daughter, if we\ntake not the war-path to the strong house of the pale chief?\"\n\n\"I'll warrant ye I will!\" exclaimed the trapper, unable to remain\nsilent any longer. \"I haven't wandered through this awfully mixed-up\npart of God's creation, where the woods and the waters, the mountains\nand the valleys, lay round in a permiscus jumble that'd puzzle a\nPhiladelphy lawyer, for these twenty years, without sarchin' out\nas many hidin'-places as there's quills on a hedgehog. And to say\nthat I've sojourned all that time among Injins of all sorts, on the\nfreendliest tarms, and 'thout a hard word with any on 'em, drunk or\nsober, heathen or Christian, to be carcumvented by a pesky Britisher\nat last, is an idee that'd raise a Yankee's dander if anything would.\nNo, no! Just you jine hands with me, and he'll find he's no match\nfor Injins and a Yankee, or my name an't Hezekiah! We'll be too much\nfor the 'tarnal sarpent!\" And he fell into a series of low chuckles\nexpressive of his foregone persuasion of victory.\n\n\"Enough!\" said the Indian gravely. \"The ear of the young chief shall\nbe filled with the words of our father and the Big Foot, and his voice\nmake reply.\" And he departed. The missionary requested the trapper to\nremain with him through the night and until the answer of the young\nchief should be made known.\n\n                      TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH.\n\n\n\n\nS. CATHARINE OF RICCI.[137]\n\n  [The following sketch of a great Dominican saint is from the pen of\n  a member of the same order who escaped in an extraordinary manner\n  from the massacre of Paris. We are pleased to learn that a colony\n  from the French province so auspiciously restored by F. Lacordaire\n  is about to be established in St. Hyacinthe, Canada.--ED. C. W.]\n\n\n\"All the mysteries of Jesus Christ gleam with the same brightness,\"\nsays Bossuet; they are stamped with the mark of that divine folly which\nis the summit of wisdom, and of which S. Paul spoke when he confessed\nthat he knew nothing but Jesus Christ crucified, and wished no other\nglory than his sublime ignominy. Now, this scandal of the cross is\nespecially manifested in the lives of the saints; for the saints are\nthe most faithful images of Jesus Christ crucified. The world does not\nunderstand these magnanimous souls, all of whose desires tend to the\nthings above; it is offended by this scandal, and sympathizes only\nwith those lives in which the mysteries of divine love are closely\nconcealed. It does not understand the Gospel, and is, as it were,\nblinded by these words of Jesus Christ. \"Father, I thank thee that\nthese things have been concealed from the proud, and revealed to the\nhumble of heart.\"\n\n\"Whenever,\" again says Bossuet, \"we attempt to fathom the depths of\ndivine wisdom by our own strength, we are lost and confounded by our\npride; whereas the humble of heart may enter therein undisturbed.\"\nSuch are the maxims to be kept in view whilst reading the lives of the\nsaints, and especially the admirable life of S. Catharine of Ricci,\nwherein God pleased to manifest to the world all the riches and all the\nfolly of his love.\n\nS. Catharine of Ricci was born at Florence on the 23d of April, 1522.\nOn the day following, she was baptized in the church of S. John the\nBaptist, and received the name of Lucretia Alexandrina Romola. Her\nfather was the head of the family of Ricci, one of the most illustrious\nin Florence, and her mother was the last offspring of the noble house\nof Ricasoli. From her earliest years Alexandrina gave evidence of the\neminent sanctity to which God had predestined her. When only three\nyears old, she began to devote herself to prayer. She sought solitude\nand silence, that she might more freely converse with God, who wished\nto draw to himself the earliest affections of this chosen soul. When\nGod predestines a soul to heroic sanctity, he generally bestows on her\nmany special graces, even before the development of free will gives\nto the creature the full possession of herself. True, there are many\nexceptions; God calls to himself some, who, having allowed themselves\nto be deceived by the artful smiles of the world, bring to the foot\nof the altar only the shattered fragments of their hearts; but in\ngeneral, he comes before the dawn, knocks at the door of the heart, and\ncries out, as in the Canticle: \"Open to me, my sister, my spouse; for\nmy head is covered with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.\"\n\nIt was at once evident that Alexandrina was not made for the empty\nand turbulent pleasures of worldly life. God could not permit so\npure a chalice to be profaned; so sweet a flower could blossom only\nunder the quiet shelter of the cloister. It was in the convent of the\nBenedictine nuns of S. Peter de Monticelli that the daughter of Pier\nFrancesco de Ricci was initiated into the monastic life. It was a house\nof education, and Alexandrina entered there as a pupil. The religious,\nseeing the angelic piety of the child, doubted not that she would one\nday take the habit of their order. Unfortunately, the primitive fervor,\ncharity, self-abnegation, and humility ceased to dwell within these\ncloisters; and Alexandrina, perceiving that she could not there make\nher permanent abode, at the age of nine years returned to her father's\nhouse. There she continued, as well as she could, the customs of the\nconvent, without objection from her father, who, considering them as\ninnocent plays of a puerile piety, allowed her full liberty to exercise\nher devotions.\n\nBut Alexandrina had higher views. Already had she decided, in her own\nmind, to become a religious. One day, two lay Sisters of the Monastery\nof S. Vincent de Prato came to Pier Francesco to beg alms. Alexandrina\nwas so edified by their piety, their modesty and recollection, that\nshe decided at once that the convent of Prato was the one to which God\ncalled her. She acquainted her father with her determination; but he,\nunwilling to be separated from a child who was all his joy, replied by\na formal refusal. He knew not that when God calls a soul to himself,\neven the heart of a father must yield to the irresistible attraction of\nthat love in comparison with which all other affections, even the most\nholy, are incapable of enchaining a soul which listens to the voice of\nJesus Christ. Therefore, rather than see his daughter wither like a\nplant kept from its native soil, he permitted Alexandrina to receive\nthe veil in the convent of Prato. She received the habit of S. Dominic\non Whitmonday, May 18, 1535, having completed her thirteenth year. She\ntook the name of Catharine, in memory of her mother, who had been dead\nseveral years. The fervor of the young novice can be easily imagined;\nbut God, who had destined her to the most sublime revelations,\nwished to cast into the depth of her soul the foundation of all\nsolid virtue--humility; therefore, he permitted that this precious\ntreasure should not be appreciated by the community during her year of\nnovitiate. The supernatural gifts which had already been bestowed upon\nher rendered more difficult the obligations of common life. Meanwhile,\nshe was admitted to profession on the 24th of June, 1536. From that\nday the order of S. Dominic received a new and most pure glory. This\nglory had been foretold by Savonarola, who, one day pointing to a place\nin his neighborhood, said to some religious of S. Dominic: \"There a\nfervent community of pious sisters will be soon established.\" As soon\nas the soul of Catharine, like an altar prepared for a long sacrifice,\nwas consecrated by her religious vows, Jesus Christ surrounded her with\nhis sweetest favors, and illumined her with his most brilliant lights.\n\nBut lest the sublimity of these revelations might weaken the profound\nhumility of this soul, God permitted that the Sisters of Prato, far\nfrom admiring in her the wonders of the divine operations, understood\nnothing of these ecstasies, which they attributed to the most common\ncauses; and, in fine, she was afflicted by two terrible diseases, which\nlasted two years, after which she was miraculously cured by blessed\nJerome Savonarola. At this time the Sisters of Prato began to judge\nmore rightly their holy companion, and her confessor commanded her to\ntell him faithfully all that God deigned to reveal to her in these\nintimate communications.\n\nIt is here begins that wonderful succession of extraordinary favors\nbestowed on S. Catharine de Ricci. Her life seemed one continual\necstasy; her visions participated more and more in the divine light;\nher union with Jesus Christ, consecrated by a nuptial love and the\nstigmata, became more intimate; the report of her sanctity spread\nitself abroad; the most important personages of Italy came to Prato\nto consult and venerate the humble religious, whose whole life is an\neloquent teaching and living representation of Jesus Christ crucified.\nThis part of the saint's life contains facts of too elevated a\ncharacter to be completely treated of in a synopsis; it is necessary to\nread those chapters in which the author has so well treated of the most\ndifficult questions of mystical theology. But it is easier to follow S.\nCatharine in the government of her monastery and her salutary influence\nabroad.\n\nShe was elected prioress in the first month of the year 1552. Her\nimmediate duty was to instruct her sisters, and to inspire them with an\nappreciation of their sublime vocation. Often she called her community\nto the chapter-room, and, addressing to them a doctrine which came\nfrom God himself, she taught her spiritual daughters the way they were\nto follow in order to reach the summit of religious perfection. She\nhas left us an abridgment of her mystical teaching in a letter which\nshe addressed to a religious. \"At first,\" says she, \"we must endeavor\nto be disengaged from every earthly affection, loving no creature but\nfor God's sake; then, advancing a degree, we must love God, not only\nfrom self-interest, but purely for himself and because of his supreme\nexcellence.\n\n\"Secondly, all our thoughts, words, and actions should tend towards\nGod; and by our prayers, exhortations, and good example, we should aim\nonly at procuring his glory in ourselves and in others.\n\n\"Thirdly, and lastly, we should rise still higher in the fulfilment of\nGod's will, to such a degree as to have no longer any desire in regard\nto the misfortunes or joys which happen to us in this miserable life.\n\n\"But we shall never arrive at this height of perfection unless\nby a firm and courageous denial of our own will. To acquire such\nself-abnegation, it is absolutely necessary to lay the foundation of\nprofound humility, that, by a perfect knowledge of our own misery and\nfragility, we may ascend to the knowledge of the greatness and goodness\nof our God.\"\n\nIt appears that the whole spiritual doctrine of S. Catharine is\ncontained in these two fundamental points--self-abnegation and\nhumility, in order to deserve the enjoyment of divine contemplation:\nthis is the true and the only way to sanctity.\n\nAlthough the first duty of a superior is to guide those confided to\nhis care, he has, however, a more painful task--he must govern them;\nand it is here that the superior meets the most serious obstacles in\nthe exercise of his charge. It is always difficult to govern others;\nfor government is the application of laws with firmness, yet without\ntoo much severity. Now, human nature shrinks from submission, which,\nnevertheless, the superior is obliged to require, unless he be a\nprevaricator; on the other side, he must often adopt measures of\ngovernment which can be discerned only by the most consummate prudence\nand a profound knowledge of the weakness of human nature.\n\nIn a religious community the difficulty is still greater; for the law\nis supported by conscience only, and it tends to guide those who have\naccepted it to that ideal perfection in which the soul is no longer\nattached to the earth. During forty years S. Catharine governed the\nconvent of Prato with a prudence, a sweetness, and a firmness that\nmade it the perfect type of a religious community. She combated most\nenergetically all abusive exemptions from common life, and showed\nherself a faithful guardian of holy observances. But if she was the\nenemy of relaxation of the rule, she also censured severely the proud\nzeal of those souls whose whole perfection consisted in repeating the\nprayer of the Pharisee: \"O God, I thank you that I am not as the rest\nof men. I fast twice a week.\"\n\nUnder the direction of a prioress so holy and so wise, the Sisters of\nPrato walked with rapid strides in the way of perfection; and how could\nit be otherwise, when they beheld their superioress tender towards them\nas a mother, and discharging her offices sometimes even in the raptures\nproduced by the divine revelations?\n\nThe influence of S. Catharine was not confined to the monastery of\nPrato. God would not permit that this community should be the only\nwitness of such elevated sanctity. The religious of her order--her\nbrethren in S. Dominic--were the first witnesses of the extraordinary\ngraces which she had received from heaven, and, on her side, S.\nCatharine had for them the greatest esteem, the most lively affection,\nregarding them as laborers chosen by God to cultivate his choicest\nvineyard. Every time the fathers came to Prato to exercise the\nfunctions of prior, confessor, or preacher, they seemed to her as \"so\nmany angels descended from heaven, whose presence alone was sufficient\nto inspire the sisters with sentiments of respect, and whose coming was\nto infuse fresh zeal for a more perfect life.\"\n\nBy degrees the influence of S. Catharine, and the renown of her\nsanctity, were spread throughout Italy. Persons from all parts came\nto consult her and beg her prayers. Joan of Austria, Archduchess of\nTuscany, was bound to her by a tender friendship; she went often to\nthe convent of Prato to confide to the holy prioress all the vexations\nand sorrows of her life. She profited so well by the counsels of her\nholy friend that she was no longer called by other name than the good\narchduchess. As if Germany envied Italy the treasure she possessed\nin the monastery of Prato, the King of Bavaria sent his son there\nto convince himself of that which the renown had spread concerning\nthis servant of God, and to recommend himself and his kingdom to her\nprayers. The influence of S. Catharine in the world had been deepest on\nthose whom the author of her life so justly calls her spiritual sons:\nAntonio de Gondi, Philippo Salviati, Giovanni-Batisti de Servi, Lorenzo\nStrozzi, and many others.\n\nThe first and most celebrated of all was of the illustrious house of\nGondi. A branch of this family established itself in France at the\ncommencement of the XVIth century, and from it descended the famous\nCardinal de Retz.\n\nThe author, in devoting a short and interesting biography to some of\nthe spiritual sons of S. Catharine, shows us what salutary influence\nshe exercised over the chief persons of her country, and to what degree\nof eminent sanctity she conducted those souls who sought her direction.\nFaithful to all the suggestions of gratitude, she did not forget that\nthe great Apostle of Tuscany had prophesied the glory of the monastery\nof Prato, and that twice she had been cured by his supernatural\nintervention; therefore, she forwarded in every way devotion to\nSavonarola. She charged Brother Nicholas Fabiani to revise the writings\nof that celebrated Dominican, and she addressed herself to Count Luis\nCapponi to procure a beautiful portrait of Savonarola. She had for that\nillustrious character the tenderness of a daughter and the admiration\nwhich a great life inspires in a soul capable of comprehending it.\n\nThe last years of the life of S. Catharine was a union the most\nintimate with God, a continual succession of ecstasies; her body was on\nearth, but her soul was in heaven.\n\nTowards the month of January, she fell sick, and died on Friday, the 2d\nof February, in the same year. Numerous miracles attested the eminent\nsanctity of her life. She was beatified by Pope Clement XII. on the\n30th of April, 1732, and was canonized by Benedict XIV. on the 20th of\nJune, 1746.\n\nThis is an incomplete synopsis of the two volumes published by R. P.\nBayonne. This work, destined to make known one of the greatest glories\nof the order, recommends itself to us by the grandeur of the subject\nitself, and unites a solid doctrine to a brilliant style, and all the\ncharms of a perfect narration. We hope it will soon be translated into\nEnglish, that the American public may become more fully acquainted with\na book which takes an honorable place in modern literature.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[137] _Life of S. Catharine of Ricci_, Religious of the Third Order of\nS. Dominic. By R. P. Hyacinth Bayonne, O.S.D.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GREATEST GRIEF.\n\n\n                    FROM THE FRENCH OF MARIE JENNA.\n\n    Yes, Father! on the altar of the past\n    We may lay down a joy, too sweet to last;\n    See the flowers wither that our pathway strewed,\n    Incline our brows beneath the tempest rude,\n    Behold the rainbow glory fade away\n    That made fair promise for our opening day:\n    And yet, like that poor stricken plant, survive,\n    Blighted by frost, half dead and half alive,\n    Give to the desert winds our morning dream,\n    And _still_ support our agony supreme!\n    We may behold, stretched on a bed of pain,\n    The form to which we minister in vain--\n    The last, the dearest, the _consoling_ friend--\n    Count every moment of his weary end,\n    Kiss the pale brow, and watch each wavering breath;\n    Close the cold eyelids, murmur, \"This is death!\"\n    And still _once more_ to life and hope belong.\n    O God! _thou_ knowest through faith the heart grows strong\n    But, ah! another human soul to love\n    So fondly that we tremble as above\n    Its purity and beauty we incline,\n    Then suddenly to mark its depths divine\n    Shadowed and chilled, and from our Paradise\n    Perceive an icy, vaporous breath arise,\n    Whence blew sweet zephyrs, odorous with grace!\n    To seek in vain religion's luminous trace\n    Amid the ashes of her ruined shrine,\n    To pray, to weep, to doubt, to hope, divine\n    All _but_ the truth; and at the last to dare\n    The long, deep look that tells us our despair,\n    Revealing vacancy, a faith withdrawn\n    Without a glance towards the retreating dawn,\n    Without a cry of grief, a sigh, a prayer--\n    O God! that loss is more than we can bear!\n\n\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\n  CATHOLICITY AND PANTHEISM--ALL TRUTH OR NO TRUTH. An Essay by the\n    Rev. J. De Concilio, etc., etc. New York: Sadliers. 1874.\n\nThis essay was first published in THE CATHOLIC WORLD, and we are\nglad to see it published in a separate volume. It is not a complete\ntreatise, but only one complete part of a treatise, the _prima prim\u00e6_\nof a more extensive work, which we hope the author may be able to\nwrite and publish. F. De Concilio is one of our most learned and\nacute philosophers and theologians, a disciple of no modern clique\nor innovating system, a vender of no patent contrivance of his own\nfor reconciling contraries, but a modest yet intrepid advocate and\ndefender of the old time honored scholastic wisdom of S. Thomas. In\nits own line, his essay is superior to anything ever before produced\nin this country, and we trust that due attention and a just meed of\npraise will be awarded to it by the few who will be able to understand\nit, in Europe as well as in America. If the author, who has for a long\ntime struggled to bring his work into the light, is left in the lurch\nby everybody, as the learned Dr. Smith has been in England with his\nsplendid unfinished work on the Pentateuch, it will be a sad proof of\nour intellectual degeneracy.\n\nWe will not make a critical review of F. De Concilio's argument in\nthe present short notice, but we think a few words in reply to some\ncriticisms which have been made, and may be repeated, either publicly\nor in private, are almost imperatively called for.\n\nThe only one of these criticisms really worth any attention relates\nto the argument from reason for the Trinity. It has been objected by\nsome very respectable theologians that the rational argument for the\nTrinity professes to demonstrate from purely rational principles of\nnatural human intelligence the entire revealed mystery of the Trinity.\nWe admit frankly that, if the supposition is correct, the censure\nfounded on it, that the author has undertaken something pronounced by\nCatholic doctrine impossible and unlawful, is just and inevitable. We\nhave never, however, understood the author in this sense. We understand\nhim to profess to argue in part from premises given by revelation,\nand thus merely to explicate a theological doctrine, and in part to\nfurnish proofs from pure reason, first, that the rational objections\nagainst the dogma are invalid; and, second, that the dogma as disclosed\nby revelation taken as a philosophical hypothesis, and it alone,\nsatisfactorily solves certain difficult problems respecting the divine\nnature, which otherwise would be insoluble. So far as any direct proof\nof the distinction and proprieties of the three persons in God is\nconcerned, we understand that such proof is put forward as inadequate\nand only probable, but by no means either a complete or strictly\ndemonstrative argument.\n\nWe think, therefore, with due submission to higher authority, that the\nauthor escapes the censures of the Syllabus and the Vatican Council,\nand attempts no more than has been done by Bossuet, Lacordaire, and\nother great thinkers, who have never been thought to have gone beyond\nthe bounds of allowed liberty. We leave the author, however, to defend\nand advocate his own cause, if it requires to be further vindicated,\nand merely give this statement as an explanation of our own reason\nfor admitting his admirable articles into this magazine without any\nalteration.\n\nAnother criticism, which the author himself has sufficiently answered,\nimputed to him the doctrine of a necessary creation and of _optimism_.\nIt is only necessary to read his book carefully to see how unfounded is\nthis imputation.\n\nStill more futile is an objection, urged by the author of the criticism\njust now noticed, that F. De Concilio's opinion of the precedence\nof the decree of the incarnation to the decree of the redemption of\nfallen man is contrary to the opinion of S. Thomas and the _schola_\ngenerally. Be it so! But what then? Must we follow the common opinion,\nor that which is extrinsically more probable, if the contrary opinion\nhas a real intrinsic and extrinsic probability? _Minime gentium!_ F.\nDe Concilio but follows S. Athanasius, Suarez, and other authors whose\nworks have passed the Roman censorship, against S. Thomas; and he gives\ngood intrinsic reasons for doing so. Let any one who wishes to attack\nhim do so by refuting his arguments; but it is most untheological to\nfind fault with his opinion as any less sound and orthodox than the\ncontrary. Let us be rigorous in censuring opinions which are really\nunsound and untenable, but let us beware of that carping and unfriendly\nspirit which has always been the bane of theological discussions, and\nwhich throws out the imputation of unsoundness without a certain and\nsufficient warrant of authority. We do not concur in all the opinions\nwhich are held in the school which F. De Concilio follows, and which\nmust inevitably come out with greater distinctness in the second part\nof his essay; but we shall look forward with pleasure to see him\ndevelop and defend them with his usual masterly ability, and we express\nour great desire that he should write as much as his pastoral duties\nwill permit on philosophical and theological topics.\n\n  THE CHRISTIAN TRUMPET; or, Previsions and Predictions about\n    Impending General Calamities, the Universal Triumph of the\n    Church, the Coming of Antichrist, the Last Judgment, and the End\n    of the World. Divided into three parts. Compiled by Pellegrino.\n    \"The testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy,\" Apoc. xix.\n    10. Boston: Patrick Donahoe. 1873.\n\nIt is beyond question among learned and devout Catholics that many\nsaints and pious servants of God in all ages have received private\nrevelations in which are contained predictions of events in a near or\nremote future time to the recipients of this supernatural light. It\nis, moreover, certain that a number of supernatural and miraculous\nevents of a most extraordinary character, and evidently intended\nas warnings to the good as well as to the wicked, and some very\ncredible revelations respecting great judgments and great mercies\nof God which are impending, have occurred in our own time. It must\nbe, therefore, not only interesting, but useful, to have authentic\nand judicious accounts of grave and sacred matters of this kind\npublished and circulated among the faithful. A collection of this\nsort has been published in France by a learned priest, the Abb\u00e9\nCuricque, with the approbation of several bishops, entitled _Voix\nProph\u00e9tiques_; and several other critical and judicious writers in\nEurope have published books or articles relating to different persons\nand events of this extraordinary class, which are truly valuable,\ninstructive, and edifying. The end and object of the compiler of the\nbook before us is, therefore, one which we must approve, although we\nare sorry not to be able to give an unqualified commendation to the\nmanner in which he has executed his task. That he is a very pious and\nzealous priest is evident at first sight. That he has laid down in\ngeneral terms the sound theological doctrine about the credibility of\nprivate revelations, and made some very just reflections and timely\nexhortations about the times in which we live, and the sentiments we\nought to cherish and put in practice in view of the certain approach of\nthe consummation of this world, is also obvious to any reader of his\nbook. The research and painstaking which he has used in collecting his\nmaterials are very great, and the greatest part of them are undoubtedly\nderived from respectable and trustworthy sources of information, and\ntherefore entitled to credit.\n\nNevertheless, as a whole, the compilation lacks the sobriety,\ndiscretion, and authority which a book of this kind ought to have,\nin order to give it proper credibility and weight with the general\nclass of readers, who cannot judge for themselves or discriminate\nproperly, and who need, therefore, that evidence should be given them\nby reference to standard authorities, and by the guarantee of names\nwhich are known to them and sufficient to warrant their belief in the\ngenuineness and credibility of such remarkable documents as those\ncontained in this compilation. An anonymous author, whose work appears\nwithout any ecclesiastical approbation or recommendation of persons\nknown to the Catholic public, is entitled to no credit on his own mere\nassertion. He must cite his authorities and witnesses, and must exact\nno assent without giving a sufficient motive. A translation of the work\nof the Abb\u00e9 Curicque would, in our opinion, have been much more likely\nto accomplish the end of the pious author than a compilation like the\none he has made. Moreover, there are some things in this book, and\nthese the very matters which make the most exorbitant demand on the\ncredulity of the reader, for which no evidence whatever is furnished\nbut the _on dit_ of certain unknown parties. Other things are very\ndoubtful; some are contradictory to one another. The author mixes\nup with the citations he makes his own favorite view of the course\nof present and coming events, especially about the schism and the\nanti-popes, whose coming he forebodes; and a haze of the visionary,\nthe wondrous, and the improbable is thus thrown over the whole, which\nenvelopes even that which is really entitled to credence and pious\nveneration, and tends to bring the whole into suspicion and discredit.\nThe hint thrown out that a certain cardinal, whose name might as\nwell have been given, since every one will know who is meant, may\nbecome an anti-pope, is contrary to Christian charity and prudence;\nand, in general, we must notice with regret that the author's zeal\nis sadly lacking in discretion, and devoid of that delicate tact and\ndiscernment, more necessary in one who handles such difficult and\nperilous themes than in any other sort of writer or teacher of the\npeople.\n\nIt is not the fault of the author, who is a foreigner, that he has\nfallen into many inaccuracies of language; but we think the publisher\nmight have secured a revision of the text by some competent person, and\nthat it would have been in better taste, as well as more befitting the\nreserve and sobriety due to matters which are so very serious, if he\nhad made a less sensational announcement of the book. It is, however,\nnotwithstanding these drawbacks, certainly a very curious collection\nof documents and pieces of information which are interesting to know\nabout, and contains so much that is truly valuable and edifying that we\nhope it will not only gratify curiosity, but also do good to a great\nmany of its readers, by turning their attention to the great subjects\nwhich it presents in such vivid colors, and in a startling proximity to\nthe present and coming events of our own age.\n\nIn order to assist those of our readers who may wish to have some\ndirection to guide them in perusing this book with discrimination and\nunderstanding, we will specify in part which are the most valuable\nand trustworthy portions, which are less so, and which are altogether\nwithout sufficient grounds of probability to entitle them to any regard.\n\nFirst, there are the prophecies of canonized or beatified saints, whose\nauthenticity is well established and their interpretation more or\nless clear. These are the prophecies of S. Remigius, S. Cesarius, S.\nEdward, S. John of the Cross, and the B. Andrew Bobola, S.J. In regard\nto those of S. Bridget of Sweden and S. Francis of Paul, they would be\nentitled to equal respect, if clearer evidence were furnished of their\nauthenticity than that given by the author--a matter in regard to which\nwe are not able to pronounce any judgment. The prophecy of S. Malachy\nis one in respect to which there is great difference of opinion. We\ngive our own for what it is worth, after some reading on the subject,\nin its favor. After these come the prophecies of persons of recognized\nsanctity, which have gained credit with judicious and well-informed\npersons competent to form an enlightened opinion. The most valuable\nand trustworthy of these are from the V. Holzhauser, the V. Anna Maria\nTaigi, the V. Cur\u00e9 of Ars, F. Necktou, S.J., Jane le Royer, S\u0153ur de la\nNativit\u00e9, and Mary Lataste. The prophecies of the Solitary of Orval\nand of the Nun of Blois have their warm partisans and opponents, the\nAbb\u00e9 Curicque being among their defenders. The Signora Palma d'Orio\nis a person whose ecstatic state seems to be beyond reasonable doubt,\nyet it is difficult to ascertain with certainty what she has really\npredicted; so that what is reported from her, although interesting, is\nscarcely to be considered as having evidence enough to be classed among\nauthentic predictions. The revelations made to Maximin and Melanie\nappear to us to belong to a similar category, as worthy of the greatest\nrespect in themselves if we had an ample guarantee of their genuineness\nand authenticity, but as not yet placed in a sufficiently clear light\nto warrant a prudent assent. The remainder of the contents we pass\nover without any special remark, with the exception of those few\nmatters which we have noted above as making an exorbitant demand on the\nreader's credulity without any evidence to warrant it. One of these\npoints is the story of David Lazzaretti, another about Zoe Tonari,\n\"destined soon to be a second Joan of Arc,\" and the most censurable\nof all is what is said about Antichrist having been born in 1860, and\nother things connected with the same. (Pp. 265-268.)\n\nIn connection with the wonderful narrative of David Lazzaretti the\nauthor has woven a very flimsy texture of conjectures out of the\nmaterials furnished by some of the curious documents which he cites for\nhis hypothesis of a schism and two anti-popes to come immediately after\nthe death of Pius IX. It is with regret that we are compelled to touch\non these subjects in such a superficial manner; they require careful\nhandling. Excessive and imprudent credulity in those who have faith and\npiety is certainly unreasonable, and may be blamable and hurtful.\n\nBut the utter incredulity and dogged refusal to admit anything\nmiraculous and supernatural which is exhibited by our modern illuminati\nis the very _ne plus ultra_ of unreason, and the acme of wilful,\ndespicable, and wicked folly. The most sensible, as well as the most\npious rule is, to follow the church without reservation in all that\nshe teaches and sanctions, and in those things concerning which she is\nsilent to follow her saints and doctors, who are the most enlightened\nof all men.\n\n  SPAIN AND CHARLES VII.; or, \"Who is the Legitimate Sovereign?\" By\n    General Kirkpatrick. Published under the sanction of the Carlist\n    Committee. London: Burns, Oates & Co. 1873. (New York: Sold by\n    The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\nThis timely and clearly-written plea for Don Carlos places beyond\na question his right to the Spanish throne. The Bourbons succeeded\nto the Spanish throne through the marriage of Louis XIV. with the\nInfanta of Spain, eldest daughter of Philip IV. Her grandson, Philip\nV., became king on the failure of direct issue from his grand-uncle,\nCharles II., the son of Philip IV. The Salic law, confirming the\nsuccession to the heirs male of the royal house, was established by\nPhilip V. and his cortes, with the consent of all the great powers,\nin order to prevent the union of the French and Spanish crowns, the\nKing of Spain relinquishing all his rights as a French prince. This\nlaw has never been validly repealed. Christina of Naples, the queen of\nFerdinand VII., a most ambitious and unprincipled princess, had this\nlaw violently and illegally set aside in order to make way for her\ndaughter Isabella to ascend the throne. The base and illegal nature of\nthe intrigues by which Don Carlos and his family were exiled from Spain\nand deprived of their just rights is fully exposed by Gen. Kirkpatrick.\nCharles V., the brother of Ferdinand VII., was succeeded in his claim\nto the throne by his son, Charles VI., in 1845, who, dying in 1861\nwithout issue, was succeeded by his brother, Don Juan, who abdicated\nOctober, 1868, in favor of his son, the present Don Carlos, who is now\ntwenty-five years of age, and married to the niece of the Comte de\nChambord. Charles V. would undoubtedly have succeeded in regaining his\nthrone but for the shameful interference of Louis Philippe of France,\nand the English crown. The party of Christina was composed of all the\nliberals, communists, and enemies of the church, and Isabella was\nmerely tolerated by the sound and Catholic majority of the nation from\nnecessity.\n\nThe clergy, the ancient nobility, the peasantry, and most of the\nfriends of order and religion in all classes, desire the restoration\nof Don Carlos to the throne, which belongs to him by the laws of the\nSpanish constitution. It is very true that a mere restitution of\nlegitimate monarchy is not a certain guarantee for good government, and\nthat many of the Bourbons have been bad rulers. It is, nevertheless,\nthe only hope for Spain; and the character and principles of Don Carlos\ngive reason to hope that, taught by adversity and trained by experience\nto value the sound Catholic traditions of Spain, he will prove to be a\ngood sovereign. We wish him, therefore, most cordially, a speedy and\ncomplete triumph, which we believe he is in the way to win.\n\n  ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. By His Eminence Cardinal Wiseman. In\n    Six Volumes. Vols. V., VI. New York: P. O'Shea. 1873.\n\nThese two volumes complete the series of the famous cardinal's\n_Essays_. The Catholic reader is under great obligations to Mr. O'Shea\nfor the reprint of these splendid compositions, the London edition\nbeing out of print. It is to be regretted, however, that the references\nadapted to that edition should not have been changed to suit the\npresent issue. Having indicated one fault, we might as well inquire of\nthe publisher why he _will_ use perfumed paper in his books? Though not\na serious objection, it is an annoying one to reasonably fastidious\nreaders, as we happen to know.\n\nVol. V. opens with an article on Spain, which takes up more than\nhalf the book. It is superfluous to remark that this essay is of\npeculiar interest at the present hour. Next we have a vindication\nof Pope Boniface VIII.--a very important subject. Then a review of\nMontalembert's _S. Elizabeth of Hungary_. The three remaining articles\nare specimens of the writer's scholarship as an antiquarian. Vol.\nVI. contains ten essays. The first treats learnedly of S. Peter's\nchair at Rome. A plate accompanies the article. The fifth administers\nflagellation to Charles Dickens for certain things in his _American\nNotes_; and also to Mrs. Trollope, for her _Visit to Italy_. Then\nfollow four other essays on the subject of Italy: \"Italian Guides and\nTourists,\" \"Religion in Italy,\" \"Italian Gesticulation,\" and \"Early\nItalian Academies.\" The volume concludes with \"Sense _vs._ Science.\"\n\nWe are reminded, while noticing the completion of this work, of an\narticle on the Donatist schism, \"Catholic and Anglican Churches\" (p.\n199, v. iii.), which \"caused in no slight degree\" the doubt which first\ncrossed the mind of Dr. John Henry Newman \"of the tenableness of the\ntheological theory on which Anglicanism is based,\" and which we cannot,\ntherefore, do better than commend to the serious attention of all\nhonest and conscientious Episcopalians.\n\n  BIBLE HISTORY, with Maps, Illustrations, Examination Questions,\n    Scriptural Tables, and Glossary. For the use of Colleges,\n    Schools, Families, and Biblical Students. By the Rev. James\n    O'Leary, D.D. _Permissu Superiorum_. \u2720 John, Archbishop of New\n    York. New York: Sadliers. 1873.\n\nWe cordially recommend this excellent and beautifully printed manual\nto all those for whom the title states it has been prepared by its\nlearned author. It will be a favorite, especially with young people\nand children, whether used as a class or a reading book, particularly\non account of its pictures, which are generally good, and many of\nwhich are remarkably fine. Such a book, which, so far as we know, is\nmuch the best of the kind, must do incalculable good; and we hope it\nwill be appreciated by parents and teachers, so as to find its way\ninto every family and school throughout our country and elsewhere,\nwherever Catholics are found who use the English language. The author\nhas done well by taking into account those generally received facts\nand hypotheses of natural science which have a bearing on topics\nhandled, in their connection with the facts and truths of revelation,\nby the sacred writers. His statement, however, that the surface of the\nearth bears on it the marks of perturbations caused by the Deluge,\nand otherwise not capable of scientific explanation, is not one which\ngeologists would admit, and we doubt very much its correctness.\n\nOn page 16 the author observes that, \"as the divinity of Christ was\ndoubted before the Council of Nice, so these [deutero-canonical] books\nand passages might have been doubted before the decision of the church.\"\n\nThe cases are not parallel. The divinity of Christ was an article\nof faith before the definition of the Council of Nice, and no good\nCatholic could doubt it. But the canonical authority of certain books\nwas not an article of faith before it was defined, and might have been,\nas it indeed was, doubted by good Catholics.\n\nWe think the author would improve his work by inserting a good,\nsuccinct historical account of the events which occurred between the\nperiod of the Books of the Machabees and that of the Evangelists.\nMoreover, we do not like the termination \"eth\" in the index, which\nis unnecessarily quaint and old-fashioned, or approve all the rhymes\nwhich precede the chapters, although some of them are not without a\nquaint poetic vigor, and most of them are terse and ingenious, likely,\ntherefore, to strike the fancy and stick in the memory of children.\n\nIt is seldom that we take the trouble to make so many criticisms on\na book. This one, however, is so good and so very important that we\nwould like to see the author continue to improve it in every new\nedition, and therefore offer our suggestions in the most kindly\nand respectful spirit to the reverend and learned author, adding to\nwhat we have already said in commendation of the _Bible History_\nthat it is not merely a good school-book, but a work of really sound\nand solid scholarship. We are very glad to see that the author has\nsought and obtained the approbation of the ecclesiastical authority\nbefore publishing his work, and we trust that his good example will be\ngenerally followed, and, moreover, that the law of the church will be\nenforced in every diocese and in all cases, requiring this approbation\nfor all books treating _de rebus sacris_.\n\n  MEDITATIONS FOR THE USE OF THE CLERGY, for every day in the year.\n    On the Gospels for the Sundays. From the Italian of Mgr. Scotti,\n    Abp. of Thessalonica. Revised and edited by the Oblates of S.\n    Charles. Vol. II. From Septuagesima Sunday to the Fourth Sunday\n    after Easter. London: Burns & Oates. 1873. (New York: Sold by The\n    Catholic Publication Society.)\n\nWe have already noticed the first volume of these invaluable\n_Meditations_, and need not repeat what we then said. The present\nvolume fully sustains the promise of the first, and makes us look\neagerly for the completion of the work.\n\n  THE ILLUSTRATED CATHOLIC FAMILY ALMANAC FOR THE UNITED STATES FOR\n    THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1874. Calculated for different Parallels of\n    Latitude, and adapted for use throughout the Country. New York:\n    The Catholic Publication Society.\n\nThe season does not bring a brighter, pleasanter, or more useful and\nnecessary book than this cleverly executed little work. From cover to\ncover the reader finds something to catch the eye and attract him in\nevery page. For a wonder, the title is an exact index of the book; it\nis illustrated, and remarkably well illustrated; it is Catholic, and\nit is a _family_ almanac, which the children will pore over for hours,\ndelighted with the pictures of famous Catholic men, women, and places,\nand the short but well-written sketches accompanying them; which their\nparents will consult in order to find all the information concerning\nfeasts, fasts, and the like necessary for the coming year; which all\nwill read who wish to obtain accurate information on matters relating\nto the spread and progress of the church, particularly in the United\nStates. When this has been said, there is really nothing more to say,\nas far as recommending this almanac to Catholics goes; but there is a\ngreat deal to be said concerning this present number, which in many\nrespects is an improvement even on its predecessors. For instance,\nin the matter of filling in a page with short but pithy notices of\nCatholic works, in the excellent but necessarily incomplete tables of\nstatistics of the Catholic Church in the United States, and in the\nfulness of the Catholic chronology for the past year, which forms, as\nit were, the headlines of Catholic history in this country--all this\ndisplays enterprise, and the excellence of the whole speaks tact and\ncare on the part of the editor.\n\nGlancing at the illustrations, we find portraits and sketches of Abp.\nOdin; Rt. Rev. Michael O'Connor, first bishop of Pittsburgh and of\nErie; Bishop Fitzpatrick, of Boston; Father Southwell, S.J., whose\npoems and writings are now being collected and given to the public;\nFather Lacordaire, Father De Smet, and others. Here is a head of\nManzoni, in another place the Comte de Montalembert; here John Banim's\nwell-known face looks out, and here is genial Thomas D'Arcy McGee\nsmiling at us. In another place is a portrait of S. Ignatius in armor,\nand a sunny picture of his birth-place. Miss Honora Nagle, foundress\nof the Ursuline Order in Ireland, Mother Mary of the Incarnation,\nBlessed Margaret Mary Alacoque, Church of Our Lady of Lourdes, of\nS. Stephen of the Mount, Abbey of Cluny, and others, form subjects\nfor illustrations and sketches, all careful, accurate, and finished.\nLooking again at the _Almanac_, and then considering its price, the\npublishers may congratulate themselves on having accomplished that\nmiracle of presenting to a Catholic public something which is _cheap\nand excellent_ throughout.\n\n  SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS, AND OTHER POEMS. By John Boyle\n    O'Reilly. Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1873.\n\nThese _Songs_ have a rare charm of novelty about them. Australia is a\nland yet unconquered to the muse, but evidently as fruitful in poetic\nthemes as any of \"the shores of old romance.\"\n\nOur author is peculiarly at home, perhaps, in the scenes from which his\nbook is named. Yet some of the \"other poems\" are of considerable merit;\nsuch as \"A Wail of Two Cities\" (Chicago and Boston), \"The Wreck of the\nAtlantic,\" and \"The Fishermen of Wexford.\"\n\nWe thank him for his modest volume, and hope to hear from him again.\n\n  RECENT MUSIC AND MUSICIANS, as described in the Diaries and\n    Correspondence of Ignaz Moscheles. Edited by his wife, and\n    adapted from the original German by A. D. Coleridge. New York:\n    Henry Holt & Co. 1873.\n\nBorn in 1794, and living to the advanced age of seventy-six, this\ndistinguished musician had the opportunity of cultivating an intimate\nacquaintance, or of holding more or less correspondence, with all the\ncomposers, artists, singers, and patrons of music who flourished during\nhis long life. Reference is made in this exceedingly interesting memoir\nto the names of over five hundred of these, furnishing to the reader\na vast amount of information concerning musicians and their works in\nthis century. The book is written in an agreeable, vivacious style, and\nis altogether the best of the several memoirs of the kind which have\nappeared.\n\n  THE STORY OF WANDERING WILLIE. New York: Scribner, Armstrong & Co.\n    1873.\n\nWe have been attracted by the beauty and pathos of this simple tale,\nand by its high moral tone, in which it contrasts favorably with many\nmore pretentious works.\n\n  THE LIFE OF THE MOST REV. M. J. SPALDING, D.D., ARCHBISHOP OF\n    BALTIMORE. By Rev. J. L. Spalding, S.T.L. New York: The\n    Catholic Publication Society. 1873.\n\nWe had contemplated an extended notice of this very interesting\nbiography, but were unable to finish it in time for the present number.\nWe fancy, however, that few intelligent Catholics who are made aware of\nthe subject, author, and superior mechanical execution of the volume,\nwill delay securing possession of a copy.\n\n\nBOOKS RECEIVED.\n\n  From BURNS & OATES, London (through \"The Catholic Publication\n    Society,\" New York): Meditations for the Use of the Clergy. From\n    the Italian of Mgr. Scotti. Vol. ii., 1873. 12mo, pp. viii. 280.\n\n  From WEED, PARSONS & CO., Albany: Fourteenth Annual Report of the\n    Superintendent of Insurance, Fire and Marine, pp. lviii.-463.\n    Life and Casualty, pp. lvii.-249. 8vo, 1873.\n\n  From SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO., New York: Lombard Street: A\n    Description of the Money Market. By Walter Bagehot. 12mo, pp.\n    viii. 359.\n\n  From KELLY, PIET & CO., Baltimore: Little Manual of the Holy\n    Angels' Sodality. 1873, 24mo, pp. 68.\n\n  From P. O'SHEA, New York: Mrs. Herbert and the Villagers. By the\n    Comtesse E. M. De Bondenham. 2 vols, in 1, 18mo, pp. xii. 341,\n    vii. 318.\n\n  From D. & J. SADLIER & CO., New York: The Irish on the Prairies,\n    and other Poems. By Rev. Thos. Ambrose Butler. 12mo, pp. 161.\n\n\n\n\nTHE\n\nCATHOLIC WORLD.\n\nVOL. XVIII., No. 106.--JANUARY, 1874.[138]\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRINCIPLES OF REAL BEING.\n\n\nAll knowledge which is truly scientific rests on demonstration, and all\ndemonstration depends on principles or axiomatic truths. But, besides\nthe principles of demonstration, there are other principles on which\nnot only the knowledge, but the very existence of things, and their\norigin and constitution, essentially depend. These latter principles\nare nowadays less known than the former, as we may argue from the fact\nthat they are scarcely ever alluded to in modern speculations; and yet\nthey undoubtedly have the best claim to the attention of philosophical\nminds, for it is in such principles that the real germs of all true\nscience are hidden. For this reason, we have determined to offer our\nreaders a short but accurate summary of the philosophical doctrine on\nprinciples; which, if presented, as we shall try to do, with becoming\nperspicuity, will prove to be a kind of popular introduction to\nmetaphysical studies.\n\n\nI. NOTION OF PRINCIPLE.\n\nBy the name of _principle_ philosophers designate that whence anything\noriginally proceeds in any manner whatever: _Id, unde aliquid\nquomodocumque procedit_. This definition implies that there are many\ndifferent manners of proceeding, and consequently many different kinds\nof principles. And so it is. Aristotle, however, shows that principles\nof all kinds can be reduced to three classes; that is, to those\nprinciples of which a thing consists, those through which or out of\nwhich a thing is made, and those by which a thing is known: _Primum,\nunde aliquid est, aut fit, aut cognoscitur_.[139]--Arist. _Metaph._ 5.\n\nThe first class comprises the principles through which a thing is,\nviz., by which the thing is intrinsically constituted. These principles\nare called _constituent_ or _intrinsic_ principles, and are always\npresent _by their own entity_ in the thing principiated; as the matter\nin the body, and the soul in the animal.\n\nThe second class contains the principles through which a thing _is\nmade_. These principles serve to account for the origin of the thing,\nand are called _extrinsic_ principles, because they are not present by\n_their own entity_ in the thing principiated. Thus, the motive power of\nthe sun is not, by its own entity, in the planets to which it imparts\nmovement, but in the sun only; and the medical art is not in the person\nwho has been cured through it, but in the doctor. There is, however,\nin the planets something proceeding from the motive power of the sun,\nand in the person cured something proceeding from the medical art, as\nevery one will acknowledge. Whence it is obvious that the extrinsic\nprinciples by their very principiation must leave some mark or vestige\nof themselves in the thing principiated.\n\nThe third class consists of those principles through which any\nconclusion is _made known_. These principles are general truths, which\nare made to serve for the demonstration of some other truth, and are\ncalled principles _of science_.\n\nAmong the principles of this third class we do not reckon the\nprinciples from which the first apprehension and immediate intuition\nof things proceeds; to wit, either the power through which the object\nmakes an impression on the cognoscitive faculty, or the faculty itself\nthrough which the object is apprehended. Our reason is that these\nprinciples, thus considered, do not form a class apart. The power of\nthe object to make its impression on the subject is an _extrinsic_\nprinciple of knowledge, and ranks with the principles of the second\nclass above mentioned; whilst the power of the subject to perceive\nthrough the intelligible species is an _intrinsic_ principle of\nknowledge, as well as the species which it expresses within itself,\nand, therefore, is to be ranked among the principles of the first\nclass. Accordingly, the third class is exclusively made up of those\nprinciples which serve for the scientific demonstration of truth; and\nthis is what Aristotle himself insinuates, at least negatively, as he\ngives no instance of principles of this third class but the premises by\nwhich any conclusion is made known.\n\nBefore we advance further, we have to remark that, in metaphysics,\nthe first principles of science are assumed, not as a subject of\ninvestigation, but as the fundamental base of scientific demonstration.\nThus, the principles, _Idem non potest simul esse et non esse_,[140]\n_Non datur effectus sine causa_,[141] _Qu\u00e6 sunt eadem uni tertio\nsunt eadem inter se_,[142] and such like, though usually styled\n\"metaphysical\" principles, are not the subject of metaphysical\ninvestigation, but are simply presupposed and admitted on the strength\nof their immediate and incontrovertible evidence. Such principles\nare perfectly known before all metaphysical disquisition, and need\nnot be traced to other principles. On the other hand, metaphysics,\nwhich is the science of reality, deals only with the principles of\n_real_ beings; whence it follows that the principles of demonstration,\nwhich, like the conclusion deduced therefrom, exist in the intellect\nalone (and therefore are _beings of reason_, and principiate nothing\nbut other beings of reason), are not comprised in the object of\nmetaphysical inquiry. Hence, the only principles which metaphysics is\nbound to investigate are those that belong to the first and second\nclass above mentioned; that is, the intrinsic and the extrinsic\nprinciples of things: _Primum unde aliquid est_, and _primum unde\naliquid fit_.[143]\n\nPrinciples and causes are often confounded, although it is well known\nthat they are not identical. Hence, our next question is: In what does\na cause differ from a principle?\n\nIt is commonly admitted that all causes are principles, but not all\nprinciples causes; which evidently implies that a cause is something\nmore than a principle. In fact, when we use the word \"cause,\" we wish\nto designate a being in which we know that there is a principle of\ncausation; whence it is evident that the common notion of cause implies\nthe notion of principle, _and something else besides_--that is, the\nnotion of a subject to which the principle belongs. Thus, we say that\nthe moon causes the tides by its attractive power; the moon is the\n_cause_, and the attractive power is its _principle_ of causation. In\nlike manner, we say that an orator causes great popular emotion by\nhis eloquence; the orator is the _cause_, and his eloquence is his\n_principle_ of causation.\n\nFrom these instances it would be easy to conclude that the difference\nbetween a cause and a principle lies in this, that the cause is a\ncomplete being, whilst the principle is only an appurtenance of the\ncause. But as we know from theology that there are principles which\ncannot be thus related to causes, we cannot consider the above as an\nadequate and final answer to the question proposed.\n\nSome of the best modern scholastics account for the difference between\ncause and principle in the following manner: A principle, they say, is\nconceived to differ from a cause in two things: first, in this, that\na cause always precedes its effect by priority of nature,[144] whereas\na principle does not require such a priority; secondly, in this, that\nthe cause does not communicate its own identical nature to its effect,\nwhereas the principle can communicate its own identical nature to that\nwhich it principiates.[145] From these two differences a third one\nmight be gathered, viz., that the effect has always a real dependence\n_from_[146] its cause, whilst the thing principiated does not always\nreally depend _from_ its principles.[147] These grounds of distinction\nbetween principles and causes have been thought of, with the avowed\nobject of paving the way to explain how the Eternal Father can be the\nprinciple, without being the cause, of his Eternal Son, and how the\nFather and the Son can be the principle, without being the cause, of\nthe Holy Ghost.\n\nBut we must observe that there are four genera of causes and of\nprinciples: the _efficient_, the _material_, the _formal_, and the\n_final_; and that the two differences alleged by these writers between\nprinciple and cause do not apply to principles and causes of the same\ngenus, but are applicable only when some principle belonging to one\ngenus is wrongly compared with some cause pertaining to another genus.\n\nThat there are four genera of causes we will take for granted, as it\nis the universal doctrine of philosophers. That there are also four\ngenera of principles corresponding to the four genera of causes is\nevident; for every cause must contain within itself the principle of\nits causality; and, in fact, Aristotle himself clearly affirms that\nthere are as many causes as principles, and that all causes are also\nprinciples,[148] in the sense which we have already explained. Lastly,\nthat the two aforesaid differences between principle and cause do not\napply to principles and causes of the same genus can be easily verified\nby a glance at each genus. Let the reader take notice of the following\nstatements, and then judge for himself.\n\nThe efficient cause (the agent) and the efficient principle (its active\npower) are _both_, by priority of nature, prior to the thing produced\nor principiated, and _both_ have a nature numerically distinct from\nthat of the thing produced or principiated.\n\nIn the same manner the final cause (the object willed) and the\nfinalizing principle (the known goodness and desirability of the\nobject) _both_ are, by priority of nature, prior to the act caused or\nprincipiated, and _both_ have a nature numerically distinct from that\nof the act caused or principiated.\n\nThus, also, the material cause (actual matter) and the material\nprinciple (the passiveness of matter) are _both_, by priority of\nnature, prior to the thing effected or principiated, and _both_\nidentify themselves with the thing effected or principiated.\n\nAccordingly, with regard to these three kinds of causation and\nprincipiation, it is quite impossible to admit that the difference\nbetween a cause and a principle is to be accounted for by a recourse to\nthe two aforementioned grounds of distinction, so long as the causes\nand principles, which are compared, belong to one and the same genus.\n\nAs to the formal cause and the formal principle, we shall presently see\nthat they are not distinct things; but, even if we were disposed to\nconsider them as distinct, such a distinction could not possibly rest\non the two grounds of which we have been speaking; for the formal cause\nand the formal principle have no priority of nature[149] with respect\nto the thing caused or principiated, and _both_ identify themselves\nwith the same. We are, therefore, satisfied that the opinion which we\nhave criticised has no foundation in truth.\n\nLet us, then, resume our previous explanation, and see how the\ndifficulty above proposed against its completeness can be solved. We\nhave shown that the notion of cause implies the notion of principle,\ntogether with that of a subject to which the principle belongs. We\nmust, therefore, admit that a principle differs from a cause of the\nsame genus, as an incomplete or _metaphysical_ entity differs from a\ncomplete or _physical_ being; or, in other terms, that a real cause,\nrigorously speaking, is a complete being, _which_ gives origin to\nan effect; whilst a real principle, properly speaking, is only that\n_through which_ the cause gives origin to its effect. The cause is _id\nquod causat_;[150] the principle is _id quo causa causat_.[151]\n\nThe formal principle, however, is an exception to this general\ndoctrine, as formal principles do not differ from formal causes. The\nform, in fact, not only _has_ within itself something through which it\nis fit to cause its effect, but also _is_ itself that very something,\nand _through itself_ brings its effect into existence. Thus the soul,\nwhich is the form of the body, _through itself_, and not through any\nof its faculties, actuates the body and vivifies it. On this account,\nthen, any form might be indifferently called either a formal _cause_\nor a formal _principle_. But we must further consider that a form, as\nsuch, is an incomplete entity, since no formal act can exist apart from\nits essential term;[152] and on this ground we maintain that the name\nof _principle_ suits it better than the name of _cause_.\n\nAnd this conclusion will be approved even by those philosophers\nwhose opinion concerning the distinction between cause and principle\nwe have just refuted; for the two differences which they allege as\ncharacteristic of cause in opposition to principle have no room in\nformal causation or principiation, since we have seen that the formal\nact has no priority of nature with respect to its essential term, and\nidentifies itself with the thing of which it is the act. Consequently,\nthe form, even in the opinion of said philosophers, is not a cause, but\na principle.\n\nWe hope to give a fuller explanation of this point on a later occasion;\nbut what we have just said suffices to show what we at present intend,\nviz., that the doctrine which considers principles as appurtenances\nof causes admits of a remarkable exception in the case of formal\nprinciples, and by such an exception is competent to account for the\nexistence of other principles importing real principiation without\nreal causation. Now, this is exactly what the theological doctrine on\ndivine processions requires. The fact, therefore, that the procession\nof one of the divine Persons from another involves no causation, but\nonly principiation, can be accounted for by a simple reference to the\nnature of formal principiation. The Eternal Father is certainly not the\nefficient, but the _formal_, principle of His Eternal Son; and this\nalready suffices to explain how the being of the Son is not _a new\nbeing made_ by the Father, but is the very same being of the Father\ncommunicated identically to the Son. Thus, also, the Holy Ghost not\nefficiently, but _formally_, proceeds from the Father and the Son,\nthrough their conspiration into a simple actuality of love; and this\nsuffices to explain how the Holy Ghost is not _made_ by the Father and\nthe Son, but is the very actuality of the one in the other.\n\nTo sum up: Formal principiation is not causation; hence, that which\nimmediately proceeds from a formal principle is not caused by it, but\nonly principiated; it is not its effect, but its connatural term; it\nhas not a distinct nature, but the very nature of its formal principle\nidentically communicated; lastly, it has no real dependence _from_\nits formal principle, but only real relative opposition; for real\ndependence has no place where there is identity of nature. This is\neminently true of God, and, by imitation, of every primitive contingent\nbeing, which is strictly one in its entity, and consequently also\nof all the ultimate elements into which a physical compound can be\nresolved; for the ultimate elements of things cannot but be primitive\nbeings.\n\nThe preceding remarks regard those formal acts which enter in the\nessential constitution of being as such, and which are called strictly\n_substantial acts_. Of accidental forms we have nothing to say in\nparticular, as it is too evident to need explanation that they are not\ncauses, but mere principles. It is, therefore, to be concluded that the\ndistinction between cause and principle applies only to _efficient_,\n_material_, and _final_ causality and principiativity. Thus, as we have\nsaid, _the sun_ is the efficient cause of certain movements, and _its\nattractive power_ is the efficient principle of those movements; _the\nobject_ is the final cause that moves the will, and _the goodness_,\nthrough which the object moves the will, is the finalizing principle of\nthe volition: _the steel_ is the material cause of the sword, but the\nmaterial principle of the sword is _the passive potency_ of the steel,\nwhich allows it to receive the form of a sword or any other form.\n\nWe must not forget, however, that the words _cause_ and _principle_\nhave been, and are, very frequently used without discrimination by\nphilosophical writers, even of the highest merit. It is by no means\nuncommon to find, for instance, the premises described as the _cause_\nof the conclusion, the rules of the art as the _cause_ of an artificial\nwork, the exemplar as the _cause_ of that in which it is reproduced or\nimitated. In these examples, the word _cause_ stands for _principle_.\nThe old Greek theologians even said that God the Father is the _cause_\nof his Eternal Son; the word _cause_ being undoubtedly used by them in\nthe sense of _principle_. We should not be astonished at this. Indeed,\nwhile we ourselves persist in giving the name of cause to the formal\nprinciple, we should be the last to be surprised at the Greek fathers\ndoing the same.\n\nAnd now, let us come to another part of our subject. Philosophers,\nwhen wishing to give a full account of things, besides principles and\ncauses, point out _metaphysical reasons_ too. We think it our duty\nto show in what such reasons consist, and in what they differ from\nprinciples.\n\nA reason, in general, may be defined as _that from which anything\nimmediately results_; and since a formal result is not made, but simply\nfollows as a consequence from a conspiration of principles, we can\nsee at once that a reason, or the formal ground of a given result,\nmust consist in a conspiration of given principles. There are logical\nreasons, which give rise to logical results; and there are metaphysical\nreasons, which give rise to metaphysical results. We will give an\nexample of each.\n\nIn a syllogism, the consequence is the result of a conspiration of\ntwo propositions, called premises. The propositions themselves are\nthe _principles_ from which the conclusion is to follow; but the\nactual following of the conclusion depends on the actual comparison of\nthe two propositions, and on the actual perception of the agreement\nof two extreme terms with a middle one. It is, in fact, through the\nmiddle term that the two premises conspire into a definite conclusion.\nHence, when we are asked the reason why a conclusion follows from two\npremises, we point out not only the fact that the two premises are\ntrue, but especially the fact that the extreme terms, which are to be\ndirectly united in the conclusion, are already both linked, in the\npremises, with the same middle term. For it is evident that the whole\nstrength of a legitimate conclusion lies in the universality of the\naxiom, _Qu\u00e6 sunt eadem uni tertio, sunt eadem inter se_. The words,\n_sunt eadem uni tertio_,[153] express the formal reason, and the words\n_sunt eadem inter se_[154] express the formal result. In scholastic\nlanguage, the premises would be called the _principium formale\nquod_[155] of the conclusion, and the suitable connection of their\nterms would be called the _principium formale quo_,[156] or the _ratio\nformalis_[157] of the conclusion; whilst the conclusion itself would be\ncalled the _rationatum_.[158]\n\nFor an example of the metaphysical order, we will take a known subject,\n_animal life_, and ascertain its formal reason. Every one knows that\nthe soul is a principle of life; but animal life, besides the vivifying\nsoul, requires also an organic body as its other principle. These two\nprinciples, however, are, with respect to animal life, in the same\nrelation as the two premises with respect to their conclusion. For as\nthe conclusion proximately results from the connection of the premises\nand their bearing on one another, as we have just explained, so, also,\nanimal life results from the connection of soul and body--that is, from\nthe actuation of the latter by the former, and consequently by the\ncompletion of the former in the latter. Hence, the formal reason, or\nthe _principium formale quo_, of animal life is the very information\nof the body by the soul, while the soul and the body themselves, taken\ntogether, constitute the _principium formale quod_.\n\nFrom these two examples, to which it would be easy to add many more,\nit is manifest that what we call _formal reason_ is _a conspiration of\ncorrelative principles towards a common actual result_. All results are\nrelations between terms, or principles, communicating with one another,\neither through themselves or through something which is common to them.\nIn the first case, the result, or relation, is transcendental, and is\nnothing else than the _actuality_ of one principle in the other--of\nthe soul in the body, for instance. In the second case, the result,\nor relation, is either predicamental or logical (according as its\nprinciples and its formal reason are real or not), and is nothing else\nthan the _actuality_ of the terms as correlated.\n\nLet the reader remark that we have pointed out three kinds of so-called\nformal principles, viz., the form, or act, which is a _principium\nformale_ properly, and without qualification; then the _principium_,\n_formale quod_ of a resultation, consisting of correlated principles\nconspiring together into a common result; lastly, the _principium\nformale quo_, or the proximate reason of the resultation, consisting\nin the very conspiration of the correlated principles. In English,\nthe better to distinguish the one from the other, it would be well\nto retain the name of _formal principle_ for the first alone; the\nsecond might be called the _formal origin_, and the third the _formal\nreason_, of a resultation. Thus the name of _formal principle_ would be\npreserved to its rightful owner, without danger of mistaking it for a\nformal reason, or _vice versa_.\n\nBefore we conclude, we beg to add, though it may appear unnecessary,\nthat the _conditions_ of causation are not principles. We make this\nremark because nothing, perhaps, is more common in ordinary speech\nthan to confound conditions with principles and causes. It is not\nuninstructed persons only, but educated people and men of science too,\nthat express themselves as if they believed that conditions have their\nown active part in producing effects. If a weight be suspended by a\nthread, the cutting of the thread is popularly said _to cause_ the\nfall of the weight. He who throws a piece of paper into the fire is\nsaid _to burn_ the paper. He who rubs a match is said _to light_ the\nmatch. A change of distance between the sun and a planet is said _to\ncause_ a change of intensity in the central forces. Now, it is scarcely\nnecessary to show that _cutting_ the thread, _throwing_ the paper,\n_rubbing_ the match, etc., are only conditions of the falling, the\nburning, the lighting, etc., respectively; and conditions are neither\ncauses nor principles of causation. A _condition_ of causation may be\ndefined to be _an accidental relation between principles or causes,\ninasmuch as they are concerned in the production of an effect_. Causes\nand principles cause and principiate in a different manner, according\nto the difference of their mutual relations, but do not cause or\nprincipiate _through_ such relations, as is evident.\n\nA weight suspended by a thread falls when the thread is cut. But he\nwho cuts the thread is not the real _cause_ of the falling. The true\n_cause_ is, on the one hand, the earth by its attractive power, and,\non the other, the body itself by its receptive potency. Cutting the\nthread is only to put a condition of the falling. The fall, in fact,\ndepends on the condition that the body be free to obey the action of\ngravity; and this condition is fulfilled when the thread is cut. In\nlike manner, he who throws a piece of paper into the fire does not burn\nit, but only puts it in the necessary relation with the fire, that it\nmay be burnt; and he who rubs the match does not light it, but only\nrubs it, the rubbing being a condition, not a cause, of the lighting.\nIn fact, the lighting of the match is caused by the actions and\nreactions which take place between the molecules of certain substances\non the end of the match; and such actions and reactions depend on the\nrubbing only inasmuch as the rubbing alters the relations of distance\nbetween molecules, disturbs their equilibrium, and places them in a new\ncondition with respect to their acting on one another. Of course, the\nrubbing is an effect, and he who does the rubbing is a cause; but he\ncauses the rubbing only. So, also, the change of distance between the\nsun and a planet is neither the cause nor the principle of a change\nof intensity in the mutual attraction. The action of celestial bodies\nfollows a law. With such or such relation of distance between them,\nthey act with such or such intensity; but distance is evidently not an\nactive principle, and therefore a change of distance is only the change\nof a condition of causation.\n\nAs we have just mentioned the fact that celestial bodies are subject\nto _a law of action_, it might be asked whether _law_ itself be a\nreal principle. We must answer in the negative; for _law_ is nothing\nbut _the necessity for every agent or patient of conforming to its\nown nature in the exertion of its powers, and in the subjection of\nits potency_. Such a necessity is permanent, since it arises from\nthe determination of nature itself, and may be divided into _moral_,\n_physical_, and _logical_, according as it is viewed in connection\nwith different beings or powers; but it is certainly neither an active\npower nor a passive potency, but only a natural ordination of the same,\nand accordingly is not a cause nor a principle, but an exponent of the\nconstant manner in which causes and principles bring about the various\nchanges we witness throughout the world.\n\nThese few notions may suffice as an introduction to what we intend to\nsay about the principles of things. We have seen that a principle is\nless than a cause, a reason less than a principle, and a condition\nless than a reason; and we have determined as exactly as we could the\ngeneral character of each of them, by ascertaining the grounds of their\nseveral distinctions. This was our only object in the present article;\nand therefore we will stop here, and reserve particulars for future\ninvestigation.\n\n                            TO BE CONTINUED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[138] Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by\nRev. I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at\nWashington, D. C.\n\n[139] The principle whence anything exists, is made, or is known.\n\n[140] The same thing cannot at the same time be and not be.\n\n[141] There is no effect without a cause.\n\n[142] Things which are equal to a third thing are equal to each other.\n\n[143] The principle whence anything is, and the principle whence\nanything is made.\n\n[144] Philosophers teach that one thing can precede another in three\nways, to wit, by priority of _time_, by priority of _nature_, and by\npriority of _reason_. A thing existing while another thing is not yet\nin existence has, with regard to this latter, a priority of time. A\nthing, on the existence of which the existence of another depends,\nhas, with regard to this latter, a priority of nature. A thing, the\nconception of which is needed to form the conception of another, has,\nwith regard to this latter, a priority of reason. The priority of\n_origin_, by which one of the divine Persons is prior to another, is a\npriority of reason, not of nature, and implies no real dependence of\none Person from another.\n\n[145] See Liberatore, _Metaph. Gen._, n. 125.\n\n[146] We advisedly employ the preposition _from_. There is a vast\ndifference between depending _on_ and depending _from_. To depend\n_from_ is properly to be hanging from, as a lamp from the ceiling; but\nnothing forbids the use of the phrase in a metaphorical sense in order\nto translate the Latin phrase, _pendere ab_, for which we have no other\nequivalent. The usual English phrase, _to depend on_, corresponds to\nthe Latin _pendere ex_. Were we to employ it also for _pendere ab_, a\nconfusion would arise of the two different meanings. Certainly, the\ntwo phrases, _Homo pendet a Deo_, and _Exitus pendet ex adjunctis_\nexpress different kinds of dependence; and we cannot translate them\ninto English in the same manner without setting their differences at\nnaught. We would, therefore, say, that _Man depends from God_, and that\n_Success depends on circumstances_. In philosophy, both prepositions\nare needed, and, if used with proper discrimination, they will save us\nthe trouble of many useless disputes.\n\n[147] A being and its constituent principles may be said to have a\ncertain dependence _on_ one another, inasmuch as they have such an\nessential connection with one another that the one cannot be conceived\napart from the other. But this so-called \"dependence\" means only\ncorrelation and \"mutual exigency\"; and therefore does not entail a\npriority of nature of the one with respect to the other. In a being,\nwhich is strictly _one in its entity_, there are three principles: an\nact, its term, and the actuality of the one in the other. The act has\nonly a priority of origin with respect to its essential term, and both\nhave only a priority of origin with regard to their formal actuality.\nThey depend _on_ one another in the sense explained, but not _from_ one\nanother. We shall treat of them in a future article.\n\n[148] _Toties autem caus\u00e6 quoque dicuntur (qucties principia); omnes\nnamque caus\u00e6 principia sunt._--Aristotle, _Metaph._ 5.\n\n[149] Priority of nature implies in that which is prior an existence\nindependent of that which is posterior; but a mere formal act has\nno existence independent of the being of which it is a constituent;\ntherefore, the formal act is not prior, by priority of nature, to such\na being.\n\n[150] That which causes.\n\n[151] That by which the cause causes.\n\n[152] To say that the human soul can exist apart from the body, is no\nobjection. Our soul is not merely a formal act; it is a _subsistent_\nbeing--that is, an act having its own intrinsic term, and therefore\npossessing an independent existence; which cannot be said of other\nforms. And on this account the soul is the only form which without\nimpropriety might be called a formal cause as well as a formal\n_principle_.\n\n[153] Are equal to a third.\n\n[154] Are equal to each other.\n\n[155] The formal principle _which_.\n\n[156] The formal principle by which or through which.\n\n[157] The formal reason.\n\n[158] The product of reasoning.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SERIOUS \"VIVE LA BAGATELLE.\"\n\n\n    Bright world! you may write on my heart what you will,\n      But write it with pencil, not pen;\n    Your hand hath its skill: but a hand finer still\n      What you write soon erases again.\n\n    To the moment its laugh, and its smile to the flower!\n      Not niggard we give them; but why?\n    Old Time must devour the year as the hour:\n      Remains but Eternity.\n\n                                          AUBREY DE VERE.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FARM OF MUICERON.\n\n\n                            BY MARIE RHEIL.\n\n                  FROM THE REVUE DU MONDE CATHOLIQUE.\n\n\nVIII.\n\nJean-Louis, on leaving the _cur\u00e9_, went to pray in the church, which\nremained open all day for the consolation of devout souls. In the\npresence of God he reviewed the sad history of his life, shed many\ntears, but soon felt wonderfully strengthened. This fourteen-year-old\nboy had a more resolute heart than many a man of thirty. What he swore\nbefore the altar of God and the statue of Our Blessed Lady was the oath\nof a Christian, who knows the value of an engagement made in the face\nof heaven. It was the contract of his whole life that he then signed,\nand it will be seen if he knew how to keep it. His first weakness\non learning the secret of his birth had passed; he determined to be\ncourageous, humble, and docile, should it cost him his heart's blood;\nand full of these brave resolutions, he retook the road to Muiceron.\n\nNevertheless, he failed in one, and you as well as I will excuse him\nfor it.\n\nAs he had remained rather long in the village, Pierrette, who had heard\nhim reprimanded, and had seen him depart with his books under his arm,\nbecame very anxious, fearing that he had been more hurt than he had\nshown. She was standing on the threshold of the door, watching the\npath by which he would return; and when she perceived him, she could\nnot conceal her joy, for the child's face was bright and animated, and\nseemed the mirror of a happy heart.\n\n\"Oh! I am so happy to see you, my Jeannet,\" cried the good woman in a\nburst of joy.\n\n\"Were you alarmed at my absence?\" asked Jean-Louis, running to her.\n\n\"Alarmed?\" said she. \"No ... that is to say, yes, I was a little....\nYour father sometimes conceals his great kindness under rather too\nquick a manner. A child like you, who never deserves to be scolded,\nwill be easily hurt at a severe word; and I thought, on seeing you go\naway so quickly, you were unhappy. But now you are at home again, are\nyou neither hot, nor hungry, nor troubled? Where do you come from? What\ndo you think of doing? Tell all to your mamma, who loves you so dearly.\"\n\nThese gentle questions pierced the soul of the poor child more than\nthe severest words would have done. Gratitude and grief choked him and\nprevented him from replying, and made his emotion the greater, as these\ntwo sentiments seldom go together. He looked at his dear mother, with\nhis great, black eyes filled with tears, and could only take her hand\nand press it to his bosom.\n\nThus they entered the house together, and Ragaud, whom they thought\nin the fields, but who had returned by the door that opened on the\nbleaching yard, was standing before the hearth, as if awaiting them.\nYou doubtless know, as you must have many times experienced it, that\nwhen one suddenly sees somebody, thought to be half a league away,\nwithout wishing it, he looks rather taken aback, as we say. You can\nwell believe that Pierrette and the child so looked, as they remained\ndumb as fish, like poachers hiding from the forest-guard.\n\n\"Well,\" said the good man in a loud voice, \"what is the matter with you\nboth? It seems I was not expected. And the supper, wife?\"\n\n\"Here it is,\" Pierrette hastened to reply; \"only move a little to one\nside, that I may take off the pot.\"\n\nAnd in the twinkling of an eye, the excellent green-cabbage soup was\nsmoking on the table; but Jeannet, who stood like one petrified, did\nnot move.\n\n\"You are not hungry, then?\" asked Ragaud. \"What is the matter? You look\nas if you had been crying.\"\n\n\"Excuse me,\" replied Jeannet. \"I do not feel like eating this evening.\"\n\n\"None of that,\" answered Ragaud; \"to punish his stomach is the act of a\nspoiled child. Sit down and eat; be quick about it, do you hear?\"\n\nJeannet obeyed, but only to sit down; eat, he could not.\n\n\"See here,\" said Ragaud in a joking manner, looking at him, \"you are of\nthe true modern style. Formerly, my boy, when parents reproved their\nchildren, they did it oftener with the hand than the voice, and things\nwere not the worse for it. My father used to give us blows with his\ncudgel without counting them; in his opinion, it was a language easily\nunderstood, and which he preferred to reasoning, as it saved his time.\nWe rubbed our backs, and it was over; none of us thought of losing our\nappetites, still less of crying. But nowadays children must be handled\nwith gloves; and even with that they think themselves martyrs. The\nparents must endure everything without a murmur, even to see the house\ncatch fire. Ha! ha!--is what I say true?\"\n\n\"Oh! yes,\" said Jean-Louis, \"you have always been good and kind to me;\nand believe me, believe me when I say that I am truly grateful, that I\nthank you with my whole soul. I was guilty without knowing it; but I\nam penitent and sorry for having offended you. I have carried back my\nbooks, which, in reality, I did not need, and never again will you have\nto reproach me about them.\"\n\n\"That is right, that is right,\" said Ragaud. \"You are a good child,\nJeannet, and now it is ended. What I said, you see, was to your own\ninterest; so now eat and be cheerful. I don't like tears, above all\nin a boy who will soon be a man; give me your hand without any bad\nfeeling.\"\n\n\"No, no! embrace him,\" said Pierrette. \"His heart is full; isn't it so,\nmy son?\"\n\n\"Kiss me, if you wish,\" said Ragaud, extending his honest, bearded\nface. \"Generally I don't like these baby-kisses; but if it is\nnecessary, in order that you may eat your soup, make yourself happy,\nboy.\"\n\nJust at this time it was too much for Jean-Louis; nearly fainting, he\nfell on his knees by the side of Ragaud; he threw his arms around him,\npressed him to his breast, and kissed him in the tenderest manner, to\nthe great astonishment of the good farmer, who could not understand\nsuch a wonderful display of affection.\n\n\"Good, good,\" said he; \"but be easy, Jeannet. Don't I tell you I am no\nlonger angry?\"\n\n\"O my father! my dear father!\" cried the child, \"how can I ever repay\nyou?\"\n\nAnd seeing that Ragaud looked at him in amazement, he added, sobbing,\n\n\"Father, mother, I know all....\"\n\n\"Explain yourself,\" said Ragaud, beginning to understand what he meant.\n\"What do you know, my child?\"\n\n\"_All_\" he repeated in a tone which expressed everything.\n\n\"There,\" cried good Pierrette, her heart melting with pity, \"I\nunderstand. I know now what he means. But after fourteen years that the\nsecret has been so well kept, where has the creature been found wicked\nenough to make this poor child so unhappy?\"\n\n\"Dear mother,\" exclaimed Jean-Louis, \"he who told it to me did it from\ntrue kindness of heart; you must not be displeased with him. It is to\nhim I owe my life, after God and you. Do not mistake my tears; they do\nnot come from grief, but from the gratitude which will last through all\neternity.\"\n\n\"My dear, dear child,\" said Pierrette, \"you have already well repaid us\nby your tender affection and good conduct. Isn't it true, Ragaud?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied he; \"and I will add, my boy, that the Lord God, through\nlove of whom we received you, made joy and prosperity enter into the\nhouse at the same time with you. Thus, although I like the gratitude\nwhich comes from a truly filial heart, in good conscience I think we\nare quits.\"\n\n\"Oh! never, never,\" cried Jeannet. \"At the moment of my death I will\nstill thank you.\"\n\n\"On condition that you die before us, which is scarcely probable,\" said\nRagaud, smiling. \"Come, child, get up, and let it all be over. Since,\nfrom what I can make out, no other than our _cur\u00e9_ has told you the\nstory, I am happy to think we are all 'big John, as before'--that is\nto say, that nothing is changed. You will remain our child, the elder\nbrother of Jeannette, and the prop of my old age.\"\n\n\"Your servant and your slave for ever!\" cried Jean-Louis.\n\n\"Bah! bah! No slave, Jeannet; that is an accursed word to fall from\nyour lips. Let it all remain in the _cur\u00e9's_ library, which it never\nshould have left. As for me, I am not learned; but, to my mind, a slave\nis a man changed into a beast of burden. I ask you if I have brought\nyou up in that way? No, my son, you will serve me--it is my wish--but\nin working as a free man by my side, according to your strength. Is it\nwell understood?\"\n\n\"I have no other desire but to please you; and I pray to God, my\nfather, that I may prove it to you every day.\"\n\n\"I hope so, my boy. The past, they say, is the guarantee of the future;\nand never have you caused me serious displeasure. As for the little\naffair of this morning, I tell you it was nothing. Don't regret it; the\nonly result will be that we will love each other still more.\"\n\n\"I think so, too,\" said Pierrette, \"if it is possible.\"\n\n\"O my dear parents!\" cried Jeannet, kissing them both, \"if ever the\nhistory of your kindness could be written, who would believe it true?\"\n\n\"Don't let that trouble you,\" said Ragaud, laughing heartily, \"there is\nno chance of its being written; and, besides, things do not improve by\nbeing known to men, as evil is more easily believed than good.\"\n\n\"It is very well,\" said Pierrette, \"that mademoiselle kept Jeannette at\nthe ch\u00e2teau this evening; she would have been in the way, dear little\nthing!\"\n\n\"As regards that,\" replied Ragaud, \"I request you, Jean-Louis, never\nto breathe a word to Jeannette of what has just been said. Do you\nunderstand me? I have my own idea about it.\"\n\n\"I promise you, my father,\" answered Jeannet.\n\nThe name of the little girl, thus pronounced by chance, led to further\nconversation about the two children. They remembered the infant plays,\nwhere she was so lively and wilful, her great romps with the shepherd's\ndog, and many other little details, which recalled the innocent\npleasures of her infancy and gave such zest to their tranquil country\nlife. Jeannet, well consoled, and with lightened heart, told his\nparents a crowd of little events, which he loved to relate in praise\nof Jeannette, and which proved the goodness of her heart and mind,\nto the great delight of the Ragauds. From that to remarking that the\nlittle girl had nearly disappeared from the family was but a step, and\nwhich, in my opinion, was a leap easily made. In the meantime, Ragaud,\nwho appeared half asleep--I rather think so as not to talk upon the\nsubject--suddenly awakened, and ended by acknowledging that if Jeannet\nwere not at Muiceron, the house would be as destitute of children as it\nwas fifteen years before.\n\n\"My dear husband,\" said Pierrette, \"it is not to-day that we are to\nlearn that parents must sacrifice everything to the happiness of their\nchildren.\"\n\n\"For their happiness, yes,\" replied Ragaud; \"but it remains to be seen\nif Jeannette will always be as happy as she is now.\"\n\nAnd as he was clear-sighted, when the momentary vanity had passed, he\nrelated with earnestness the conversation with Jacques Michou, which he\nhad so unwillingly heard at the time.\n\n\"There,\" said Pierrette, \"is something which does not please me. If\npeople already commence to talk about our daughter, it is a sign that\nwe should think about our course in regard to her, and perhaps change\nit.\"\n\n\"Think about it we should,\" replied Ragaud; \"but to change it is\nanother question. For then we would have to take Jeannette from\nmademoiselle; and as her regard for our little girl is a great honor\nfor us and a great happiness for her, never will I behave in that\nmanner to the daughter of our lords, seeing that I owe them everything.\"\n\n\"It is very embarrassing,\" said Pierrette, who spoke rather from the\nfeelings of the heart than of the head.\n\n\"Not so very much,\" replied Ragaud. \"By acting with gentleness and\nrespect, without causing pain to mademoiselle, we can, in the end, make\nher wishes accord with ours.\"\n\n\"Oh! if Jeannette could return,\" cried Jean-Louis, \"what happiness for\nus all, dear father!\"\n\n\"You!\" said Ragaud. \"You may boast of being very brave in her absence;\nbut I can remember seeing you many and many a time racing together over\nthe meadows; the girl would torment you to her heart's content, and\nyou, like a big simpleton, never once stumbled so as to humbug her in\nreturn. Thus you accustomed her to think herself the mistress, which\nshe did not hesitate to show.\"\n\n\"She is so sweet,\" said Jeannet, \"and so good-natured; if she had half\nkilled me, I would not have minded it.\"\n\n\"If you only wished to know Latin that you might talk such nonsense,\"\nreplied Ragaud, \"you did very well to give up the study. You, too,\"\nadded he, turning towards Pierrette, forgetting he should be the first\nto accuse himself--\"you, too, have so completely spoiled Jeannette, I\nwill be obliged to undertake the difficult task of repairing your work.\nBut patience; to-morrow I will take the shovel and the spade. I will do\nit.\"\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" asked Pierrette, alarmed.\n\n\"I am going to see,\" said Ragaud, \"if my daughter is of the good and\ntrue blood of her father. I will ask mademoiselle to give her to me\nfor the octave of S. Martin; and during that time I will make her\nresume her peasant-life as though she should never quit it again. If\nshe becomes sullen and cross, I won't say what I will do; but if, as\nI believe, she will appear happy and contented, we will know that the\nch\u00e2teau does not injure her, and then we will sleep in peace. How do\nyou like that?\"\n\n\"Oh! that is a capital idea I never would have dreamt of,\" said\nPierrette, clasping her hands in admiration.\n\nRagaud appeared pleased at being thought so brilliant; he resettled\nhimself in his big linen collar, drank a glass of good cider, and knelt\ndown to say the Our Father and Hail Mary, which he always did before\nretiring.\n\nJeannet made no remark; he had too much sense to think that this little\ntrial would be sufficient and satisfy every one; but he would see\nJeannette for a whole week, and he decided to amuse her in such a way\nthat she would not regret her life at the ch\u00e2teau.\n\nRagaud's plans were fully carried out. Mademoiselle willingly gave up\nJeannette, thinking by that means she would have still stronger claims\nfor keeping her afterwards; and the little one, led by her father,\nreturned to Muiceron the eve of S. Martin's day, which is, among us,\nthe feast of the vine-dressers.\n\nIf you are anxious to know how she behaved, I will inform you that the\nvery next day, and without any one having to tell her, she tumbled\nover the things in the chest to find her woollen skirts and coarse\nlinen apron. She had grown so much, she was obliged to rip and remake\nfor a full hour before she could put them on, which caused much talk\nand laughter that rang through the house. Her wooden shoes, which had\nremained in a corner during the past fifteen months, were likewise too\nsmall; and as that could not be remedied by the needle and thread, it\nwas a real difficulty; but Jeannette, who had not lost her habit of\nhaving an answer for everything, declared she would wear Pierrette's.\nYou can imagine the amusement this caused; and, in fact, at her first\nstep she stumbled, and nearly fell down.\n\nThereupon Jeannet darted off like an arrow, and brought a new pair from\nthe harness-maker at Ordonniers.\n\nJeannette was equally well pleased with the eating, sleeping, and all\nthe old habits of her country life. Never had she appeared happier,\nmore active, and better disposed to assist her mother in her household\nlabors. It could be well imagined that, having heard of the gossiping\nabout her, she wished to prove by every means the good people were\nwrong; and Ragaud had only one wish, which was that the busy-bodies of\nthe village could look through the key-hole and see her at work.\n\nThis was scarcely possible; but he could, at least, satisfy Jacques\nMichou, the first grumbler, whom he had so well repulsed, as you may\nremember.\n\nFor that purpose, without mentioning the return of Jeannette to the\nfarm, with a frank and simple air, he asked his old comrade to come and\nbreak bread with him on S. Martin's day. M. le Cur\u00e9 was also invited,\nand on the morning of the feast Ragaud gave Pierrette her lesson:\n\n\"Understand well this day I wish you to be quiet. You can tell the\nchild all that must be done, not only for the cooking, but for the\ntable and the serving of it. I don't wish to have the shame of seeing\nthe children seated at table, whilst the mother is going around the\nhearth, skirts pinned up, doing the servant's work; which is not\nproper. It is very well to be a good woman, always ready to sacrifice\nherself; but it is also well every one should know there is but one\nmistress of Muiceron.\"\n\n\"Jeannette is too little,\" Pierrette gently objected; \"she could not\nreach up to the stove, and I am afraid the dishes will be too heavy for\nher arms to carry, little darling!\"\n\n\"You will make Marion, the dairy-maid, aid her in the heavy work,\" said\nRagaud. \"I don't ask impossibilities, and I would be the first to fear\nif our little girl ran the risk of burning herself. What I wish is that\nshe, and not you, should have all the trouble.\"\n\nPierrette yielded to this good argument, although a little afraid that\nJeannette would have too much trouble. As for the little girl, she was\nvery proud to give orders to Marion, and commenced immediately to play\nher part of mistress of the farm.\n\nThen could be seen how bright she was. She came and went, passing\nfrom the barn-yard to the wood-house, from the wood-house to the\nlinen-chests; bravely looking on when they bled the chickens and cut up\nthe meat; selecting the beautiful, white table-cloths; superintending,\npolishing the glasses, dusting, flying about like a will-o'-the-wisp.\nBig Marion trotted after her on her heels, scarcely able to follow her,\nstifled half with heat and half with laughter at the sight of such an\nactive young mistress.\n\nWho would have thought, on seeing her thus occupied, that the very\nevening before she had been seated at the right of mademoiselle in her\nbeautiful carriage, driving around the country? It was really wonderful\nto see her so quick at everything, young as she was; and you would have\nbeen as much surprised as the Ragauds, who gazed at her in astonished\nadmiration--parental vanity easily forgiven in this case--and asked\neach other where Jeannette could have learned so much that even\nhousekeepers of thirty hardly knew.\n\nThe truth was, she had never learned anything from anybody or anywhere;\nbut she was precocious in every respect. It was enough for her to hear\nor see a thing once always to remember it; so she had only to think an\ninstant to put in practice what she had observed. Add to this she was\nas sly as a fox, and ardently loved to give satisfaction, and you will\neasily understand there was nothing very astonishing in her performance.\n\nAbout twilight, Jacques Michou made his appearance, accompanied by\nthe _cur\u00e9_, whom he had overtaken on the road. Jeannette came forward\nto meet them, and made a low reverence in true peasant style, totally\nunlike the bows made in M. le Marquis' _salon_. It was a great surprise\nfor these honest souls, who had been conversing along the way about the\nblindness of Ragaud in regard to his daughter, and they were both too\nfrank not to show their satisfaction.\n\n\"So you have come back, my child?\" said the _cur\u00e9_, patting her kindly\non the head.\n\n\"To wait upon you, M. le Cur\u00e9,\" she sweetly replied.\n\n\"And your beautiful dresses?\" asked Jacques Michou.\n\n\"They are hanging up in the wardrobe,\" said Jeannette, laughing.\n\n\"Indeed! And do you like to have them there as much as on your back, my\nlittle girl?\"\n\n\"Why not?\" she replied. \"I am happy here with my father, my mother, and\nJeannet.\"\n\n\"It is your best place,\" said the _cur\u00e9_. \"I am delighted, Mme. Ragaud,\nto see your daughter at home. Is it for some time?\"\n\n\"If mademoiselle does not reclaim her,\" said Pierrette, blushing, for\nshe never would speak falsely, \"it will be for ever.\"\n\n\"Well, I hope it will be so,\" said he. \"And you, Jeannette, do you\ndesire it also?\"\n\n\"I am always happy with my dear parents,\" replied the little one; \"but\nmademoiselle is so kind and good, I am always happy with her also. If\nmy mother sends me to the ch\u00e2teau, I will go; and if she commands me to\nreturn, I will come back.\"\n\nThey could not help being pleased with this speech of the good,\nobedient little girl, and they took their places at table without any\nfurther questions or raillery. Jeannette, during the supper, rose\nmore than twenty times to see that all was right; and Ragaud, you can\nwell imagine, did not fail to inform his guests that everything had\nbeen prepared under his daughter's eye. It was strictly true, as they\nclearly saw; and, consequently, the compliments were freely bestowed.\nNevertheless, when the dessert was brought on, Ragaud could not resist\nsaying to Michou, with a significant look, as he held up his glass:\n\n\"Well, my old fellow, will you now give me credit for knowing how to\nbring up my children?\"\n\nJacques nodded his head, and, holding up his glass, replied, \"I will\ncome to see you eight years from now, comrade, and then I will answer\nyour question.\"\n\n\"Very good,\" said Ragaud. \"M. le Cur\u00e9, you will be witness. I promise\nto give a cow to Jacques Michou, if, at that time, Jeannette is not\nthe best housekeeper in the country.\"\n\n\"I take the bet,\" replied Jacques, laughing; \"and I add that I hope to\nlose it as surely as the good God has no master.\"\n\n\"Come, come,\" said the _cur\u00e9_ gravely, \"it is not worth such an oath.\nBetween good men, my friends, it is enough to say yes or no. I consent\nto be witness, and I also say I hope that Jacques will lose the bet.\"\n\nThey stopped as they saw Jeannette, who returned to the table, crimson\nwith pleasure. Behind her came big Marion, carrying, with great care, a\nlarge dish, upon which stood, erect on his claws, a beautiful pheasant\nthat seemed ready to crow. As it was at the end of the meal, every\none looked at it with amazement, especially Pierrette, who had not\nbeen let into the secret. It was a surprise invented by Jeannette, who\nclapped her hands and laughed heartily, and then wished them to guess\nwhat it was. After she had thoroughly enjoyed their astonishment, she\nrapidly took out the feathers, and then they saw it was a delicious\npudding, stuffed with plums, which she had manufactured, with Marion\nand Jeannet's assistance, after the style of M. le Marquis' cook.\nPierrette, it must be acknowledged, wept tears of admiration; for this\nwas a wonder that surpassed her imagination.\n\nThis magnificent performance increased Ragaud's good humor; and I\nverily believe, but for the presence of M. le Cur\u00e9, he would have\nemptied more than one bottle in honor of Jeannette and the pheasant.\nBut our good pastor, without being the least in the world opposed\nto innocent enjoyment, did not like the gaiety which comes from\ndrinking, as we already know. Consequently, they soon rose from the\nentertainment, and wished each other a cordial good-night. The little\npet was so worn out with her extraordinary efforts, she soon after fell\nasleep in her chair, and they had to carry her off to bed. She was\nthoroughly tired, and Pierrette observed it was not surprising, after\nsuch a day's work, which, perhaps, she herself could not have stood.\n\n\nIX.\n\nThat night something occurred which appeared of small importance at the\ntime, but that had great results, which many persons never understood,\nand that I will reveal to you at the proper time and place. For many\nyears it was a great mystery; and I remember, when I was young, my\nhonest and pious father was conversing in a whisper one evening, in\nthe dim twilight, with an old friend, and I hid myself under a chair\nto find out what he was saying; but not one word of the secret could I\nmake out. Nevertheless, one fearful expression I remembered for a long\nwhile. When my father was tired with talking, he dismissed his chum,\nsaying:\n\n\"Now we will stop; and be silent as the grave. You know you might lose\nyour head!\"\n\nAnd at these terrible words, the friend replied by placing the finger\nof his left hand on his lips, and with his right pulled down his cap\nover his ears, as if to make sure that his head was still safe on his\nshoulders. It was really a gesture which froze one with terror; and as\nfor me, I shook so I thought I would overturn the chair which served me\nfor a hiding-place.\n\nAnd now, I beg of you not to be as curious as I was, for you would gain\nnothing by it. I am only going to tell you what happened the night\nafter the dinner on S. Martin's day.\n\nNo matter how late it might be, Ragaud, excellent manager as he was,\nnever went to bed without having carefully made the tour of all his\nbuildings with a dark lantern. He remained seated by the fire, while\nPierrette carried off the little girl to bed, and Jean-Louis retired to\nhis room. When all was still, he rose and went out softly to commence\nhis round.\n\nIt was a beautiful night, rather dark, but mild for November. Ragaud\nwalked through his little orchard, from whence could be seen the\nstables and barns, behind which rose the tall fir-trees, unruffled\nby a breath of wind. He passed into the barn-yard, silent likewise;\nchickens, geese, ducks, and turkeys slept soundly, heads under their\nwings, on the perches appropriated to them by Pierrette. All was quiet\nand in good order, and Ragaud, content with himself and the world,\nprepared to re-enter, when, accidentally raising his head, he saw in\nthe distance something so astonishing he remained as though nailed\nto the spot, and nearly dropped his lantern in the excitement of the\nmoment.\n\nThe ch\u00e2teau of Val-Saint, which could be seen from a certain point in\nthe garden, like a great, black mass in the horizon, appeared as though\nlighted up with sparks of fire. A light would be seen first at one\nwindow, then at another, and then disappear as quickly as it came. Good\nRagaud could not believe his eyes. Surely something extraordinary was\ntaking place at the ch\u00e2teau; for M. le Marquis and mademoiselle, with\nall due respect, went to bed with the chickens, and the servants were\nnot allowed to remain up.\n\n\"What the devil is the matter with me to-night?\" thought Ragaud. \"Am I\ndreaming on my feet, or must I fancy the two or three glasses of white\nwine more than usual at dessert have turned my brain?\"\n\nNot a bit of it; he saw perfectly clear. The light danced about the\nwindows, as though to mock him, and finally went out entirely. But now\ncomes the crowning mystery. A great, blue star appeared on the summit\nof the high tower, and rose upward until it was hidden by a cloud.\n\nAt the same instant, Ragaud felt two heavy hands resting on his\nshoulders and something breathe heavily on his neck.\n\nIndeed, only put yourself in his place. There was something to fear;\nand so the brave fellow, who in his youth had fought in our great\nbattles, was all over goose-flesh. But it was only momentary; for,\nquickly turning, he saw that he had on his back the soft paws of his\ndog Pataud, who, making the rounds at his side, took this means of\ncaressing him.\n\n\"Down, Pataud, old fellow!\" said he gently; \"it is not daybreak. Go lie\ndown! Be quick! Be off to your kennel! Do you hear me?\"\n\nPataud heard very well, but obedience was not to his taste that night.\nHe wagged his tail, and appeared in splendid humor; one would think he\nsuspected something was going on at the ch\u00e2teau.\n\n\"So you think there is something in the wind up there, do you?\" asked\nRagaud, snapping his fingers in the air. \"Will you come with me, and\nsee what it is all about?\"\n\nAt these words, he started as though to leave the garden, and Pataud\nthis time seemed to consent.\n\n\"This comes from having an animal well brought up,\" thought Ragaud. \"If\nyou could speak, my cunning old fellow, doubtless you would tell me\nwhat I wish to know; but as that can't be expected, I must remain very\nanxious until the morning.\"\n\nHe re-entered the house after this reflection, having obliged Pataud to\nremain quiet by giving him a friendly kick over the threshold of the\nkennel.\n\nTo sleep was difficult; he had the faithful heart of an old servant,\nwho could not repose when he feared evil was impending over his\nmasters. He remembered that ten years before, on a similar night in\nNovember, lights appeared in every window the whole length of the\nfa\u00e7ade of the ch\u00e2teau, and on the next day, alas! it was known they had\nbeen lighted during the agony of our beloved mistress, Mme. la Marquise\nde Val-Saint. Was it not enough to make him apprehend some misfortune\nfor his dear lord?\n\nPoor mademoiselle's health was not very robust, and she frequently\nsaid, in such a mournful tone, that the country air was not good for\nher.\n\n\"To-morrow,\" said Ragaud to himself, \"I will take back Jeannette the\nfirst thing in the morning; if mademoiselle is sick, it will do her\ngood to see her again; and perhaps I would have done better if I had\nlet her remain. Who knows but the dear soul was so fondly attached to\nthe child, she has become ill in consequence?\"\n\nYou must know Ragaud listened to the voice of his conscience as a\ndevotee hears a sermon; and once persuaded that it was his duty to take\nback to mademoiselle her favorite plaything, twenty-five notaries could\nnot have shaken his decision. Consequently, at the first break of day,\nhe took from the chest his Sunday clothes, and was in holiday trim when\nPierrette came down to go out and milk the cows. You can well imagine\nher astonishment.\n\n\"Wife,\" said Ragaud, \"go and make Jeannette get up quickly, and tell\nher to put on her ch\u00e2teau dress.\"\n\n\"Is it possible the child will leave us so soon?\" replied Pierrette,\ndeeply grieved.\n\n\"I wish it,\" said the good man, \"for reasons, Pierrette, that you will\nknow later.\"\n\nShe obeyed without answering. Jean-Louis, meanwhile, entered the room.\n\n\"Light the fire, boy,\" said Ragaud, \"and warm us up something. I must\ngo to the ch\u00e2teau with your sister, and I will not take her out in the\ncold, fasting.\"\n\n\"Father,\" said Jean-Louis, while rapidly breaking up the fagots, \"did\nyou see a bright light last night around the big tower of the ch\u00e2teau?\"\n\n\"Did you?\" asked Ragaud.\n\n\"I saw something like a rocket go up from the ch\u00e2teau,\" the boy replied.\n\n\"Yes, I saw it also,\" answered Ragaud; \"and Pataud did, too. What do\nyou think it could have been, Jeannet?\"\n\n\"I think,\" said Jean-Louis, \"they illuminated the ch\u00e2teau and fired off\nrockets in honor of S. Martin.\"\n\n\"Very probable, child; that is a good idea,\" said Ragaud laughing.\n\"Perhaps, after all, it is the whole secret; but, any how, I would\nrather go and find out.\"\n\n\"Shall I go with you, father?\" asked Jeannet.\n\n\"No, stay and help your mother; if I want you, I will tell you. It is\nenough that I must carry off the little girl.\"\n\nJeannette all this time was dressing as fast as possible, without\nasking why or wherefore. She yawned and rubbed her eyes, not having had\nher full sleep; but I think the idea of returning to her godmother was\nnot very disagreeable.\n\nHowever, she was sufficiently wide awake to swallow down a big bowl of\nsweetened milk; after which, Pierrette wrapped her up in a warm shawl,\nand kissed her good-by with a full heart.\n\nAll this had taken two hours; and Ragaud not wishing to hurry her, the\nvillage clock struck eight when they reached the door of the ch\u00e2teau.\n\nThe first person they saw, contrary to the usual custom, was Master\nJean Riponin, who was M. le Marquis' man of business. From his imposing\nmanner and the great fuss he was making--ordering every one here and\nthere with a voice as rough as the captain of a fire-brigade--it was\ndifficult to fancy there was any one above him in the ch\u00e2teau; Ragaud,\nsharp fellow that he was, took it in at a glance, and, instead of\napproaching the steward, as he had always done, without ceremony and a\ngood shake of the hand, he remained at a slight distance, and touched\nhis hat.\n\n\"It is you, Master Ragaud?\" said Jean Riponin with a patronizing air.\n\"Wait a moment; I will speak to you after I have given my orders to\nthese stupid things.\"\n\n\"Don't disturb yourself,\" replied Ragaud. \"I have not come on business\nto-day; I only wish to see mademoiselle.\"\n\n\"It is I who have received full power from M. le Marquis at his\ndeparture,\" replied Riponin, a little provoked. \"Mademoiselle is not up\nyet; and, if she were, be assured, Ragaud, she would send you back to\nme. So let me know what you want without further delay, as I am in a\nhurry.\"\n\n\"Did you not say M. le Marquis had left?\" asked the farmer, as much\nfrom interest as to cut short the puffed-up superintendent.\n\n\"Yes, this morning before the day-dawn,\" said he; \"and it seems it was\nsomething very hurried, for he had only time to hand me all the keys of\nthe house, except those of his desk and safe, which were forgotten in\nhis great haste. But he must have already perceived it, and I expect to\nreceive those two keys by express.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" thought Ragaud, \"it will be time enough to see them when\nthey come--that is to say, if they will ever come.\" For he knew Master\nRiponin was not a man who regarded the marquis' crowns as relics once\nthat he saw the heap. Fortunately, M. le Marquis was of the same\nopinion; therefore, he kept Riponin in his service on account of many\nother good qualities that he possessed; but as for the desk and safe,\nhe never saw anything but the key-holes.\n\nWhile Riponin and Ragaud were conversing, mademoiselle, who had just\nrisen, drew aside her curtains to see what caused such a noise in the\ncourt; and the cunning little Jeannette, as soon as she perceived her\ngodmother, kissed her hand to her. In less than a minute, Dame Berthe\nappeared at the door.\n\n\"M. Ragaud,\" said she, \"I am sent by mademoiselle to beg that you will\ngo to her immediately; and you, Jeannette, run and kiss your godmother.\"\n\n\"M. Riponin, I wish you good-morning,\" said Ragaud, carelessly turning\nhis back on the steward.\n\nThe steward watched him enter the ch\u00e2teau with anything but a pleased\nexpression; but he dared not show his displeasure before Dame Berthe,\nwhom he knew was not friendly to him.\n\nDear mademoiselle's eyes filled with tears when she saw her darling\npet. The little one was tender-hearted, and was deeply moved by this\nproof of affection. Ragaud, likewise, showed great emotion, and Dame\nBerthe said it would have been a cruel shame to have longer deprived\nthe ch\u00e2teau of its chief delight.\n\n\"Ragaud,\" said mademoiselle, \"my dear Ragaud, if you had not come\nto-day, I was going myself to bring back Jeannette. You see, I am so\nunhappy.\"\n\n\"I did not think you loved the child so much,\" replied Ragaud; \"it is\na great honor for Jeannette and for us all, dear mademoiselle, and I\ndesire nothing so much as to contribute to your happiness.\"\n\n\"Only think,\" said mademoiselle, sighing, \"I am always alone; and now\nthat my father has left home, ... and perhaps for such a long time!\"\n\n\"Will M. le Marquis go far?... Excuse my curiosity,\" said Ragaud; \"but\nyou know, mademoiselle, I only ask the question from the great interest\nI feel in your dear family.\"\n\nMademoiselle was about to reply; but Dame Berthe stopped her short by\nglancing at Jeannette, who was listening with profound attention.\n\n\"I will take her with me,\" said she in a low tone to her governess,\n\"and then tell everything to Ragaud; our family never keeps a secret\nfrom this old servant.\"\n\nWhen mademoiselle had withdrawn, under the pretext of showing some new\narticle of the toilet to Jeannette, Dame Berthe carefully closed the\ndoor, and approached Ragaud.\n\n\"Can I rely on your devotion?\" she asked in such a solemn manner Ragaud\ncould only bow his head in assent. \"And even on your life?\" continued\nDame Berthe with a still more serious air.\n\n\"If I must give it in exchange for that of my master, yes, certainly,\"\nreplied the faithful old fellow without any hesitation.\n\n\"Very well. Sit down, Ragaud; you are going to learn a secret--the\ngreatest secret a Christian can keep.\"\n\nRagaud sat down, rather astonished, his heart beating in spite of\nhimself. However, strictly speaking, the words of Dame Berthe appeared\na little exaggerated, and he felt so without being able to account for\nit, except from his own good sense.\n\n\"Master Ragaud,\" said the governess, who was a devoted reader of\nnewspapers, and had learned to talk in their style, \"great events are\npreparing, and, before long, the face of the world will be changed.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said Ragaud. \"Excuse me, my good lady, but the face of the\nworld, ... I don't know what that means.\"\n\n\"When I speak of the world,\" resumed Dame Berthe, \"I mean\nFrance--_France_--Ragaud, our country.\"\n\n\"Now I understand better; yes, I know that France is our country. Well,\nthen, what is going to be changed in France?\"\n\n\"Everything,\" said she, rising in a frantic manner. \"France, my good\nRagaud, is tired of the odious yoke that has weighed her down for ten\nyears.\"\n\n\"My oxen are also sometimes tired of the yoke,\" said Ragaud dryly; \"but\nthat does not pay them while the whip is around.\"\n\n\"Yes, but a nation can't be whipped like a beast of burden,\" replied\nDame Berthe. \"Come, Ragaud, I see you do not understand what I am\naiming at.\"\n\n\"No, not at all,\" said he. \"I am not learned, my good lady; sometimes I\nhear such expressions as you use when M. le Cur\u00e9 reads aloud from some\npublic journal; but, between ourselves, it always puts me to sleep. You\nsee, the useful things in the newspapers, for a farmer, are the price\nof grain and the announcement of the fairs; the rest is all twaddle for\nme.\"\n\n\"So it appears,\" answered Dame Berthe, a little hurt. \"I am now going\nto talk in a way that you can understand. Well, then, Ragaud, M. le\nMarquis left home last night. Where do you think he has gone?\"\n\n\"It is not my custom to inquire into the private affairs of my\nmasters,\" replied Ragaud. \"By chance I walked through my garden late\nlast night, and I saw the ch\u00e2teau lighted up. I was afraid mademoiselle\nwas ill; so this morning I brought back Jeannette to amuse her. In the\ncourt, M. Riponin told me of the departure of M. le Marquis; and now I\ndo not wish to hear anything further, unless you judge it necessary.\"\n\n\"It will certainly be useful,\" said Dame Berthe, who was longing to\ntell all she knew, \"you will agree with me, M. Ragaud, when you know\nthat M. le Marquis was called off by a letter, which assured him that\nthey were only waiting for him....\"\n\n\"To change _the face of the world_,\" said Ragaud with dry humor.\n\n\"Precisely,\" replied Berthe seriously. \"It appears that the\ninsurrection has broken out near Angers, where there are thousands of\narmed men. Monsieur, who fought with the Chouans in his youth, will be\nappointed general, and they will advance to the capture of Paris, where\nnothing is suspected. The usurper will be driven out, M. Ragaud, and\nour dear young legitimate prince will ascend the throne. Won't it be\nmagnificent? Dear Eveline will go to court. Poor child! she has been so\nlong tired of the country.\"\n\n\"Hum!\" said Ragaud, not the least bit excited. \"Are they very sure of\nall that?\"\n\n\"Sure? How can it be doubted, when the friend of M. le Marquis in that\nprovince declares, do you understand--declares positively--that it only\nneeds a spark to set fire to the powder?\"\n\n\"To the powder!\" cried Ragaud, this time very much frightened. \"Are\nthey dreaming of blowing up the magazine at Angers? That would be a\nterrible misfortune, my dear lady.\"\n\n\"Be easy,\" replied Dame Berthe, shrugging her shoulders. \"I always\nforget that you don't read the papers. 'Setting fire to the powder'\nmeans to kindle the insurrection, to inflame the minds and hearts of\nthe people; and it is expected that, at the first word, the country\nwill rise as one man.\"\n\n\"They are going to fight?\" said Ragaud. \"Battles are not gay, and the\npoor fare badly in time of war.\"\n\n\"Fight? Oh! you are blind, my dear M. Ragaud,\" replied Dame Berthe,\nlaughing with the most charming simplicity. \"Do you expect a few little\nregiments to withstand millions of men? Before a week, the insurgents\nwill be counted by millions. And now, if you wish to know the real\ntruth, ... well, ... the army itself is with us.\"\n\n\"Ah! indeed,\" said Ragaud. \"This is great news.\"\n\n\"Do you think those gentlemen would be so silly as to commence the work\nwithout being assured of this support?\" replied the governess, clasping\nher hands. \"My God! Ragaud, for whom do you take M. le Marquis and his\nfriends?\"\n\n\"For brave men, most assuredly,\" said the farmer, unable to repress a\nsmile; \"and since all is so well arranged, Dame Berthe, allow me, with\nall due respect, to ask you two questions. In the first place, when\nwill the marriage come off? In the second, what does my dear master\nwish me to do under the circumstances?\"\n\n\"When will the marriage take place? You mean, when will the king enter\nParis?\"\n\n\"Just so, my good lady.\"\n\n\"I don't think this great event could possibly take place before a\nmonth, or three weeks at soonest. Although this revolution, inspired\nby God, must, I am fully convinced, spread like lightning, time flies\nrapidly; and then, we must always think of unforeseen accidents.\"\n\n\"Doubtless, doubtless; it is always more prudent,\" said Ragaud.\n\n\"As for what M. le Marquis expects of you, my good Ragaud, it is very\neasy. It would be shameful, you know, when all France is rising in\narms for her true sovereign, to see Val-Saint and the neighborhood\nsleeping in carelessness and indolence. You are, then, designated--you,\nJacques Michou, who for forty years has been the head-keeper of the\nestate, Master Perdreau, the notary of the family, and some other old\nservants--you are expected to prepare the people for the change about\nto take place, and make them cry 'Long live the King!' throughout the\ncommune.\"\n\n\"And if they won't do it?\" asked Ragaud innocently; \"for, in truth,\nthat is to be well considered.\"\n\n\"They will do it; they will _all_ do it,\" cried Dame Berthe. \"France is\nburning with the desire of uttering this cry of love and gratitude,\"\nshe added, remembering that she had just read this expression in her\nmorning paper.\n\n\"So much the better,\" said Ragaud; \"and it only remains to thank you\nfor your confidence, my dear lady, and I will do my best to fulfil the\nwishes of M. le Marquis.\"\n\nThe entrance of mademoiselle, who thought there had been time enough\nfor the secret to be told and retold, cut short the conversation, as\nshe brought Jeannette with her. Ragaud bowed politely to the ladies of\nthe ch\u00e2teau, kissed his daughter, told her to be good and obedient,\nand closed the door behind him, his head full of all he had just heard.\n\nDame Berthe overtook him at the head of the staircase.\n\n\"Ragaud,\" said she, \"you told me you were up late last night. Did you\nnot see, about midnight, a blue light go up from the summit of the\ntower?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Ragaud, \"and I was dumb with astonishment; I do not\nconceal it.\"\n\n\"It was the given signal to warn several ch\u00e2teaux of the neighborhood\nof the departure of M. le Marquis. Watch all these nights, for we\nexpect a messenger, who will come to announce the triumph of the holy\ncause, and then a second light will go up at the same hour. This one\nwill be red, and, when you see it, you will instantly march, with the\narmed bands you will have assembled, to join the grand army.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Ragaud; \"we will do our best.\"\n\nAnd he descended the staircase slowly, without appearing the least\nexcited.\n\n\"Eveline,\" said Dame Berthe, pressing mademoiselle to her breast,\n\"thank God, my dear child. I have had the happiness of completely\nwinning over good Ragaud to the holy cause. He is even more ardent than\nmyself, and as well disposed as we could wish. Before long, we will see\nVal-Saint and Ordonniers rise and march to victory under the command\nof this brave peasant. Jacques Cathelineau and M. Stofflet should be\nof the same stamp. What I admire in Ragaud is that cold determination,\nwhich would make one fancy he was not enthusiastic; but I am not\ndeceived by appearances.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said mademoiselle, \"all will be over in time for us to go\nand finish the winter in Paris.\"\n\n\"I have no doubt of it,\" replied Dame Berthe; \"and thus, my dear child,\nas I have thought the dressmakers might be half crazy with the quantity\nof court-dresses that would be ordered, I have already decided what\nyour costume is to be on the entrance of the king into Paris; for I\nexpect the daughter of the commander-in-chief to be the first to salute\nher sovereign; and I will immediately commence to embroider the satin\ntrain, so as to be ready.\"\n\n\"How good you are! You think of everything!\" said mademoiselle, very\nmuch overcome. \"I wish I was there now!...\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Dame Berthe, \"only be patient.\"\n\nAfter leaving the ch\u00e2teau, Ragaud, with his hands in his pockets, went\noff in search of his old comrade, Jacques Michou, that he might consult\nwith him over Dame Berthe's revelations. Jacques lived alone--being a\nwidower and childless--in a little house close to the edge of the woods\nthat bordered La Range. He had no one about him but a niece of his late\nwife, whom he fed and clothed; in return for which, she cooked for him\nand cleaned his hunting-gun. The girl was little trouble to him; she\nwas idiotic and half dumb, and, among other little eccentricities,\nliked to sleep with the sheep. So, in the summer she camped out on\nthe meadow with the flock, and in winter slept in the sheepfold,\nwhich certainly had the advantage of keeping her very warm, but could\nhave had no other charm. From this habit she had acquired the name of\n_Barbette_ throughout the country; and it was not badly given, as with\nus a great many shepherd-dogs are called Barbets, on account of the\nrace; and since the poor girl shared their office, she had at least a\nclaim to the name if she so pleased.\n\nJacques Michou, on his side, had his particular fancies. First of\nall was the idea (which he would only give up with his life) that,\nin virtue of his badge and his gun, he was the head-keeper of M. le\nMarquis de Val-Saint. Now, we must acknowledge it was mere show, there\nwas nothing in it; for our good lord never wished to displease any one,\nnot even the poachers. He said there was always some good in those men;\nand as in everything he pursued one aim--which was, as you know, to\nenrol one day or other all our boys in a regiment for the benefit of\nthe king--he preferred to be kind to these bold and cunning rascals,\nwho were not easily hoodwinked. After a while, Jacques Michou became\nweary of carrying the delinquents before M. le Marquis only to see them\ngraciously dismissed, so it ended by his letting them alone; and at the\nend of a few years, his principal occupation was to carefully keep to\nthe right of the estate in making his rounds when he knew the poachers\nwere at work on the left. However, he took pride in letting them know\nthat each and every one could be caught at any moment he wished; he\nknew every path in the woods as well as the bottom of his sauce-pan,\nand all the thieves as though they belonged to his family. When he\nmet the rascals, he threatened them with loud voice and gesture, and\nswore tremendous oaths that made heaven and earth tremble. \"But,\" he\nwould shout, \"what can I do? Robbers and vagabonds that you are, if M.\nle Marquis allows himself to be plundered, the servant must obey the\nmaster's orders; but for that, you would see!\" And the end of the story\nwas--nothing was seen.\n\nYou can understand very well that the brave old fellow, having only the\ntitle of keeper, and nothing to show for it but the fine silver badge,\nengraved with the arms of the family of Val-Saint, which he wore on\nthe shoulder-strap of his game-bag, clung all the closer to the empty\nhonor, and allowed no joking on the subject.\n\nWhen Ragaud entered his friend's house, he found him carving playthings\nout of cocoanut-shells--something which he did wonderfully well--and in\na few words related what had taken place at the ch\u00e2teau.\n\n\"We will find ourselves floundering in the mire,\" said Ragaud. \"As for\nme, I am ready to promise before the good God that I will give my life\nto fulfil the commands of our dear master; but it remains to be seen if\nmany around here are of my opinion.\"\n\n\"Many?\" exclaimed Jacques, shrugging his shoulders. \"Bah! I am very\nsure you will not find one out of a dozen!\"\n\n\"If it is true,\" replied Ragaud, with hesitation; \"I wonder if it is\nreally true about the insurrection in Anjou?\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" said Jacques Michou. \"That poor M. le Marquis is crazy on\none point, which takes him out of the country every five or six years\nfor change of air, and that is good for his health; for every man needs\nhope to keep him well. That is the truth of the business.\"\n\n\"Do you think, then, we had better not attempt to fulfil his orders?\"\nasked Ragaud.\n\n\"As for that, a good master must always be obeyed, old fellow; we can\nsay a few words here and there quietly. You will find the people as\nstupid as owls, and they will understand you as well as though you\nspoke Prussian. We shall have done our duty. As to monsieur, he will\nreturn before long, a little cross for the moment, but not at all\ndiscouraged--take my word for it.\"\n\n\"It is a great pity,\" said Ragaud, \"that a man of such great good sense\ncouldn't listen to reason!\"\n\n\"Why so?\" replied Jacques. \"A great lord like him is bound in honor to\nbe devoted, body and soul, to his king; for you see, Ragaud, the king\nwho is not on the throne is the real one--no doubt about that. But\noften one tumbles over in running too fast; and since it appears not to\nbe the will of the good God that things should return to the old style,\nit would have been much better not to have sent off letters, gone off\nat night, and fired off signals. It is just as if they had played the\nflute. Men stop a moment, listen, and then, the music ended, each one\nreturns to his plough.\"\n\n\"You speak capitally,\" said Ragaud; \"it is just what I think also; so\nI will do as you say--neither more nor less. But we will agree on one\npoint, old fellow, which is, to have an eye on the ch\u00e2teau, so that we\ncan defend the doors if the women are threatened.\"\n\n\"Bah! bah! No fear about that,\" said Michou, shaking him by the hand.\n\"I will give my life for all that belong to the house of Val-Saint,\ncomrade. I would as willingly fire a pistol in defence of monsieur,\nmademoiselle, and the old fool of a governess, as for the hares and\nrabbits on the estate. But for these it would be powder thrown away,\nas monsieur, we must believe, only likes butcher's meat, and prefers to\nleave his game for those devils of thieves!\"\n\nThereupon the worthy old souls refreshed themselves with a jug of\ncider, and conversed together for some time longer, principally\nrepeating the same ideas on the same subject, which was the one we have\njust related--something which often happens to wiser men than they,\nand, therefore, I consider it useless to tell you any more of their\nhonest gossip.\n\nThey separated about mid-day, and I will inform you what was the result\nof the great insurrection. At Angers, as with us, it was as Michou had\npredicted. M. le Marquis returned from his trip rather fatigued and\nthoroughly disgusted with France, which he called a ruined country.\nMademoiselle wept for a week that she could not go to Paris. Dame\nBerthe commenced Novenas to the Blessed Queen Jeanne, in order that the\nnext enterprise, which would not be long delayed, might succeed better\nthan the last; and the result of all was that Jeannette remained more\nthan ever at the ch\u00e2teau, as she was the greatest consolation to her\ndear godmother.\n\n\nX.\n\nI think we will do well, at this period of our story, to pass over\nseveral years, during which time nothing of great importance occurred.\nIn the country, days succeed each other in undisturbed tranquillity,\nunmarked by many great events. According as the spring is rainy or\ndry, the villagers commence the season by making predictions about the\nsummer, which, twenty times out of twenty-two, are never fulfilled.\nIt must be acknowledged that we peasants seem afraid to appear too\nwell pleased with the good God; and, though it is a great fault,\nunfortunately it is not rare. Men grumble and swear, first at the sun,\nand then at the wind, for burning and parching their fields; and when\nthe rain commences, there is another cause for displeasure; and most\nof all, at the end of summer, when, after these doleful repinings,\nthe harvests have been plentiful, far from thanking the Lord God, who,\ninstead of punishing them, has sent blessings, they instantly commence\nto worry about the approaching vintage. And so S. Sylvester's day finds\nthem with well-stacked barns and cellars filled with barrels of wine,\nbut not to make them wiser the year after from such experience, which\nshould teach them faith in divine Providence.\n\nWhence I conclude that men are only incorrigible, gabbling children,\nand that the good God must have great patience and mercy to tolerate\nthem. Much more could be said on this subject; but, not being a priest,\nI prefer to leave off moralizing, and return to our friends.\n\nTherefore, we will, if you please, resume our narrative about seven\nyears from where we left off, at which time Jeannette Ragaud had nearly\ncompleted her sixteenth year and Jean-Louis his twentieth.\n\nWeeks and months, rapidly passing, had brought them from childhood\nto youth without their knowing it, and they had each followed their\ninclinations, as might easily have been foreseen. Jeannette, well\neducated, coquettish, and extremely pretty, was the most charming\nlittle blonde in the province. She scarcely ever came to Muiceron,\nexcept on Sundays and festivals, between Mass and Vespers; and if you\nask me how this could have happened, so contrary, as you know, to the\nwishes of father and mother Ragaud, I will reply that I know nothing,\nunless there is a special wind which blows sometimes over men's\ndesires, and prevents their ripening into facts. To be convinced of\nthis truth needs only a little unreserved frankness. See, now, you who\nlisten to me, you may be more learned than a schoolmaster, and more\nmalicious than a hump-back--that I will not dispute; but if you will\nswear to me that everything in this life has happened as you desired,\nwithout change or contradiction, I will not hesitate to think you, but\nfor the charity which should reign among Christians, the greatest liar\nin your parish.\n\nIf any one spoke to Ragaud about the dangerous road in which he had\nplaced his daughter, and that there was no longer chance to retrace his\nsteps, he did not show displeasure or excuse himself, as heretofore.\nHis serious and rather sorrowful air, joined to a very convenient\nlittle cough, showed more than by words that he did not know how to\nreply, and the poor man was truly sensible of his weakness and error;\nbut what could he do? Something always happened to prevent him from\ncarrying out his intention of taking Jeannette from the ch\u00e2teau.\n\nSometimes mademoiselle was sick; sometimes it was a festival of the\nchurch that needed a reinforcement of skilled embroiderers to make\nvestments and flowers for the altars; another day Dame Berthe had gone\noff for a month's vacation. In winter the pretext was that Jeannette's\nhealth would be endangered if she resumed her peasant life, as she\ncould not bear the exposure; and when that was over, the summer days\nwere so long, mademoiselle would have died of _ennui_ without her\ndarling Jeannette; and all this mademoiselle explained with such a\ngentle, winning air, old Ragaud never could refuse her; so that at last\nhe was so accustomed to ask and be refused each time that he went for\nJeannette, he finally abandoned the attempt; and seeing that his visits\nto the ch\u00e2teau were mere matters of form, he submitted with good grace,\nby making none at all, at least with that intention.\n\nAs for good Pierrette, she remained quiet; but accustomed to submit,\nand filled besides with admiration for the great good sense of her\nhusband, she told all her troubles to the good God, and awaited,\nwithout complaint, the time when he would decree a change. But yet I\nmust say things were not so bad as you might fancy. Life at the ch\u00e2teau\nhad not spoiled Jeannette's heart. She was rather light-hearted,\nand the vanity of fine clothes had more effect on her than that of\nposition; but as for her parents, she adored them, and overwhelmed\nthem with embraces and kisses on her visits to the farm, which gave\nher undisguised pleasure. Our _cur\u00e9_, who watched her closely, and who\nnever liked to see country girls quit the stable for the drawing-room,\nwas forced to acknowledge that the affair had not turned out so\nbadly as he apprehended; and although he did not hesitate to scold\nmademoiselle for spoiling Jeannette--which he had the right to do, as\nhe had known her from her birth, and had also baptized her--it was easy\nto see, by his fond, paternal air, that he loved the child as much as\nat the time when Germaine whipped her.\n\nI will also tell you that this good pastor was beginning to feel the\nweight of years. He lost strength daily, and, like all holy men, his\ncharacter softened as he drew nearer to the good God. Besides, fearing\nthat soon he would be unable to visit his beloved flock, he thought\nrightly it was better not to be too severe, as it might wean them from\nhim.\n\n\"For,\" said he, \"if it is true that flies are not caught by vinegar, it\nis still more evident that men are never won by scolding and threats.\"\n\nIt was a sound argument, and, consequently, who was more venerated\nthan the _cur\u00e9_ of Val-Saint? I will give only one proof. His\nparishioners, seeing that walking fatigued him, consulted among\nthemselves at a fair, and resolved to buy him a steady animal, with a\nsheep-skin saddle and leather reins, embroidered in red, according to\nthe country fashion.\n\nIt so happened that just at that moment a pedlar, owning a good mule,\nwished to barter it for a draught-horse, put up for sale by a farmer\nfrom Charbonni\u00e8re. The bargain was made after a short parley, and our\ngood friends returned home joyfully, and, without saying a word, tied\ntheir present to the tree before the priest's house. It was too good an\nact to be kept silent; the next day the _cur\u00e9_ and all the parish knew\nit. I need not ask who was deeply moved. The following Sunday our dear\n_cur\u00e9_ thanked his flock with words that repaid them a hundred-fold;\nand really, if you know anything about country people, you must\nsay, without meaning any wrong by it, they are not accustomed to be\ngenerous; therefore, a little praise was fully their due.\n\nAs for the mule, it was a famous beast. She was black, and sniffed\nthe air at such a rate, she always seemed eager to start off at full\ngallop; but, fortunately for our dear old _cur\u00e9_, it was only a little\ncoquetry she still practised in remembrance of her youthful days, and\nnever went further. After making six or seven paces, she became calmer,\ndropped her head, and trotted along as quietly as a lady taking up a\ncollection in the church. Otherwise she was gentle and easily managed,\nexcept at the sight of water, into which she never could be induced to\nput her foot.\n\n\"But who has not his faults?\" as the beadle of Val-Saint was accustomed\nto say to his wife, when she scolded him for returning home rather the\nworse for having raised his elbow too often.\n\nIn speaking a little here and there about each and every one, don't\nthink that I have forgotten Jean-Louis; on the contrary, I have kept\nthe dear boy as the choicest morsel.\n\nYou must not expect me to relate in detail all his acts and gestures.\nIn the first place, he spoke little, and what he said was so kind and\ngentle that, if he was forced to deal with the noisiest brawler in\nthe neighborhood, he soon conquered him by his mildness. One reason\nof this was that, having learned so young the painful circumstances\nof his birth, and being proud by nature, he controlled himself before\npeople, in order not to provoke any insolence. I must also add that the\ngreater part of our young men get into trouble over their wine; and for\nJeannet there was nothing to fear in that respect. Why, you can easily\nguess: because he knew nothing of the tavern, but the entrance and the\nsign--just what could be seen in passing along the street.\n\nThe good fellows, his companions, loved him dearly; the wicked were\nforced to respect him, and feared him also, as Jeannet had grown up\ntall, and had arms strong enough to stop a mad bull; and as for work,\nno one could compete with him. Only one thing on earth he feared, and\nthat was to commit a sin. And do you know, that those who have only\nthis fear can overcome, with a sign, a raging madman? It daily happens,\nas much in the city, among the black coats, as in the village, among\nthe blouses. Try it, and you will be convinced, and then you will\nacknowledge I speak the truth.\n\nThe Ragauds, as they watched this pearl of a boy grow up, learned\nto love him more than many parents do their legitimate sons. He was\nworth five hired men, and Ragaud, with his strict sense of justice,\nhad calculated the value to the last cent, and for the past ten years\nhad placed to his credit in the savings-bank, every 1st of January,\none thousand francs, upon which the interest was accruing. Jean-Louis\nknew nothing of the secret, and never did he dream his labor was worth\nremuneration. The boy's mind and heart were so thoroughly at ease that,\nknowing he had not a cent, and nothing to expect on the death of his\nparents, as they had a daughter, he never troubled himself about the\npresent or the future, believing firmly that the good God, who had\ngiven him a family, would provide for his daily wants; for this second\nblessing was nothing, in his eyes, in comparison with the first.\n\nPierrette was careful that her Benjamin's pocket was never empty. At\nEaster and on S. John's day she always gave him a five-franc piece;\nand even this was often too much, as Jeannet's clothes and linen were\nalways kept in perfect order by his devoted mother, and, consequently,\nas he never indulged in dissipation, and seldom joined in the village\ngames, he did not know how to spend it. He would have liked sometimes\nto treat himself to a book when the pedlar--the same who had sold the\nmule to the farmers for M. le Cur\u00e9--came around, and Ragaud, sure now\nof his good conduct, would certainly not have objected; but one day,\nafter having searched over the package, he bought for thirty sous what\nhe thought was a good and entertaining work, as it bore the seal placed\nby the government on all publications peddled through the country; but,\nto his horror, he found it filled with villanous sentiments. This\nsaddened and disgusted him for several days; these thirty sous laid\nheavy on his mind, not from the avaricious thought that he had thrown\nhis money to the wind, but from the idea that he had wronged the poor;\nfor thirty sous was the exact price of a six-pound loaf of bread of the\nbest quality. Between ourselves, I verily believe he accused himself of\nit in confession, as what I ever heard of the good boy makes me think\nit most likely he would do so.\n\nPerhaps you would like to know if Jean-Louis had grown up handsome\nor ugly. Well, he was ugly, at least according to common opinion; we\nvillagers admire red faces and those who look well fed, and dress\nshowily. Jeannet's face was long and pale; his features delicate; teeth\nwhite and beautiful, in a large mouth that seldom smiled; and his\ndeep, dark eyes were brilliant as stars; and when those eyes looked in\ndispleasure at any one, they were fearful. Besides, Jean-Louis, who was\ntall, appeared so thin you would have thought him a young gray-beard,\nready to break in two at the first breath of wind. With us, thin people\nwho have not a pound of flesh on their bones are not admired, and it is\nquite an insult to be called thin. I think that is all nonsense, for\nvigor does not come from fat, but from good health, flesh strengthened\nby exercise and good habits; and as Jeannet was acknowledged to be\nthe strongest boy in the neighborhood, he was only called thin from\njealousy, as he certainly could thank God for being a sound young man,\nas strong as the foundation of a barn.\n\nThe only amusement he allowed himself was sometimes, on great\nfestivals, to assist at the pigeon-shooting which M. le Marquis had\nestablished on the lawn before the ch\u00e2teau. It was a difficult game,\nwhich demanded good sight, coolness, and, above all, great strength of\nwrist. Jeannet, on two successive years, carried off the prize; the\nfirst was a silver goblet, the second a beautiful knife, fork, and\nspoon of the same metal. On these occasions his pale face became red\nwith pleasure; do you think it was from vanity? Not at all. If his\nheart beat quickly, it was at the thought of the splendid presents he\nwould make his good mother Pierrette; and, in reality, he made her\npromise she would never drink a drop or eat a mouthful but out of the\ngoblet or with the knife and fork. We must say, in spite of the crowns\nheaped up at Muiceron, the earthen pipe and tin cups were alone used.\nAt first Pierrette was ill at ease with her silver service, but she\nnevertheless accustomed herself to the use of it, so as to please\nJeannet; and at last, to make her feel more comfortable, Ragaud, on his\nnext trip to the city, bought himself a similar set, very fine, for\neighty-four francs, which he constantly said was rather dear; but at\nheart he thought it very suitable, as it was not proper for his wife to\neat with silver and he with tin; and to Jeannet's mind, who regretted\nthat he had not drawn four prizes instead of two, so as to delight both\nhis dear parents, a brighter idea had never entered his good father's\nhead.\n\nIf I relate all these little anecdotes at length, it is to show you\nJeannet's good heart; and without speaking ill of little Jeannette, who\nhad also her fine points, I think her brother surpassed her in delicate\nattention to their parents, which I attribute to the difference in\ntheir education. Believe me, it is always better to let a cabbage\nremain a cabbage, and never attempt to graft a melon upon it. You will\nmake nothing worth eating; for the good God, who created the cabbage\non one side, and the melon on the other, likes each to remain in its\nplace, without which you will have a hybrid vegetable, which will not\nreally be of either species.\n\nPierrette, like a true woman, knowing Jeannet's excellence, often\nthought he could make some woman very happy, and that it was her duty\nto speak to him of marriage, since he was twenty years old, and they\nknew he would never have to enter the army, even though he should\ndraw the fatal number. One evening, when she was spinning beside the\nhearth, with Jean-Louis near her, making a net for catching birds,\nshe commenced to speak of the happiness of her married life, the\nblessings she had received from heaven, and her perfect contentment on\nall points. Jean-Louis listened with pleasure, and acknowledged that\na happy marriage was something to be envied, but, according to his\ncustom, never thinking of himself, he did not dream of wishing this\nfine destiny might one day be his.\n\n\"And you, my Jean, would you not like to marry?\"\n\nJean-Louis dropped his shuttle, and looked at Pierrette with\nastonishment.\n\n\"What an idea!\" said he. \"I have never even thought of it, dear mother.\"\n\n\"It is nevertheless very simple, my son. Ragaud was your age when he\nmarried me, and, when his parents asked him the same question, he\nthought it right, and instantly replied, yes!\"\n\n\"Doubtless he knew you, and even loved you; then I could easily\nunderstand it.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" replied Pierrette, slightly blushing; \"for a year\nbefore, the dear man had cast glances at me on Sundays at High Mass;\nat least, he told me so after we were engaged. Why don't you do\nlikewise?\"\n\n\"For that, I should be obliged to think of some of the girls around us,\nand I have never troubled myself about them yet.\"\n\n\"That is queer,\" said Pierrette innocently. \"You are not like other\nmen; for without showing particular attention, it is allowable to look\nat the girls around when one wishes to be established.\"\n\n\"Bah!\" said Jeannet; \"but I don't care about anything of the kind. When\nI am in the village on Sunday, I have something else to think about.\"\n\n\"About what, dear boy?\"\n\n\"Well, then, I think that we will all be quiet at Muiceron until\nevening, and I hasten to return, so as to sit down near you, as I\nam now, and laugh and talk to amuse you; and I don't wish any other\npleasure. Besides, it is the only time in the week when we can see\nJeannette; and, to speak the truth, dear mother, I would not give that\nup for all the marriages in the world.\"\n\n\"All very well,\" replied Pierrette; \"but without giving up those\npleasures, you can take a wife.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Jeannet, \"I see that you are tired of me, or else you would\nnot speak thus.\"\n\n\"What do you say?\" replied Pierrette, kissing him on the forehead.\n\"It is not right to speak so, and surely you do not mean it. On the\ncontrary, whether you marry or remain single, I never wish you to leave\nme. There is room enough for another woman, and even for children. What\nI proposed, my Jean, was for your happiness, and nothing else.\"\n\n\"Well, then, dear mother, let me remain as I am; I never can be happier\nthan now.\"\n\n\"But when we come to die, it will be so sad to leave you alone!\"\n\nJeannet started up, and leaned against the mantel. A clap of thunder\nat the time would not have astonished him more than such a speech. He\nto be left alone in the world, no longer to have his father and mother\nbeside him! And nevertheless it was something to be anticipated; but\nhis life flowed on so smoothly and happily, the thought of such a\nmisfortune had never before struck terror to his heart.\n\nHe remained silent a moment, looking fixedly at the bright wood fire\nthat burned upon the hearth; and suddenly, as it often happens when\nsome remark has penetrated the very soul, he saw, as in a picture, his\ndear good mother Pierrette and father Ragaud stretched on their biers,\nand laid in the cold ground, in the dread repose of death that never\nawakens. But, no! it was not possible; and yet it happens any day,\nsometimes for one, sometimes for another. Muiceron, where they all\nlived in tranquil happiness, was truly a paradise on earth, but most\nassuredly not the celestial paradise where immortality alone exists.\n\nFor the first time since the memorable day when he had suffered so\ncruelly on learning the secret of his birth, Jeannet felt his poor\nheart ache with a similar grief. Pierrette, who thought it perfectly\nnatural to have opened his eyes to such a desirable event, continued\nher spinning. Seeing Jean-Louis in deep thought, and receiving no\nanswer, she simply fancied her argument had been conclusive, and that\nhe felt the necessity of establishing himself, and so was debating in\nhis own mind the relative attractions of the girls in the neighborhood.\nBesides, Jeannet's back was to her, and she did not see the change in\nhis face.\n\n\"Think a little,\" said she, pursuing her idea; \"there is no greater\npleasure for parents who feel themselves growing old than to see their\nchildren well married. Then they can die in peace, thinking that,\nafter they are gone, nothing will be changed; only, instead of the old\npeople, young ones will take their place, the work will go on, all\nhearts will be happy, and kind prayers and fond recollections will\nfollow them to the tomb.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Jean-Louis, covering his face with his hands, \"if you say\nanother word, I will die!\"\n\n\"What!\" said Pierrette, \"die--of what? Are you ill?\"\n\nJeannet, in spite of his twenty years, burst into tears like a little\nchild; he clasped Pierrette in his arms, fondly embraced her, and said\nin a tone melting with tenderness:\n\n\"My mother, my dear, dear mother, I shall never marry--never, do you\nhear? And I beg of you never to mention the subject again. I have but\none heart, and that I have given you undivided; nothing remains for\nanother. When you speak of marriage, it makes us think of death and the\ngrave; and that is beyond my strength--I cannot speak of it. If the\ngood God calls you before me, my dearest mother, it will not be long\nbefore I rejoin you; and thus it will be better for me to die single\nthan to leave a family after me. And now, as I do not wish to marry,\nand you only desire my happiness, do not urge me further.\"\n\n\"Your heart is too gentle for a man,\" said Pierrette, feeling the\ntears of her dear child on her brow; \"you make me happy, even while\nopposing me, and I see that I have made you unhappy without wishing\nit. Be consoled, my Jeannet; we will never speak of it again. If you\nchange your mind, you will tell me. Meanwhile, we will live as before.\nDon't be worried; it will be a long time yet before we leave you. I am\nin good health, and your father also; and so Muiceron will not change\nmasters soon.\"\n\n\"No, no, thank God!\" cried Jean-Louis; \"the Blessed Virgin will watch\nover us. We have not lived together for twenty years now to separate,\nmy darling mother!\"\n\nTruth to say, this was not very sound argument, for, whether twenty\nyears together, or thirty, or forty, friends must separate, all the\nsame, at the appointed hour; but Jeannet spoke with his heart torn with\nsorrow, and Pierrette was perfectly willing to acknowledge, in her\nturn, that she really desired things should happen as he wished.\n\nFrom that time the question of marriage was put in her pocket, and\nnever taken out again. God and his holy angels looked down with delight\nupon this innocent household, full of tenderness and kindness, and did\nnot allow evil to overshadow it. However, the child Jeannette deserved\nto be cured of her little sins of vanity, and you will see the means\ntaken by the Heavenly Father to make her a Christian according to his\nwill.\n\n\nXI.\n\nAbout this time came a year which is still remembered, although a good\nlong time has since elapsed. Swarms of locusts devoured the young wheat\nbefore it ripened, while the field-mice, moles, and other villanous\npests, gnawed and destroyed it at the roots. Corn especially suffered\nin this unlucky season; not a plant escaped. Before it had grown ten\nfeet in height, it was blighted, and then withered and died. It would\ntake too long to enumerate all the difficulties that overwhelmed the\npeasants. Hailstorms beat down the meadows at haymaking time; splendid\ncows died of the pest; sheep were suddenly attacked and perished; and\nas for the horses, decimated by the glanders, which became epidemic,\nand was very dangerous, as it often passed from animals to men, it\nwould be impossible to count the victims.\n\nThis year, at least, those who had begun the season by prophesying\nevil had their predictions fully accomplished; but, thank God! such\nan unfortunate season rarely happens. The poor people were fearfully\ndiscouraged; and, in sooth, it was not strange that men dreaded the\nfuture, in face of such a present.\n\nNevertheless, greater activity was never seen in the fields. To save\nthe little that remained, each one did his best, even down to the\nlittle children, in reaping, gathering the harvest, piling the carts,\nin spite of the locusts, the hail, and the devil, who was said to have\na great deal to do with the affair, and which I am very much inclined\nto believe. The people even worked until late in the night. It was a\ndevouring fever, which made every one half crazy, and it was a miracle\nthat no one died of it; for, in our province, we are accustomed to\nwork slowly, without hurry or excitement, and it is commonly believed\neverything happens when and how it is decreed, but none the worse\non that account; but I wish to prove that they could hurry up when\noccasion required.\n\nOur friend, Jean-Louis, did wonders in these sad circumstances. He\nseemed to be everywhere at once--in the fields, the stables, at\nthe head of the reapers, at the barn when the carts were unloaded;\nencouraging some, urging on others, in a friendly way; hurrying up\nthe cattle; when necessary, giving a helping hand to the veterinary\nsurgeon; and, withal, gentle and kind to everybody.\n\nYou think that, with order, energy, and intelligence, work will always\nbe rewarded with success. He who first said, \"Help yourself, and Heaven\nwill aid you,\" did not speak falsely. God does not work miracles for\nthose who fold their arms in idleness, but he always gives to humble\nand persevering labor such abundant reward that, for many centuries, no\nmatter what may be the suffering, the truth of the Holy Scriptures has\nalways been verified, that \"never has any one seen the just man die of\nhunger, or his seed begging their bread.\"\n\nIn virtue of this rule, it came to pass that, at Muiceron, the harvest\nof hay, as well as of wheat, rye, and corn, was far better than could\nhave been expected by the most sanguine. The unfortunate ones, who lost\nnearly all their crops, said that Ragaud had dealt in witchcraft to\nprotect himself from the prevailing bad luck. This nonsense made every\none laugh, but did not stop their envy and jealousy; and so unjust do\nmen become, when their hearts are envenomed by rage and disappointment,\nthat some of the worst--the laziest, undoubtedly--went so far as to\ndeclare openly, in the village inn, that it would be for the good of\nthe public if some of the splendid hay-stacks at Muiceron were burned,\nas the contrast was too great between the well-kept farm and the ruined\nfields around.\n\nFortunately, our friend, Jacques Michou, was drinking in a corner while\nthis delightful conversation took place; he rose from his seat, and,\nplacing his hand on the shoulder of him who had been the loudest in\nthreats, declared he would instantly complain of him to the police; and\nthat, merely for speaking in such a manner, he could be sent to prison\nfor a month. No further grumbling was heard after this speech, and it\ncan be easily understood no wicked attempt was made. So true is it\nthat a little courage will easily defeat the most wicked plans; for\nvice is very cowardly in its nature.\n\nWhile all the country around Val-Saint, Ordonniers, and many other\nneighborhoods, were thus afflicted, M. le Marquis had been busy with\nsome of his grand affairs, of which we have already heard, and started\non a journey for some unknown place. He returned this time a little\nhappier than usual, as it was near the beginning of 1847; and it is\nnot necessary to remind you that it preceded 1848. At this time even\nthe stupidest felt that a revolution was approaching, and our good\nlord and all his friends were doubly certain of the impending storm.\nHe was therefore excusable in having neglected the care of his large\nestate, so as to devote himself to that which was the first desire\nof his heart. But he who should have watched over his interests in\nhis absence, the superintendent Riponin, he it was that was every\nway blamable; for, whether intentionally, that he might continue his\norgies in the midst of disorder, or through idleness and negligence,\nhe had allowed the place to fall into a fearful state of ruin. Nothing\nwas to be seen but fields devastated by the ruin, or grain rotting as\nit stood; the animals that died had not been replaced; and even the\nvegetable garden of the ch\u00e2teau presented a most lamentable picture of\ndisorder and neglect. Ragaud and Michou, had seen all this; but they\nwere too insignificant to dare say a word, and too proud, besides, to\nventure a remonstrance, which certainly would not have been received.\n\nM. le Marquis, on his return, was anything but agreeably surprised. He\nsummoned Riponin before him, and reprimanded him in a manner which he\nlong remembered. Our master was goodness itself, but he could not be\nunreasonably imposed upon; his old noble blood would fire up, and he\ncould show men that for more than five hundred years his ancestors, as\nwell as he, had been accustomed to command and obey only the laws of\nthe Lord God.\n\nRiponin was a coward; he trembled and asked pardon, promised to do\nbetter, and gave a hundred poor excuses. M. le Marquis would not\nreceive any such explanation; he ordered Riponin out of his presence,\nand seasoned the command with several big military words, which I\nwill not repeat. It was a sign that he was terribly angry. Thus the\nunfaithful steward was obliged to retire without further reply; and,\nbetween ourselves, it was the best he could do.\n\nThereupon M. le Marquis, still in a fury, sent off for Ragaud, who came\nin great haste, easily divining what had happened.\n\n\"Ragaud,\" said the master, \"you are no better than the rest. I will\nlose forty thousand francs on my crops; and if you had seen to it, this\nwould not have happened.\"\n\n\"Forty thousand francs!\" quietly replied Ragaud. \"I beg your pardon, M.\nle Marquis; but you mean sixty thousand francs, and that, I think, is\nthe lowest calculation.\"\n\nM. le Marquis was naturally cheerful; this unexpected answer made him\nsmile, instead of increasing his anger. He looked at his old servant,\nwhom he highly esteemed, and, folding his arms, said:\n\n\"Is that your opinion? Come, now, let us say fifty thousand; I think\nthat is enough.\"\n\n\"No, no, sixty,\" replied Ragaud. \"I will not take off a crown; but\nthere is yet time to save half.\"\n\n\"Is that so? What can I give you, if you do that much?\"\n\n\"Nothing, M. le Marquis, but permission to be master here for a week,\nand the honor of serving you.\"\n\n\"Old fool!\" said the marquis. \"And your own work, what will become of\nit?\"\n\n\"It is all finished,\" replied the good farmer; \"don't be uneasy, my\ndear master, only give me, as I said before, full power.\"\n\n\"Be off, then. I know your devotion, and I have full confidence in you;\nbut you will not object to my making a present to your children?\"\n\n\"Presents!\" said Ragaud, much moved. \"What else have you done for the\npast twenty years, M. le Marquis? Is it not the least you can do to let\nme be of some use to you for once in my life? I owe everything to you,\ndown to the roof that shelters me, my wife, and the children. Presents!\nNo, no, if you do not wish to pain me.\"\n\n\"Proud and obstinate man that you are,\" said the marquis, smiling,\n\"have everything your own way. I am not so proud as you; you offer to\nsave me thirty thousand francs, and I don't make such a fuss about\naccepting it. Isn't that a present?\"\n\n\"It is thirty thousand francs that I will prevent you from losing,\"\nsaid the obstinate Ragaud.\n\n\"Yes, as though one would say grape-juice was not the juice of the\ngrape,\" replied the marquis, who was highly amused at the replies of\nhis old servant. \"Well, if I ask you to drink a glass of old Bordeaux\nwith me, will you take that as the offer of a present you must refuse?\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" said Ragaud, \"but it is too great an honor for me to\ndrink with my lord.\"\n\nM. le Marquis made them bring refreshments on a silver waiter, and kept\nRagaud in close conversation for a full hour, knowing well that this\nfriendly manner of treating him was the greatest reward he could give\nthe good, honest soul, to whom God had given sentiments far above his\ncondition. Afterwards, he dismissed him with such a warm shake of the\nhand that Ragaud was nearly overcome and could scarcely restrain his\ntears.\n\n\"Well,\" said he, returning to Muiceron, where he found Jean-Louis\noccupied with arranging the wood-pile, \"what do you think we are going\nto do, my boy, after having worked like ten men to get in our crops and\nfill the barns?\"\n\n\"I was thinking about that,\" replied Jeannet; \"and, meanwhile, I have\nput the fagots in order, so that mother can easily get at them, when I\nam not at hand, to make the fire.\"\n\n\"You have never thought to take a little rest?\" asked Ragaud, who knew\nwell beforehand what would be the reply.\n\n\"Why, yes,\" said Jean-Louis, \"an hour's rest now and then is very\npleasant; but after that, my dear father,\" he continued, laughing, \"I\nlike to stretch my legs.\"\n\n\"Well, then, let us imagine nothing was done at Muiceron, and that, at\nthis very moment, we should be obliged to begin; what would you say?\"\n\n\"All right; and I would instantly begin the work. I hope you don't\ndoubt me?\" he replied, with his usual air of quiet resolution.\n\n\"No, I do not doubt you, my good boy,\" resumed Ragaud; \"and to prove\nmy confidence in your courage and good-will, I have to-day promised to\nundertake an enterprise which, in honor, we are bound to accomplish.\"\n\nAnd he related to him what we already know.\n\n\"Hum!\" said Jean-Louis, after having listened attentively; \"it will be\npretty hard work, but with the help of God nothing is impossible.\"\n\n\"That is just what I think,\" replied Ragaud; \"but for that, I would not\nhave undertaken such a task. Now, Jeannet, we must begin to put the\nplace in order to-morrow at the latest.\"\n\n\"That will be time enough, father, and we will do our best,\" said\nJean-Louis.\n\nThe subject was dropped for the rest of the evening. Ragaud did not\ntrouble his head about the means his son would employ; and Jeannet,\nwithout being otherwise sure of himself, remained tranquil, like all\nthose who ask the assistance of divine Providence in the management\nof their affairs. Nevertheless, it was a difficult task, not only on\naccount of the severe manual labor, but also from the certainty of\nincurring the deadly hatred of Riponin, who was a very wicked man.\nThe thought of it somewhat disquieted Ragaud, and Jean-Louis from the\nfirst understood the full danger; but what could be done? Duty before\neverything.\n\nThe next morning Jean-Louis was up before sunrise. During the night,\nhe thought over his plan, like the general of an army; he remembered\nhaving read somewhere that a troop can do nothing, unless conducted by\nable chiefs. He would need one hundred hands, and, for one all alone,\nthat would be a great many. His first care was to knock at the window\nof a fine young man of his own age, who, from infancy, had been his\nmost intimate friend. He was called Pierre Luguet, and lived in the\nhamlet of Luchoni\u00e8res, which is a small cluster of twelve or fifteen\nhouses a little lower down than Ordonniers, but on the other side of La\nRange. By good fortune, the stream at this place is so choked up with\na big heap of gravel and old stumps of willow-trees, which serve as\nstepping-stones across the water, that any one who is light-footed can\ncross as easily as on a narrow bridge.\n\nThis name of Luguet, I suppose, strikes your ear oddly. He was really\nthe nephew of poor Catharine, and thus first cousin of Jean-Louis, who\nundoubtedly knew it, as you can imagine. Perhaps it was the reason\nthese two young men were so much attached. They say the voice of blood\ncannot be smothered; and although it is not always true, in this case\nit was very evident that, whether for that reason or simply from\nsimilarity of character and pursuits, good conduct and age, Pierre\nLuguet was the only one of the neighborhood whom Jeannet ever sought,\nand that Pierre was never happier than when he could detain Jean-Louis\nfor several hours in conversation or some innocent amusement.\n\nJean-Louis went straight to the house of his friend, who, recognizing\nhis voice behind the shutter, quickly opened it and let him in.\nHe lived in a little room in front of the farm-buildings, and,\nconsequently, the noise did not awaken his parents. Jeannet entered\nby the window, and, without losing any time, explained his plans to\nPierre, while he rapidly dressed.\n\n\"You,\" said he, \"must be my lieutenant. We must get together one\nhundred young men, each one resolved to do his part. M. le Marquis will\nnot begrudge the crowns; we will promise them good wages, and they must\nwork all night, if necessary; and, to encourage every one, we will keep\na roaring fire in Michou's house, so that Barbette will always have\nthe soup warm and a tun of cider ready for tapping. In this manner the\nlaborers will be contented, and not obliged to return home twice a-day\nfor their meals. As for you, Pierre, be assured that M. le Marquis\nwill reward you most generously for your work; and, besides, you will\nbe doing a good action, for it is a great sin to see the estate of the\nmaster worse cared for than that of his servants.\"\n\n\"I am not thinking about the price,\" said Pierre Luguet, putting on his\nblouse. \"I ask no more than you will have.\"\n\n\"That is good; we will see about it,\" replied Jeannet, laughing in his\nsleeve; for he knew well that he was going to work for the honor of it,\nand he did not wish to make Pierre go by the same rule, knowing that he\nsupported his old parents.\n\nThey decided upon the places where they would expect to find the best\nmen, and separated, one to the left, the other to the right, promising\nto meet again at twelve o'clock.\n\nThere was really great rejoicing when the young men of Val-Saint\nand Ordonniers learned that they were required to work for M. le\nMarquis under the lead of the two best men of the neighborhood. They\nhad nothing to fear from brutality and injustice, as in the time of\nRiponin; and the news of his disgrace put all the brave fellows in the\nbest humor.\n\nRiponin was cordially detested, and for double the pay not one would\nhave volunteered to serve under him, or have undertaken such a\ndisagreeable and bungled affair; but with Jeannet it was another thing,\nand although he warned them beforehand that he would allow neither\nidleness nor bad language, and that they must work long and steadily,\nthey followed him, singing as joyously as though they were going to a\nwedding.\n\nBefore noon, the two bands met on the edge of the wood, where dwelt our\nold friend, the game-keeper. Pierre Luguet, after leaving home, had\ntaken care to pass by, so as to forewarn him. Jacques Michou threw\nup his cap at the news; he also despised Riponin, and, more than any\nother, he had good reason for hating him. He therefore laid his plans,\nand borrowed from the ch\u00e2teau a huge kettle, such as is used during the\nvintage for pressing the grapes, which he put up, for their service, in\nhis little barn. Everything was ready at the appointed hour, and I can\nassure you the delightful surprise was fully appreciated by our young\nfriends. The two leaders had taken the precaution to tell each one\nof the boys to bring half a loaf of bread, a piece of goat's cheese,\nand a slice of pork; so the soup was doubly welcome, as it was not\nexpected, and the cider still more so, as they had counted only on the\nriver-water. This good beginning put them in splendid humor; and when,\nafter being fully refreshed, they marched up to the ch\u00e2teau to pay\ntheir respects to M. le Marquis before beginning their work, one would\nhave said, from the noise and singing, that it was a band of conscripts\nwho had drawn the lucky number.\n\nThey instantly put their shoulders to the plough. Jeannet wisely made\nthem commence with the worst fields, so that, when the first excitement\nwas over, and they would be rather fatigued, they could find that they\nhad not eaten the white bread first. Thus, having been well selected,\nwell fed, well paid, and, above all, well led, our boys did wonders,\nnot only that afternoon, but on the following days. The weather,\nhowever, was decidedly against them; rain drenched the laborers, and\nstrong winds prevented them from building up the hay-stacks; but their\nardor was so great that nothing discouraged them; and often, when\nJeannet, moved by sympathy, put it to vote whether they should continue\nor not, he saw with pleasure that not one man deserted his post.\n\nAt the end of a week, half the work was so well under way it could\neasily be seen that, in spite of the bad season and worse management,\nM. le Marquis would not lose all his crops this time, but that, on the\ncontrary, his barns would make a very good show, if not in quality,\nat least in quantity. The worthy gentleman came several times himself\nto visit the laborers and distribute extra pay. On these occasions it\nwas admirable to see the modesty of Jean-Louis, who always managed to\ndisappear, leaving to Pierre Luguet the honor of showing the progress\nof the work to M. le Marquis; and as workmen are generally just when\nthey are not found fault with, brow-beaten, or ill-treated, they\nrendered to Jean-Louis greater honor and respect the more he concealed\nhimself from their applause. In short, everything went on well to the\nend without interruption.\n\nThe given fortnight was not over when the last cart-load, ornamented\non top with a huge bouquet of flowers and sheaves of wheat tied with\nribbons, was conducted in triumph, accompanied with songs of joy,\nunder the windows of mademoiselle, who appeared on the balcony, with\nJeannette Ragaud on her right and Dame Berthe on the left. M. le\nMarquis was in the court of honor, enchanted with the success of the\nmeasure; and Ragaud and Michou could not remain quiet, but clapped\ntheir hands, and cried \"Bravo!\" to the brave young men.\n\nJean-Louis tried to escape this time also, but was not allowed.\nHis friends raised him in their arms, and placed him on top of the\ncart with his good comrade, Pierre Luguet; and thus they made their\nappearance, both standing alongside of the bouquet, Jeannet crimson\nwith shame and vexation, whilst Pierre sang loud enough to crack his\nthroat.\n\nYou can imagine that this cart, upon which had been heaped the last\ngleanings of the harvest, was piled up immensely high, so that the top\nwas on a level with the first floor of the ch\u00e2teau, and mademoiselle\ncould thus converse at her ease with the young men.\n\nShe spoke most graciously to Jean-Louis, and congratulated him with\nwords so complimentary that the poor fellow wished himself under the\ngrain, rather than on top. What embarrassed him still further was to\nsee his sister Jeannette playing the part of great lady as much as her\nmistress. With his usual good sense, he considered it out of place, and\nwould have been much better pleased if she had appeared ill at ease in\nher false position; but, far from that, she leaned over the balcony,\nlaughing and talking like a vain little parrot, and even rallied\nJean-Louis on his subdued manner.\n\nHe did not wish to spoil the affair by looking severe and discontented,\nbut he was grieved at heart, and hastened to put an end to the scene.\n\nMademoiselle, at the close of her complimentary remarks, presented\neach of the two friends with a little box of the same size, wrapped in\nbeautiful paper, and tied with pink ribbon.\n\n\"They are filled with bonbons,\" said she in her sweet, gentle voice;\n\"and you will not refuse to eat them in remembrance of me?\"\n\nThen she made them a most friendly bow, which they returned with great\nrespect, and the big cart was driven off to the barn to be unloaded.\n\n\"Bon-bons!\" said Pierre to Jeannet, taking out his box after they\nhad descended from their high post of honor. \"What do you think,\nJean-Louis? It seems to me this plaything is too heavy only to contain\ncandies.\"\n\n\"At any rate,\" replied Jean-Louis, \"they can't do us any harm, as the\nboxes are not very large.\"\n\nThey quickly untied the pretty pink ribbon, and found in Pierre's\nbox fifteen bright twenty-franc pieces, while Jeannet's contained a\nbeautiful gold watch, with a chain of equal value.\n\nTo add to the general happiness, the sky, which until then had been\ncloudy as though threatening rain, suddenly cleared, and the sun went\ndown in the full splendor of August, and shed a brilliant light over\nthe bare fields, as Jean-Louis was carried in triumph by his comrades,\nwho cried out that surely he controlled the weather, as the very winds\nseemed to obey him; and, strange as it may appear, the season continued\nso fine that never was there a more delightful autumn than after the\nunfortunate spring and summer.\n\nIf I dared express my opinion, I would tell you that, without calling\nit miraculous, the good God scarcely ever fails to send joy after\nsorrow, peace after war, heat after cold, as much to the visible things\nof the earth as to the secret ones of the heart. It is, therefore, well\nnot to throw the handle too quickly after the axe; and, to prove this,\nI will tell you a short and true story, which I just happen to remember.\n\nIt relates to Michel Levrot, of the commune of Saint-Ouaire, who,\nagainst everybody's advice, married a woman from near Bich\u00e9rieux.\nShe was a bad Christian and totally unworthy of the good little man,\nwho was rather too gentle and weak in character. For a year they got\nalong so-so, without any great disturbance; but gradually the wicked\ncreature grew to despise her poor husband, for no other reason but\nthat he was too good for her, and let her have her own way completely.\nShe wasted money at fairs, bought more fine clothes and silver jewelry\nthan she knew what to do with, kept up a row in the house from morning\nuntil night, and ended by being nearly always drunk; all which made\nMichel Levrot so unhappy that one sad day in a moment of despair,\nwithout stopping to think of his eternal salvation, he threw himself\nheadlong into the river Coussiau, which, fortunately, was not so deep\nas La Range, although nearly as wide.\n\nAs he was out of his head, and acted without thinking, his good angel\nmost assuredly took care of him; for, if he had been drowned, he\ncertainly would have lost his soul; but, although he did not know how\nto swim, he floated on his back, and the current carried him to the\nbank of the stream, where he was picked up, half-dead and in a swoon,\nby some of the neighbors, who rubbed and warmed him, and managed to\nbring him back to life. Those who had saved him were good, pious men,\nwho spoke to him in such a Christian manner, they made him feel ashamed\nof his cowardice and want of confidence in the Heavenly Father; so he\npromised to go and see our _cur\u00e9_, who lifted him upon his beast--that\nis to say, made peace enter his soul; after which he explained to him\nthat, having no children, he had the right to leave this wicked and\nperverse woman, who deserved a severe lesson, and not return home\nuntil she should be converted or dead.\n\nHe left that part of the country, entirely cured of his desire to kill\nhimself, and made the tour of France, honestly earning his bread by\nworking at his trade, which was that of an upholsterer. From time to\ntime the neighbors sent him news of his abominable wife, who led such\na scandalous life it was easy to predict she would not make old bones;\nfor, if strong drink and vice soon kill the most robust men, they are\nstill more fatal to women. After a few years, he received the welcome\nintelligence that his house was rid of its baneful mistress. He then\nreturned to Saint-Ouaire, and was charitable enough to give fifty\nfrancs for Masses for the unfortunate soul. Some time after, he married\nthe daughter of Pierre Rufin, a good worker and housekeeper, who,\nbesides other excellent qualities, never drank anything stronger than\nhoney and water that she took for a weak stomach, which she had from\nchildhood. They lived most happily, and had a family of five handsome\nchildren. I knew him when he was very old, and he always loved to\nrelate this story of his youth, never failing to return thanks to the\ngood God, who had saved him from drowning.\n\n\"For,\" said he, \"my dear children, if I had been drowned that day from\nwant of a little patience, I should have lost my soul, besides the good\nwife you see here and all my present happiness.\"\n\n                            TO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n\n\nORDINANDUS.\n\n\n    The goal--and yet my heart is low,\n      When rather should it brim with glee!\n    They tell me this is ever so.\n    Ah! well, I cling to one I know:\n      Sweet Virgin, keep thou me.\n\n    O thou for whom I venture all--\n      The fragile bark, the treacherous sea\n    (I needs must serve my Lady's call,\n    Her captive knight, her helpless thrall)--\n      My pilot, keep thou me.\n\n    From tyranny of idle fears,\n      And subtle frauds to make me flee--\n    Distorting unto eyes and ears\n    The burden of the coming years--\n      My mercy, keep thou me.\n\n    From shirking the accepted cross\n      For all the galling yet to be;\n    From seeing gold in what is dross,\n    And seeking gain in what is loss,\n      My wisdom, keep thou me.\n\n    From lures too strong for flesh and blood--\n      With show of ripe philosophy,\n    That points the fallen, who had stood,\n    Contented with the lesser good--\n      My victory, keep thou me.\n\n    O Lady dear, in weal, in woe,\n      Till Heaven reveal thy Son and thee,\n    Thy true love's mantle round me throw;\n    And tenderly, calmly, sweetly so,\n      My glory, keep thou me.\n\nNOVEMBER, 1870.\n\n\n\n\nONE CHAPTER FROM HESTER HALLAM'S LIFE.\n\n\n\"Ah! Hester, Hester, keep back your tears. Be the brave little wife and\nwoman now. Have faith, hope, and courage; the year will soon speed by,\nand, lo! here shall I find you again! God grant it! And good-by, my\nwife, my children--my all and only treasures.\"\n\nThey are engraven on my memory--these last words of Henry Hallam, my\nhusband, my beloved. They were spoken hopefully, cheerfully, though I\nknew they were intended to cover the sorrow of a heart that ached, even\nas did mine, at our final parting.\n\nHenry Hallam was to go to South America as chief engineer of a proposed\nroad from some inland city to the Pacific. After a marriage of eight\nyears, this was our first separation. I never did consent to it. Better\npoverty and the humblest life together than that mountains and seas\nshould divide us, I argued.\n\nBut Henry was proud, as he was tender and loving; he could not bear to\nsee his wife, delicately reared, doing menial service; nor his little\ngirls deprived of waxen dolls, because they would usurp the ragged\ndollar that must go for bread.\n\nOur situation had fallen from bad to worse; an expensive lawsuit had\nbeen decided against us, to liquidate the cost of which an out-West\npiece of land, that was to have been our children's fortune, had to\nbe sold at a sacrifice; and when all was paid, except our scanty\nfurniture, we had but three hundred dollars in the world. We lived in\na rented house in the beautiful suburbs of Brooklyn; three months'\nrent would consume our all. Meantime, upon what should we live, and\nwherewithal should we be clothed? This was a serious question, which\nvexed my husband for many days. He suddenly answered it by accepting\nwith alacrity this lucrative position in South America. My only living\nrelative in all America was one sister, widowed and childless. She came\nfrom the West to abide with me during my husband's absence. She, too,\nhad comparative poverty for her dowry, her only income arising from the\ninterest of less than a thousand dollars.\n\nNo thought of poverty haunted us, however; heretofore all our wants\nhad been supplied, and we had lived almost luxuriously, counting upon\nthe fortune which had been for six years dwindling to less and less in\ncourts of law.\n\nIt was with no dread of poverty, I repeat, that I saw my husband\ntake his departure. I thought only how the light had gone from our\nhouse, and joy from existence. I am distressed whenever I read of the\never-recurring matrimonial quarrels and divorces which appear now the\norder of the day. I could have lived with Henry Hallam through the\ncountless eternal years, and--God forgive me!--desired no other heaven.\n\nWe had no particular creed or faith. The Hallams had been Methodists;\nthe Griffeths, my father's family over in Wales, had been members of\nthe Church of England.\n\nHenry and I, reading here and there indifferently, had become somewhat\ninclined to Swedenborg's theories. We read Dr. Bushnell and his\ncolleagues with some faith and more interest. But we fashioned the\ngreat hereafter--the heaven we all talk of and dream so much of--after\nour own ideals. Those may have been in the right, thought we, from\nwhom Shelley and many another poetical dreamer imbibed the idea that\nthe Godhead was but the universal spirit pervading and animating\nnature; that man was immortal, and was to arise from the dead, clothed\nin purity and beauty, and was to wander endlessly in some limitless,\nenchanting paradise, where should be all things lovely to charm the\neye, all sounds to entrance the ear, all spirits gentle, and wise,\nand good for communion of intellect and heart. In this heaven stood\nno stately throne upon which sat a God of justice, receiving one unto\nlife, banishing another unto everlasting perdition. It was the same\nhere as upon earth; the beauty, bloom, fragrance, and glory were\npermeated with an essence subtle, invisible, intangible, but present,\nthe life and source of all--and this was God! The ancients had a heaven\nand a hell, which Christianity had adopted; but we lived in the XIXth\ncentury, and we need not pin our faith to such notions borrowed from\nthe heathen. Were youth and health on earth immortal, we would prefer\nnever to pass through the iron gate of death and the pearly gate of\nlife; since, however, all must yield to the inexorable fiat, and _all\nmen must die_, we would make a virtue of necessity, and be willing to\ngo to that sensual heaven, which wore all the beauty of earth, with\nnaught of its thorns and blight. Ah! we, Henry and I, were still in the\nglow of youth and hope; life seemed a beautiful vista, and the end far\noff! Of the great beyond we but carelessly dreamed--as carelessly as if\nour feet were never there to stand, nor our souls to tremble upon its\nawful brink.\n\nWith Henry gone, I was like a child bereft of its mother. I wept and\nwould not be comforted. I counted the hours of every day; they seemed\nso inconsiderable, deducted from the almost nine thousand which the\nthree hundred and sixty-five days yielded. I see now how foolish, weak,\nand wicked I was!\n\nI was seized with a slow fever, which lasted me through the summer.\nIn my weakness and wakefulness I saw visions and dreamed dreams which\nhaunted me constantly. I began to fancy that I was to die. I would have\nbeen satisfied to have fallen in a sleep that should have known no\nwaking until the dread year was over.\n\nEarly in September I heard from my room an unusual bustle in the\nhouse--the feet of men, and the unwonted sound of boxes or trunks laid\nheavily upon the floor. But why need I go into details?\n\nHenry Hallam had died of yellow fever, and his trunks had been sent\nhome!\n\nIn my despair, one thought overpowered me. I had made myself wretched\ncounting over the hours until Henry should return. Now he would never,\nnever come back, no matter how many hours; I might count for an\neternity, and he would not come at the end. Oh! could he but some time\ncome, even in the distant years, when his step was feeble and his hair\nwas gray, how patient I would be, how hopeful, cheerful, in the waiting\nfor that certain time!\n\n_Why_ had I not been happy when I knew that he still lived; when the\nfond hope was mine that, after a few months, I should again behold him?\n\nWe never know--alas! we never know! With my beloved gone, I fancied\nmyself sunk in the lowest depth of desolation.\n\nMore than two years elapsed. My sister struggled bravely to keep a roof\nabove our heads and the wolf of hunger from our door. Notwithstanding\nher closest economy, untiring industry, and fertile ingenuity, her\nsmall principal had become reduced one-half. Her zeal and energy were a\nreproach to me, and I had already commenced heroic endeavors to imitate\nand assist her. We might still have done well, educated my two little\ngirls, and taken comfort in each other, now that my hopeless grief had\nbecome partially assuaged, and I had begun to take an interest in the\nmanagement of our affairs. A fresh grief, however, was in store for me.\nMaria, my sister, upon whom alone I had come to depend, was stricken\nwith an incurable disease, and, after lingering through months of pain,\nwhich often amounted to torture, died, and was buried.\n\nI was not allowed to remain in my stupor of grief after I had beheld\nthe cruel grave close over my only sister. The fact that but a trifle\nremained after all expenses had been paid aroused me to most painful\napprehensions for the fate of my children. But for them I fully\nbelieve I should have adopted the advice of his friends to Job, the\npatient--curse God, and die!\n\nThe dear little children, however, who had no friends but their\nunhappy mother, and who clung to me as if they had in me all that was\nsufficient and all the world, were an incentive to further endurance\nand fresh exertion.\n\nIn a moment of discouragement and gloom I wrote an unaccustomed letter\nof six pages to a lady who had been my friend while sojourning in the\nWest. I had spent a year with my husband in a growing village upon the\nbanks of the Mississippi where this lady resided. She had a delightful\nhome in the midst of charming grounds, an indulgent, devoted husband,\nthree lovely children, with wealth enough to command the desirable and\ngood things of this world. We had corresponded for a time, but since my\ngreat affliction I had written no letters.\n\nWithout delay came Mrs. Bell's reply. In my selfish grief I had not\nthought that upon others also might be falling showers of the self-same\nwoe. The thought of Mrs. Bell, with her happy surroundings, had formed\na pleasant picture, comforting to dwell upon. Ah! how my eyes filled\nand my heart throbbed as I read her letter!\n\nThe beautiful home, with its pictures, books, its nameless household\ngods, was in ashes; the husband, really the handsomest, most elegant\ngentleman I have ever met, full of health, vigor, and cheerfulness, a\nyear after the fatal fire had died suddenly, leaving his large property\nin an involved and unavailable condition; and my friend was living in\na small cottage amidst the ashes and blackened trunks of trees--which\nstood like weird spectres about her former home. The letter, half read,\nfell from my nerveless grasp, and I clasped tightly my trembling hands,\nbowing down upon them my throbbing head, murmuring:\n\n\"Doth _all_ of beauty fade to blight, and all of joy to gloom? Are\n_all_ human loves so vain and transient? Are all hopes and dreams\nfleeting and unsubstantial as the goodly shadow of a summer cloud? Is\nit true of _all_ beneath the sun, 'ashes to ashes, dust to dust'?\"\nGathering courage to finish the letter, another surprise awaited me. My\nfriend had become a Roman Catholic. After giving brief details of her\nconversion, she thus addressed me:\n\n\"At this moment I feel more sorrow for you than for myself. My dearest\nearthly loves and hopes lie, like yours, in ashes. But out of _my_\ndesolation hath sprung the green branches of heavenly peace. I weep not\nunavailing tears at the loss of what so charmed my heart as to separate\nmy soul from God. Arise out of the ashes watered with your tears. Go\nto the nearest Catholic priest; ask him for books, counsel, and prayer\nthat shall lead you upward and onward toward the kingdom of rest. Make\nthe effort, I entreat you, in the name of God. If you find no peace to\nyour soul, what will you have lost? If you find comfort and rest, will\nnot all have been gained?\"\n\nHad I learned, in the midst of my happiness, that Miriam Bell had\nbecome a Catholic, I might have wondered, thought strange of it, but\nset it down as one of the unaccountable things, and not puzzled my\nbrain by studying into it. But now it was different. Her afflictions,\nso similar to my own, brought her very near to me in sympathy. I would\nhave as soon thought of myself becoming deluded by the snares of Popery\nas my friend, Mrs. Bell. Yea, sooner; she was more matter-of-fact,\ncalm, philosophical, more highly educated, with a mind more thoroughly\ndisciplined, and naturally more inquiring and comprehensive than my\nown. And she had heartily embraced this religious faith which, without\never having bestowed much thought upon, I had naturally regarded as one\nof superstitions and lies.\n\nThe sun went down, the twilight fell. Charlotte and Cora helped\nthemselves to a slice of bread, and lay down to rest. The\nsewing-machine had for hours been idle, and the unfinished white shirt,\nsuspended by the needle, looked like a ghost in the gathering gloom;\nand still I held my hands and deeply thought, or walked the floor with\nstilly tread.\n\nAnd so Miriam Bell had found a balm for her sorrow, a light amid her\ndarkness. How? By becoming a Catholic. And what was it to become a\nCatholic? To believe impossibilities, and to worship idols; to behold,\nin a tiny wafer of human manufacture, the body and blood, soul and\ndivinity, of an incarnate God? Does Miriam Bell believe this? If she\ncan believe it with all her heart and soul, then might she well be\ncomforted! To fall upon one's knees before the relics of a saint, and\nbeg his prayers, as if he could see and hear? To implore the Blessed\nVirgin to succor and defend, as if she were not a creature, but\nomnipotent and divine? To reverence the priest as a being immaculate,\nan angel with hidden wings walking upon earth, unto whose feet you\nmust kneel, and unveil, as unto God, all the thoughts and interests\nof your heart? I pondered over this last suggestion. Standing in the\nwhite moonlight that silvered a space of the floor, I lifted up both\nweary heart and waiting hands, and, with eyes toward the unknown and\ninfinite, I cried:\n\n\"Unto God would I pour forth the sins and sorrows of my soul; but I am\nall unworthy. He whom I have disregarded and failed to acknowledge is\nshut out from my vision and approach. Between him and me is the thick\nwall of my offences. Oh! if, in his infinite mercy, he could send forth\none little less than an angel--who should have something of the human,\nthat he might compassionate and pity; of the divine, that he might\ncomprehend, guide, and assist--to that one I might yield in reverence.\nAll the sins, and follies, and rebellions of my life should be poured\ninto his ear; perhaps, oh! perhaps the hand of such an one might lift\nme into the light, if light there be indeed for soul so dyed as mine.\"\n\nHow this fancied being, uniting the human and angelic, became\ngradually, and by slow degrees, associated in my mind with the Catholic\npriest, I know not. Certain only I am that, after a few days of\nmental struggle, of resolve and counter-resolution, I complied with\nmy friend's entreaty, and, accompanied by my little girls, sought the\nnearest priest.\n\nI took this step not with faith, nor yet altogether with doubt. I\nwent, not willingly, but as if irresistibly impelled. I was like one\nshipwrecked--floating in maddened waters, threatened death below, an\nangry sky above, and darkness everywhere. A friend in whom I trusted\nhad pointed out to me a life-preserver.\n\n\"Stretch forth thy hand, hold it fast; it will save thee,\" she had said.\n\n\"It is but a straw,\" I murmured, clutching at it, drowning.\n\nThe priest entered the parlor a few moments after our admission by a\ndomestic.\n\nI scanned him narrowly as he walked straight up to us, rubbing one\nhand against the other, slightly elevating his shoulders. He was a\nmiddle-aged man, whose benevolent countenance wore the reflection of a\nhappy, cheerful soul at peace with God and man.\n\nMy first thought on viewing him was of the woman who wished but to\n\"touch the hem of our Saviour's garment\"; and, when he uttered his\nfirst salutation: \"And what can I do for you, my child?\" I said\ninvoluntarily: \"Oh! that I may be made whole.\"\n\n\"Ah! you would go to confession. Go into the church, and pray before\nthe altar; I will be there presently.\" And he turned to leave the room.\n\nI did not speak nor move. At the door he said:\n\n\"You are a stranger in the city?\"\n\n\"No--yes--that is, I have lived here several years, but I have no\nfriends; I am indeed a stranger.\"\n\n\"You understand and attend to your religious duties?\"\n\n\"I have no religious duties; I have no particular religion. I am\nbeginning to think myself a heathen.\"\n\n\"And have you not been brought up a Catholic?\" he questioned in\nsurprise, returning to where I still sat.\n\n\"The furthest from it. If you have time to listen, I will tell you what\nhas brought me to you.\" And I went on to tell him of the advice of my\nfriend, received in the depth of my afflictions and despair. If my\nconversion to the Catholic faith, entire, absolute, blessed, thanks be\nto God! was not instantaneous; if, being blind, I received not sight,\nbeing deaf, I received not hearing, in a moment, in the twinkling of\nan eye, as did those whom Christ himself touched and healed, still do\nI believe it to have been the work of Almighty God, and marvellous\nunto my own eyes. If God commissioned Miriam Bell, instead of his own\nholy angel, to direct me to the priest of his own anointing, I believe\nmyself no less to have been sent to pious F. Corrigan than was Paul\nsent to Annanias, or Cornelius to Simon.\n\nFrom regrets and lamentations, from dulness and despair, my heart bowed\nlow unto God in rejoicing and thanksgiving.\n\nAside from this, the Catholic religion and the history of the church\nbecame to me an attractive, fascinating study. I seemed philosophizing\nwith sages, praying with religious, meditating with saints. The whole\nworld seemed newly peopled, unnumbered voices joining in that grand\nchant that the church for almost nineteen centuries hath sung: \"Glory\nbe unto God, and on earth peace to men of good-will.\"\n\nF. Corrigan had sent a young priest to a new town in the interior, made\nby the opening up of new railroads. Here F. McDevitt had built a small\nchurch, and, in his report to his superior, spoke of having need of a\nteacher for a parish school. F. Corrigan offered me the situation, and\nin one week I was at Dillon's Station.\n\nOn the first day of our arrival, F. McDevitt asked my eldest little\ngirl her name.\n\n\"Charlotte Griffeth Hallam,\" she replied promptly.\n\n\"Charlotte Griffeth?\" he repeated; then turning to me:\n\n\"And for whom was she named?\"\n\n\"For my mother,\" I replied.\n\n\"And is your mother living?\"\n\n\"She died in my infancy.\"\n\n\"She must have been the person advertised.\" And taking a slip of paper\nfrom his memorandum-book, handed it me.\n\nIt was an advertisement for Charlotte Griffeth or her heirs in America,\nto whom an estate in Wales had descended, valued at one hundred\nthousand pounds! And what interest had this possessed for F. McDevitt?\nHis brother had a short time previously married a Miss Griffeth, and it\nwas to send in a letter to his brother that he had extracted from the\npaper this brief paragraph. Was not this too much? I closed my eyes to\nkeep back the tears, and pressed my hand against my side, to still the\ntumultuous throbbings of my heart.\n\nGod! my God! so long time from me hidden, giving me now the true faith,\nand then this unexpected fortune! What should I do with it? A few\nmonths before, I would have purchased a splendid house, perfect in all\nits appointments. I would have gathered about me all that would have\npleased the taste and gratified the senses.\n\nNow was it thrown in my way as a temptation? Before the sun had set\nupon this wondrous change of fortune, my decision was formed. I would\ngo on in the way I had intended. It had evidently been God's way chosen\nfor me, and I would follow in it. I would go into a temporary cabin,\nand teach the children of the Irish laborers.\n\nThe fortune should be divided into three shares. My children should\nhave two; the third, which was mine, should go to build a home for\nwidows and orphans.\n\nAnd I? Every morning, with my troop of little girls and boys, I go to\nthe holy sacrifice of the Mass, where adoration is perpetually blended\nwith thanksgiving--the latter one of the deepest emotions of my heart.\nI never expected to be so content and happy in this world.\n\nThrough thee I have found, O God! that \"thou art the fountain of all\ngood, the height of life, and the depth of wisdom. Unto thee do I lift\nup mine eyes; in thee, O my God! Father of mercies, do I put my trust.\n\n\"Bless and sanctify my soul with heavenly benediction, that it may be\nmade thy holy habitation and the seat of thy eternal glory; and let\nnothing be found in the temple of thy divinity that may offend the eyes\nof thy majesty!\"\n\n\n\n\nAN ENGLISH CHRISTMAS STORY.\n\n\nI.\n\nThe winter wind is howling over the bleak moor, and Christmas is\nushered in with a sore famine that has already made many a hearth\ndesolate. The stout-hearted folk of Yorkshire have borne it well up\nto this, but the recurrence of the especial festival of good cheer\nmakes their lot seem harder in December than it did two months\nbefore. On these Northern moors are scattered many Catholics, whose\nfamily traditions point to unknown martyrs as their ancestors, and\nwhose honest pride in their forefathers is as strong as that of\nthe descendants of the cavalier families. But though there may be\nfamine and wretchedness on the moor, there is a worse squalor in the\ntown. There no helping hand comes from the \"Hall,\" bearing relief\nand consolation; the hovels and tall, crazy tenements are full to\nthe brim of unknown human misery; and, for the poor, Christmas\nthis year means little less than starvation. Those were not the\ndays of subscription-lists, benefit societies, soup-kitchens, and\nclothing-clubs; spiritual and temporal relief were both scarcer than\nthey are now, and the wars of the previous twenty years had made people\nbutton their pockets tight and repeat the axiom that \"charity begins at\nhome.\"\n\nThrough the manufacturing town of Weston, on a chill Christmas eve in\nthe early part of this century, walked a thoughtful, almost middle-aged\nman, wrapped in a rich furred cloak, and preceded by a youth bearing\na lantern. He had first left the town-hall, where he had assisted at\na political meeting, and heard a few pompous speeches hung upon the\nscantiest may-pole of facts. While these worthies had been declaiming,\nthought he, how many poor men, out of employment, uncared for by their\npastors, must have been murmuring or swearing at their ill-luck and the\napathy of their superiors! How many might be driven to crime or suicide\nby their wretched circumstances! He had heard that the Dissenters\nhelped their poor rather more effectually than the \"church\" people did;\nand, luckily, in a manufacturing population there were always plenty\nof Dissenters! The Catholics, too, about whose \"emancipation\" there\nhad been so much said lately in the Whig meetings, were generally a\ncharitable set, and there were more of them in the North than anywhere\nelse in the kingdom; but they were mostly country people, and the great\nhouses had enough to do to support their own village poor. Could not\nsomething be done on a generous scale by the talkative municipality of\nthe town? Should he suggest something to that effect? But he was only a\nvisitor and traveller, and had but little interest with the magnates of\nWeston. General knowledge there was none at that time; and it mattered\nnothing to the local authorities here that he had travelled in the\nEast, was a professor of ancient history in a French university, and\ncorresponded with half the _savants_ of Europe. To the insular mind of\na trading community, he was a mere nameless atom of humanity, whose\ndoings only concerned Weston as far as the paying of his reckoning at\nthe inn, and his consumption of the most costly items that the scarcity\nof the times rendered a fair source of profit to the landlord.\n\nAs he was sunk in these half-derisive thoughts, he was suddenly\naccosted by a man, whose figure, as far as the light of the lantern\nrevealed it, was the very reverse of a highwayman. He had a pistol,\nhowever, and held it threateningly to the gentleman's heart. In a\nhollow, unsteady voice he quickly asked:\n\n\"Sir, hand me your money; you know what I can do, if you refuse, and I\nsee you are unarmed.\"\n\nThe man's manner contrasted strangely with his present occupation. He\nwas no experienced robber, that was evident; and his eyes rolled from\nside to side like those of a hunted animal. Our friend, who called\nhimself Prof. John Stamyn, very quietly replied:\n\n\"My good friend, you have come to the wrong man. You will have no great\nbooty from me. I have only three guineas about me, which are not worth\na scuffle; so much good may you do with them. But you are in a bad way.\"\n\nThe man did not answer or recriminate. Hanging his head and lowering\nhis pistol (an useless weapon enough, since the trigger was broken off\nand the barrel was cracked), he took the money offered him, and moved\nquickly away. Mr. Stamyn stood looking thoughtfully after him, then he\nsaid to the youth:\n\n\"Mind, James, and watch that man carefully, that he may not be aware\nof you; but be careful to see him housed, and bring me word of\neverything.\" And shaking his head, as if in pity, he walked back alone\nto his hotel.\n\nMeanwhile, the boy, proud of his mission, cautiously started on\nhis pursuit of the seeming robber. Many a time he had to darken his\nlantern with his cloak, or flatten himself against doors, as the man he\npursued turned round, glancing fearfully behind, and then, mending his\npace, hurried on again with unsteady footsteps. Once he paused before\na large, brightly lighted shop. Loaves and cakes of all shapes were\npiled in the window; but behind the counter sat two resolute-looking\nmen, whose expression, as they gazed on the hungry face outside, was\ncertainly the reverse of encouraging. The poor wayfarer turned away\nwith a sigh, and dived down a side street. Squalid little booths\nalternated with equally squalid dwelling-houses along the sides of\nthe alley, and grim, fierce, animal faces gathered in evil-looking\nclusters round the doors. The poor wretch hastened on; apparently\nnone knew him, as the boy, who followed him, noticed that no one paid\nany attention to him. At last he stopped at a baker's shop--a dirty\nplace, very different from the respectable one he had looked into so\nwistfully before. The boy waited at a convenient distance, and, by\nskilfully shading his lantern, remained there unperceived. There was no\nlight, save what came from the shop--a dull flare at best. After a few\nminutes, the man came out, carrying a large brown loaf of the cheapest\nkind that was then sold in Weston. He now entered another street, and\nturned various corners, so that it was like threading a labyrinth to\nfollow him. The youth then saw him disappear in the door-way of a tall,\ndilapidated house. The door was open, and hung awry from one rusty\nhinge; a nauseous smell greeted the nostrils, and shrill, disagreeable\nvoices were heard in some up-stairs roost. The man began to scale\nthe rickety steps, one or two of which were missing here and there,\nand made a break-neck gap for the undoing of careless climbers. Each\nlanding-place seemed more disreputable than the last, until the fourth\nwas reached. It required a good deal of ingenuity in Mr. Stamyn's\nmessenger to creep unperceived up these dangerous ladders, never\nstartling the man he followed, and, above all, never helping himself\nalong by the tell-tale light, whose radiance might have betrayed him.\nAt last the poor \"robber\" entered a room, bare of any apology for\nfurniture, and unlighted, save by the frosty rays of the moon. The\nwind whistled through it, crevices in the wall there were plenty, and\nnot one pane of glass in the grimy window was whole. The boy crouched\noutside, and listened. A crevice allowed him to see a woman and four\nchildren coiled up in a heap, trying to keep each other warm. The man\nthrew the loaf on the floor, and a sort of gurgle rose to welcome him.\nBursting into tears, he cried, in a voice half-defiant, half-choked\nwith grief:\n\n\"There, eat your fill; that's the dearest loaf I ever bought. I have\nrobbed a gentleman of three guineas; so let us husband them well, and\nlet me have no more teasings; for sooner or later these doings must\nbring me to the gallows, and all to satisfy your clamors!\"\n\nHere the wife mingled her lamentations with his, and the hungry\nchildren set up a howl of sympathy, all the while eying the loaf\nimpatiently. The poor woman, whimpering faintly, broke off four\nlarge portions, and distributed them among the starving little ones,\nreserving smaller pieces for herself and her wretched husband, who was\nleaning despairingly on the window-sill.\n\nWhen hunger was a little appeased, the group sat together as before,\ntrying to keep each other warm by the contact of their frozen limbs,\nand drawing over their feet the few rags of clothing they possessed. At\nlast the man broke out into sobs:\n\n\"God forgive me! wife, this cannot go on. This money weighs like lead\nin my pocket.\"\n\n\"Dear,\" said the woman timidly, \"I heard a priest say once that a\nstarving man might take a loaf out of a baker's shop to stay his\nhunger, and do no sin.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said the man gloomily, \"if the baker would let him take it. But\nhe would have put me in jail if I'd done it. I'd as lief go to jail as\nnot, if it wasn't for you here; but I thought that would not do, and I\nknow a gentleman is less likely to make a fuss, and Jim's pistol did\nthe business; but hang me if I'll do it again, if we do have to starve\nfor it.\"\n\nThe listener outside took up his lantern. \"So the man's a Catholic,\" he\nwondered. \"I heard master say the Catholics helped each other; anyhow,\nI'll go home, and report about what I've seen.\"\n\nCautiously he got down the dangerous stairs, and looked well about\nhim, that he might know the landmarks of the region again. He reached\nthe inn about an hour after Mr. Stamyn, who was sitting in his room,\nwaiting anxiously for him. He told his tale, not forgetting to make\nmuch of his own dexterity in following the poor \"robber.\" His master\nlistened attentively, then gave orders to the boy to call him at six\nthe next morning, when he would follow him to the man's dwelling. The\nmorning was clear, frosty, and bright. The dawn was just breaking, and,\nif the town could look peaceful at any time, it did then. On the way,\nor, rather, in the immediate neighborhood of the poor man's abode, Mr.\nStamyn stopped to inquire what the man was who lived in such a chamber\nwith a wife and four children. He was told that he was a shoemaker,\na very good kind of a man, very industrious, and a neat workman; but\nbeing burdened with a family, and the times being so bad, he had fallen\nout of work, and had a hard struggle to live.\n\nThe two then climbed the stairs, Which were hardly safer in the\nmorning's uncertain light than they had seemed in the dark the night\nbefore, and stopped before the shoemaker's door.\n\nThey knocked, and the crazy door was opened by the unfortunate man\nhimself. He no sooner perceived who his visitor was, than he dreaded\nto learn the motive of the visit, which must surely be the speedy\npunishment of last night's robbery. He threw himself at the feet of Mr.\nStamyn, saying in a broken voice:\n\n\"O sir! indeed it was the first time, as it will be the last, that ever\nI touch what does not belong to me; but I was drove to it by my poor\nchildren here. Two days had they been without bread, sir, and they\ncried that pitiful I couldn't stand it no longer. I was ashamed to beg,\nsir, and folk mostly say no to a story as looks so like a ready-made\none. Surely, sir, you won't go to punish me, ... and these poor things\ndependin' on me? I swear I'll die sooner than do such a thing again. It\nwas against the grain I did it, sir; indeed it was.\"\n\nMr. Stamyn had taken up the youngest child in his arms, and was hushing\nits cries.\n\n\"No, my poor fellow, it was not to reproach or punish you I came. I\nhave not the least intention of doing you any harm. You have a good\ncharacter among your neighbors; but you must expect to be quickly\ncut short in such freedoms as you took with me. Hold your hand;\nhere's thirty guineas for you to buy leather. Live close, and set\nyour children a commendable example; and to put you further out of\ntemptation with such unbecoming doings, as you are a neat workman (they\ntell me) and I am not particularly hurried, make for me and this boy\ntwo pairs of shoes each, which he shall call upon you for.\"\n\nThe poor man, dumfounded and almost in tears, stood before his\nbenefactor, gazing at him and at the shining coins in his own open\nhand. The wife cried softly to herself, and the children, growing\naccustomed to the stranger, began swarming about his legs. Mr. Stamyn's\nservant then laid down a good-sized basket, and took off the lid. The\nchildren rushed to this new attraction, and began diving into the\nrecesses of the basket with their poor, skinny little hands. The woman\nwent up to Mr. Stamyn:\n\n\"Oh! sir, we'll bless you to our dying day. And never fear; my husband\nis a good workman, and he will work night and day with a will to make\nyou the finest pair of shoes that ever was.... And, oh! sir, the\nchildren shall pray for you, that God may reward what you've done for\na poor, starving family. No; my husband, he never stole before in his\nlife, sir.\"\n\nHere the husband, recovering his powers of speech, joined in, and\nrained blessings on his kind patron, who left the miserable place in\na far more cheerful frame of mind than he had enjoyed at the great\nmeeting last night. Just before he left Weston, the shoes were brought\nto him by the wife and her eldest child, who loaded him again with the\nmost grateful blessings, and promised to pray that, if he were not a\nCatholic, still God would \"grant him grace to save his soul.\"\n\nMr. Stamyn smiled sadly, and bade his new friends good-by, having\nlearnt their name, and promised in return never to forget it, should he\nhappen to be in Weston again. Christmas had been a happy season with\nhim this year; and though, by his present to the poor shoemaker, he\nhad curtailed his own pleasure-jaunt, he felt that, after all, he had\nchosen the better part....\n\n\nII.\n\nIt was Christmas once more. Forty years had come and gone, and\nprosperity reigned in the North of England. A famine worse than that\nearly one had swept over the land--a famine of work and cotton--but\neven the traces of that dire misfortune had gone now, and mills and\nfactories were as busy as they could be.\n\nIn the neighboring county of Cumberland, in a retired little town,\nagricultural and pacific, stood a pretty, old-fashioned house,\nhalf-mansion, half-cottage. One side, with its dignified portal of\ngranite, faced the street; but its garden, with bow-windows and porches\njutting out among the flowers, almost leaned on the mountain. The\nfamily room looked into the snow-covered garden; the deep windows\nwere embowered in ivy, bearing a fringe of tiny icicles, while inside\nwreaths of holly hung festooned over the dark curtains. Over the large\nand very high mantel-piece, where a fox's brush and head mingled with\nthe branching antlers of the red deer, there hung a framed device,\nilluminated in medi\u00e6val letters: \"Peace on earth to men of good will\";\nabove the door was a large bunch of mistletoe.\n\nThe window was partly open, the huge fire warming the room quite\nenough to allow of this; on the sill was scattered a feast of\nbread-crumbs steeped in milk, at which two or three robins were pecking\nindustriously.\n\nThis was the mayor's house. He was an old man of seventy-five,\nuniversally respected for his incorruptible honesty and his steady,\nreliable character. He had been born in the town, but had left it\nwhile yet a baby in arms, had then returned a grown man and father of\na family, gone into trade, become a successful business man, and seven\nyears ago retired honorably into private life. Of his sons, one was a\nmill-owner near Manchester, one had succeeded to his father's local\nbusiness and factory, and one, his youngest, had died at sea, leaving a\nlittle girl, his only child, to the care of its grandparents. The old\nman's only daughter was a nun in a Carmelite convent in the South of\nFrance.\n\nNo one but the mayor, his wife, and grandchild lived in this cosey\nhouse, and a very happy household it was. The girl had been partly\nbrought up abroad, and had acquired many graceful foreign traits as a\nset-off to her English complexion and somewhat hoidenish manners. She\nwas the apple of their eye to the old couple, who let her rule them\nand the house like a young empress. The mayor was nothing but a great\nbaby in her hands, and people knew that the surest way to his heart\nor his purse was through that saucy little beauty, Philippa Mason.\nStrangers passing through the town used to marvel how it was that a\nCatholic had been elected mayor; but they were assailed by such a\ntorrent of eulogies on \"the best, most generous, most public-spirited,\nmost conscientious of our citizens\" that they were glad to take all for\ngranted, and applaud the choice of the freemen of Carthwaite without\nfurther explanation.\n\nOne other inmate of the mayor's house will be found worthy of\nnotice--old Armstrong, or Uncle Jim, as he was mostly called. Verging\nupon sixty, he was still tall, slight, and erect in stature; his\nmanners had some degree of refinement, and he was wont at times to hint\nmysteriously at his former connection with the gentlefolk of the land.\nEverybody liked him and laughed at him. He was the most good-humored\nand the most unlucky of mortals. He spoke loftily of the fortune he\nlost in his youth through cards and wine; and every one knew that\nwhen Mr. Mason, twenty years before, had kindly set him up in a small\nbusiness of his own, he had not waited six months before he owned\nhimself a bankrupt. Not a stain was on his character, but everything\nhe touched seemed doomed. Money oozed through his fingers like water,\nwhile there was no visible cause for it; and the poorer he became, the\nmerrier he was. At last, he had taken refuge with Mr. Mason, and become\na part of his establishment. No one knew or inquired about his origin;\npeople were glad enough to let the character of his patron vouch for\nthe respectability of the harmless, amusing, kind-hearted old oddity.\n\nAs these four sat in the study (for so Philippa would have her favorite\nroom called), they discussed their plans for the ensuing festival week.\n\n\"Uncle Jim has been invaluable,\" said the girl; \"he has been my\nhead-carpenter for the stage in the school, and has made such a grotto\nfor the crib, and, above all, he has carved two wonderful alms-dishes\nfor the collection to-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"Thank God! the church is to be opened to-morrow, wife,\" said the\nmayor, seeking his wife's hand. \"I may not live to see another\nChristmas nor hear another midnight Mass. In our young days, we little\nthought we should see such things--when priests would ride forty\nmiles to a dying bed, booted and spurred, with pistols to fight the\nhighwaymen. Why, even in town, it was as much as we could do to get to\nour duty at Easter every year.\"\n\n\"Grandpapa,\" said Philippa, \"by next summer the spire will be finished,\nand we can have the banner of the cross floating there, as of old the\ncity standard used to fly over the cathedrals.\"\n\n\"Child,\" answered Mr. Mason, \"by next summer your bridal train may set\nthe bells of the church a-ringing; and if I live to see that, I'll ask\nno more of Heaven.\"\n\n\"Nobody knows where to look for the bridegroom yet,\" said Philippa\nsaucily.\n\n\"Hush!\" put in the grandmother. \"On the day when God gave his own\nSon to the world, and gave to your grandfather and me such a great\nblessing--years ago--no one must speak lightly of the gifts he may yet\nplease to send or no.\" After a pause, Uncle Jim said hesitatingly:\n\n\"The good Lord certainly feeds the sparrows, as the Bible says, and\nI suppose that's why Miss Mason, _she_ must feed the robins, just to\nfollow the path we're told to; but it seems to me, if I'd waited for\nHim to feed _me_ one day that I well remember, I'd have gone hungrier\nthan you ever did, master, in the days of your trouble.\"\n\nPhilippa looked up with an expectant smile; she always anticipated fun\nwhen the old man adopted the mock-serious tone.\n\n\"Yes,\" continued the narrator, pleased to have at least the\nencouragement of an indulgent silence extended to him; \"and I was\nprancing in the best blue broadcloth and the most shining buttons you\never saw, and had on beautiful new boots that I never paid for ...\"\n\n\"You rascal!\" softly said the mayor.\n\n\"And a hat with such a curly brim,\" continued Jim imperturbably. \"Well,\nit was in the summer, the only time I really _was_ hungry--I don't mean\nthe summer, but that _that_ occasion was the only one when I was nigh\nstarving--and I and two friends, who had helped me to empty my purse,\nwere at Bath. None of us had any money left; in fact, _they_ never\nhad of their own, but were of those whose tongue is their fortune;\nbut hungry we all were, and must have something to eat. 'I have it!'\nI cried, for I was not a bad hand at imagination, 'Follow me to the\nWhite Hart;' and on the way I explained my plan. You will hear later\nwhat it was. Now, you will say, Mr. Mayor, that I had better have laid\nmyself down by a haystack, and slept there on an empty stomach; and\nindeed, after a good supper, such as we had to-night, it would be easy\nenough for _me_ to say so; but just then it wasn't likely to be my\nopinion. So we walked into the hotel, as bold as kings, and ordered a\nprivate room and dinner for three--French soups and oyster patties,\nfish and game, and foreign sauces and ale, just as _I_ knew it should\nbe, and Madeira and champagne, of course. When we had done (and, in the\nintervals when the waiter had gone for the next course, we pocketed\nas much as our pockets would stand of anything that was solid), we\ncalled for the bill, and the waiter brought it, as pompous as you will,\non a silver salver. I put my hand in my pocket, whereupon one of my\nfriends, _he_ says: 'Come, come, I'll stand this; it was I who proposed\nit and chose the wines.' And he puts his hand in his pocket. 'Bless\nme!' cries the other. 'Gentlemen, I protest; it was I who ordered the\ndinner, and I request, as a favor, you let me pay; the cost is but a\ntrifle.\" And _he_ put his hand in his pocket. The waiter stood grinning\nand smirking, and thinking this great fun. \"'An idea strikes me,' I\nthen said. 'Waiter, we'll blindfold you and shut the door, and whoever\nyou catch first will settle the bill.' At this my friends clapped their\nhands, and the waiter, as proud as a peacock at the condescension of\nsuch fine young gentlemen, gives us a napkin to tie over his eyes,\nand lets us spin him round two or three times, that he may begin\nfair. 'Now!' I cried, and he began feeling about, afraid to upset the\ntable; but he knew the room well, and went first to a closet beside\nthe further door. While he made a noise opening it and feeling inside,\nI slid to another door, and gently pushed it ajar. In a twinkling we\nwere all three walking leisurely out of the White Hart, looking like\nindependent gentlemen, who did the host the great honor of approving of\nhis cook! That afternoon, we drew lots which should sell his fine suit\nto pay travelling expenses, and it fell on me; so good-by to my gay\nplumage, says I, and never dropt a tear, but got the money and played\nvalet to the other two till we got to London, where I made them pay\nme what they owed through a lucky stroke at cards. And then we parted\ncompany, nothing loath on my side. So that is how I read the saying,\n'The Lord helps them as helps themselves.'\"\n\nEvery one smiled at the privileged old man, though Philippa held up a\nwarning forefinger and whispered: \"Grandpapa told me once that you were\nnot half so bad as you make yourself out to be. Why did you not put on\nladies' clothes, and go and beg for a dinner? They could not have said\nno to a pretty face, and it would have been better than stealing.\"\n\n\"Hark at that!\" said Uncle Jim aloud. \"You women are born to fool\nus. If I had my life to begin again, I should take advantage of that\nsuggestion. The truth was, high society ruined me; and here I am, a\ndestitute waif without a home. It is the first chapter of the Prodigal\nSon; but I shall never get into the second.\"\n\nHe looked with comical gravity at Mr. Mason, whose glance of\naffectionate amusement perfectly satisfied him in return; and then the\nold man, drawing Philippa towards him, said gently to her:\n\n\"On your next birthday, as you know, child, you will become entitled\nto all my fortune, and with this present will enter, too, into great\nresponsibilities. Now, to give you an idea of what wealth is, what it\ncan do, and how grave a trust it is, I will tell you a story too, but\nmore humbly than good Uncle Jim, because my fault was more reckless,\nand because God has been more merciful to me in making it bring forth\nreal good. Your father and your uncles were all little things then, and\ndo not remember it, except very dimly; and since that Christmas, forty\nyears ago, I have never repeated the tale.\"\n\nAnd in simple, forcible language the Mayor of Carthwaite told his\ngrandchild the story of the distress in Weston in the year 18--, the\nfamine and the wretchedness, the temptations of starving men, and\nfinally the incident in which Mr. Stamyn and the poor shoemaker had\nfigured side by side forty years ago. \"And your grandmother and I have\nprayed for that good man every night without ever missing,\" added the\nold man, \"and taught your father to do so; you yourself, child, have\nprayed for the kind friend, whose conversion to the true faith was our\ngreatest wish. But his name and what his kindness was I never told a\nsoul till now.\"\n\nPhilippa was silent. Uncle Jim hid his face, and sobbed. The old couple\nclasped hands by the fireside, and looked into each other's faces, as\nthey remembered the bare attic where they had shivered and starved, and\nbeen nearly driven to become criminals by the sheer force of hunger.\nNearly two generations had passed, and they were still together,\nthanking God that he had put it into the heart of man to relieve his\nfellow-man that night, when a life of crime and disgrace had so nearly\nbegun to drag them down to the level of a \"jail-bird.\" Philippa crept\nup to them softly, and kissed them both.\n\n\"I understand your life and your charities so much better now,\" she\nsaid; \"and when I have the same responsibility thrust upon me, believe\nme, I will do as you have done.\"\n\nThe bells began to chime, and the party bestirred themselves to go over\nto the chapel, where the midnight Mass was to be said for the last\ntime. To-morrow the church was to be opened, and dedicated to \"Our Lady\nand S. Crispin,\" and the chapel was to become a school. Uncle Jim was\nPhilippa's special escort, for the old couple would never separate.\n\n\"Did you know that story?\" she whispered to him as they crossed the\nsilent streets.\n\n\"Ay, but he told me never to speak of it till he gave me leave. He did\nnot tell you who the lad was that spied upon him that night; it was\npoor Uncle Jim.\"\n\nPhilippa looked aghast.\n\n\"Yes,\" he went on, \"and I left Mr. Stamyn some years after, and tried\nto live as a gentleman on my earnings; but, as I told you in jest, a\nheap of rascals helped me to empty my purse, and it was soon drained\nof all. I remembered your grandfather, had taken a fancy to him in\nWeston, went back, and found him. He took me in, and was very good to\nme, useless as I was. I was always a shiftless fellow, and never could\nkeep what money I got. So he thought it better just to keep me at home,\nand I tried to be useful, and could be, too, when there was no question\nof money; and so it has been for nigh a score of years. Here we are at\nthe chapel. That's one thing I never saw--your religion; but then, Mr.\nMason is the best man I ever saw, and he's a Catholic. Anyways, there's\nno other religion I like better.\"\n\nAnd Uncle Jim went in and decorously assisted at the service, just as\nif it was quite familiar to him and he liked it. I suspect he did, as\nfar as he understood it. What the Masons believed could not be very far\nwrong.\n\nThe next morning there was a grand ceremony at the new church, and an\nunlimited amount of beef and pudding distributed by tickets among the\npoorer inhabitants of Carthwaite. After service, a carriage drove up to\nMr. Mason's door.\n\nA very old gentleman, followed by a much younger one, stepped out, and\ninquired for the mayor. They were shown into the study, where all the\nMasons--cousins, uncles, etc.--had now assembled. The servant announced\n\"Mr. Stamyn.\"\n\nUncle Jim, recovering the instincts of his youth, suddenly stood up\nrespectfully before his former master, who, however, did not seem to\nhave the slightest recollection of him.\n\nMr. Stamyn went up to Mrs. Mason. \"My dear friends,\" he said, \"you both\ntold me not to forget your name; it was five years ago that I returned\nto Weston, and I did not fail to make inquiries, but hardly hoping that\nI should find you. They told me you had left, and I was lucky enough to\nfind a clue to your subsequent career. I need not say how happy I am to\nredeem my promise to visit you again; I should certainly have been so,\nhad I found you still in smoky old Weston, but here doubly.\"\n\nEvery one, especially Philippa, was struck by the old-time courtesy,\nprecise, formal, yet most cordial, with which Mr. Stamyn spoke;\nhis young companion glanced admiringly at the girl, instinctively\ndistinguishing her from the more buxom damsels assembled round the\nfamily hearth--her cousins of Manchester and Carthwaite. Mr. Mason\nasked his friend and patron to stay with them, and sit at his board\nas the chief Christmas guest; he gladly complied, and said laughingly\nthat he had expected to be asked. It was not until after the family\nmeal that Uncle Jim revealed himself to his former master. His awkward\nself-consciousness and hurried glances had amused Mr. Stamyn in secret\nall the time, though his own perfectly controlled manner had given no\nsign of surprise or amusement; but when Jim, mysteriously bending over\nMr. Stamyn's chair, feelingly asked what had become of the boy James,\nthe old gentleman's eyes began to twinkle with premonitory signal-fire.\n\n\"He left me a few years after our Weston adventure, and, I very much\nfear, went to the devil!\" was the answer.\n\n\"No, sir; Mr. Stamyn,\" said Jim, shaking with excitement, \"he went to\nMason.\"\n\n\"James,\" said his master seriously, \"you could not possibly have done\nbetter; I congratulate you.\"\n\nUncle Jim looked triumphantly at Philippa, who was talking to the young\nman, Mr. Stamyn's companion. By her next birthday she was married to\nhim--he was Mr. Stamyn's great-nephew and heir--but the two old men did\nnot live to see another Christmas. Mrs. Mason and Uncle Jim remain yet,\nand tell the story to the rising generation.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SONG OF ROLAND.\n\n\n                               CONCLUDED.\n\nThe night flies away, and the white dawn appears. Charles, the majestic\nemperor, mounts his charger, and casts his eye over the army. \"My lords\nbarons,\" he says, \"behold these dark defiles, these narrow gorges. To\nwhom do you counsel me to give the command of the rear-guard?\"\n\n\"To whom?\" replies Ganelon. \"To whom but to my son-in-law Roland? Is he\nnot a baron of great valor?\"\n\nAt these words the emperor looks at him, saying, \"You are a very devil!\nWhat deadly rage has entered into you?\"\n\nRoland approaches; he has heard the words of Ganelon. \"Sire\nfather-in-law,\" he says, \"what thanks do I not owe you for having asked\nfor me the command of the rear-guard! Our emperor, be assured, shall\nlose nothing; neither steed nor palfrey, cart-horse nor sumpter-mule,\nshall be taken, or our swords shall make more than the price.\"\n\n\"I believe it well,\" rejoins Ganelon.\n\n\"Ah! son of an accursed race!\" cries Roland, who can no longer contain\nhis anger, \"thou thoughtest that the glove would fall from my hands as\nit did from thine.\" Then, turning to the emperor, he prays him to give\ninto his hand the bow which he grasps with his own.\n\nThe emperor's countenance darkens; he hesitates to place his nephew in\nthe rear-guard. But the Duke de Naymes says to him, \"Give the bow to\nCount Roland; the rear-guard belongs to him of right, since none other\ncould conduct it so well as he.\"\n\nAnd the emperor gives Roland the bow, saying, \"My fair nephew, know you\nwhat I desire? I would leave with you the half of my army. Take it, I\npray you; it shall be for your safety.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" cries Roland, \"I will have no such thing. God forbid that I\nshould belie my race! Leave me twenty thousand valiant Frenchmen, and\nset out with all the rest. Pass at ease through the defiles, and, while\nI am alive, fear no man in the world.\"\n\nRoland mounts his charger. He is joined by his faithful Oliver, then\nG\u00e9rer, then Berenger, and the aged Ans\u00e9is, G\u00e9rard of Roussillon, and\nthe Duke Gaifier. \"I, too, will be there,\" says the Archbishop Turpin,\n\"for I ought in duty to follow my chief.\"\n\n\"And I also,\" says Count Gauthier. \"Roland is my liege-lord, and I\nmust not fail him.\"\n\nThe vanguard begins its march.\n\nHow lofty are these peaks! What sombre valleys! How black the rocks;\nthe defiles how profound! The French, in these dark gorges, seem\noppressed with sadness. The sound of their footsteps may be heard full\nfifteen leagues away.\n\nWhen they draw near to their mother-country, within sight of the land\nof Gascony, they call to mind their fiefs and their possessions, their\ntender children and their noble wives. The tears start into their\neyes--those of Charles most of all; for his heart is heavy at the\nthought that he has left Roland among the mountains of Spain.\n\nHe hides his face with his mantle. \"What ails you, sire?\" asks the Duke\nNaymes, riding by his side.\n\n\"Is there any need to ask?\" he answers. \"In the grief that I am in, how\ncan I refrain from groaning? France will be undone by Ganelon. In a\ndream this night an angel has made this known to me. He broke my lance\nin my hands--he who caused me to give the rear-guard to Roland, leaving\nhim in this ungentle land. Heavens! were I to lose Roland, I should\nnever see his like again!\"\n\nCharles wept; and a hundred thousand Frenchmen, touched by his tears,\nshuddered as they thought upon Roland. Ganelon, the felon, has sold him\nfor gold and silver, and shining stuffs; for horses, and camels, and\nlions.\n\nKing Marsilion has sent for all the barons of Spain: dukes, counts, and\nviscounts, emirs and sons of the senators. He assembles four thousand\nof them in three days.\n\nThe drums beat in Saragossa; the image of Mahomet is set on its highest\ntower; and there is no pagan who does not feel himself inflamed at the\nsight. Then, behold, all the Saracens set forth, riding at double speed\ninto the depths of these long valleys. By dint of haste, they have come\nin sight of the gonfalons of France and of the rear-guard of the twelve\nbrave peers. By evening they lie in ambush in a wood of fir-trees on\nthe sides of the rocks. Four hundred thousand men are hidden there,\nawaiting the return of the sun. O heavens! what woe! for the French\nknew naught of this.\n\nThe day appears. Now it is the question in the Saracen army who shall\nstrike the first blow. The nephew of Marsilion caracoles before his\nuncle. \"Fair my lord the king,\" he says, with a joyful countenance, \"in\nsevere and numerous combats I have served you so greatly that I ask as\na reward the honor of conquering Roland.\"\n\nTwenty others follow in turn to boast before Marsilion. One says: \"At\nRoncevaux I am going to play the man. If I find Roland, all is over\nwith him. What shame and sorrow for the French! Their emperor is so old\nthat he is imbecile. He will not pass another day without weeping.\"\n\"Never fear,\" says another. \"Mahomet is stronger than S. Peter! I will\nmeet Roland at Roncevaux; he cannot escape death. Look at my sword; I\nwill measure it against his Durandal, and you will then soon hear which\nis the longest.\" \"Come, sire,\" says a third, \"come and see all these\nFrenchmen slain. We will take Charlemagne, and make a present of him to\nyou, and will give you the lands of the rest. Before a year is over, we\nshall have fixed ourselves in the town of St. Denis.\"\n\nWhile they thus excite each other to the combat, they contrive, behind\nthe fir-wood, to put on their Saracen coats of mail, lace on their\nSaragossa helmets, gird on their swords of Viennese steel, seize their\nshields and their Valencian lances, surmounted by white, blue, and\nscarlet gonfalons. They mount neither mules nor palfreys, but strong\nsteeds, and ride in close ranks. The sun shines; the gold of their\nvestments sparkles and gleams; a thousand clarions begin to sound.\n\nThe French listen. \"Sire companion,\" says Oliver, \"we may soon have\nbattle with the Saracens.\"\n\n\"God grant it!\" replies Roland. \"Let us think of our king. We ought\nto know how to suffer for our lord, bear heat and cold, let our skin\nbe slashed, and risk our heads. Let every one be ready to strike hard\nblows. We must take heed to what sort of songs may be sung of us. You\nhave the right, Christians, and the pagans the wrong. Never shall bad\nexample be given you by me.\"\n\nOliver climbs a tall pine-tree, looks to the right in the wooded\nvalley, and beholds the Saracen horde approaching. \"Comrade,\" he\ncries to Roland, \"what a din and tumult is there on the Spanish side!\nHeavens! how many white halberds and gleaming helmets! What a rough\nmeeting for our French! Ganelon knew it--the felon! the traitor!\"\n\n\"Peace, Oliver,\" answers Roland. \"He is my father-in-law; speak not of\nhim.\"\n\nOliver dismounts. \"Lords barons,\" he says, \"I have seen even now so\ngreat a multitude of these pagans that no man here below has ever\nbeheld the like. We shall have a battle such as there has never been\nbefore. Ask God for courage!\" And the French reply: \"Woe to him that\nflees! To die for you, not one of us all will be found wanting.\"\n\n\"Roland, my comrade,\" says the prudent Oliver, \"these pagans are a\nmultitude, and we are very few. Heed me, and sound your horn; the\nemperor will hear, and will lead back the army.\"\n\n\"Do you take me for a madman?\" answers Roland. \"Would you have me lose\nmy honor in sweet France? Let Durandal do its work--strike its heavy\nblows, and steep itself in blood to the haft; all these pagans are as\ngood as dead, I warrant you!\"\n\n\"Roland, my comrade, sound your _olifant_, that the emperor may hear\nand come to your aid.\"\n\n\"Heaven keep me from such cowardice! Count upon Durandal; you will see\nhow it will slay the pagans.\"\n\n\"Roland, my comrade, sound your _olifant_, that the emperor may hear it\nand return.\"\n\n\"Please God, then, no!\" replies Roland once more. \"No man here below\nshall ever say I sounded my horn because of the pagans. Never shall\nlike reproach be brought against my race!\"\n\n\"What reproach? What would you have people say? These Saracens cover\nthe valleys, the mountain, the high-lands, and the plains. I have just\nbeheld it, this innumerable host; and we are but a feeble company.\"\n\n\"My courage grows at the thought,\" says Roland. \"Neither God nor his\nangels will suffer it that by me our France shall lose her renown.\nSire comrade, and my friend, speak no more to me thus. We will stand\nour ground. For us will be the blows; our emperor wills it. Among the\nsoldiers he has confided to us there is not a single coward; he knows\nit. Our emperor loves us because we strike well. Strike, then, thou\nwith thy lance, and I with my good sword Durandal--Charles' gift to me.\nIf I die, he who gets it shall be able to say, this was a brave man's\nsword!\"\n\nAt this moment, the Archbishop Turpin put spurs to his horse, gained\nan eminence, and, calling the French around him, said to them, \"Lords\nbarons, our emperor has left us here, and for him we ought to die well.\nRemember that you are Christians. The battle draws on; you see it. The\nSaracens are there. Call to mind your sins; cry God's mercy. I will\nabsolve you for the health of your souls. If you die, you will all be\nmartyrs, and will find good place in the heights of Paradise!\" The\nFrench dismount from their horses, and kneel on the ground, while the\narchbishop blesses them on the part of God, and for their penance bids\nthem strike hard blows. Absolved and rid of their sins, they rise and\nremount their horses.\n\nRoland, in his shining armor, is beautiful to behold, mounted on his\ngood charger, Vaillantif. The golden reins ring in his hand, and on\nthe top of his lance, which he holds with its point to heaven, floats\na white gonfalon. The brave knight advances with a clear and serene\ncountenance, followed by his companion, and then by all these noble\nFrench, whose courage he makes strong. He casts his lofty glance upon\nthe Saracens, and, gently turning his head to those about him, says,\n\"March, my lords barons, without haste. These pagans are hastening to\ntheir destruction.\" While he speaks, the two armies approach, and are\nabout to accost each other.\n\n\"No more words,\" cries Oliver. \"You have not deigned to sound your\n_olifant_. There is nothing to expect from the emperor; nothing for\nwhich to reproach him. The brave one, he knows not a word of that which\nis befalling us; the fault is none of his. Now, my lords barons, hold\nfirm, and for the love of God, I pray you, let us not fear blows; let\nus know how to give and take. Above all, let us not forget the cry of\nCharlemagne.\" Whereupon the French all shouted, _Montjoie!_ Whoso had\nheard them would never all his life lose the remembrance of that shout.\n\nThen they advance--heavens! with what boldness. To be brief, the\nhorsemen have charged. What better could they do?\n\nThe pagans do not draw back; the _m\u00eal\u00e9e_ begins. They provoke each\nother by word and gesture. The nephew of Marsilion, with insult in his\nmouth, flies upon Roland. Roland with one stroke of his lance lays him\ndead at his feet. The king's brother, Falsaron, desires to revenge his\nnephew's death; but Oliver forestalls him by planting his lance in his\nbody. A certain Corsablix, one of these barbarian kings, vomits forth\nslanders and bravadoes. Abp. Turpin hearing him, bears down upon him in\nfull force, and with his lance stretches him dead upon the ground. Each\ntime that a Saracen falls the French cry, _Montjoie!_--the shout of\nCharlemagne.\n\nDefiances and combats succeed each other fast on every side; everywhere\nthe French are the conquerors; there is not a pagan who is not\noverthrown. Roland advances, thrusting with his lance as long as there\nremains a fragment of its wood in his hand. But at the fifteenth\nstroke the lance breaks; then he draws his good sword Durandal, which\ncarves and slices the Saracens right valiantly, so that the dead lie\nheaped around him. Blood flows in torrents around the spot, and over\nhis horse and his arms. He perceives in the _m\u00eal\u00e9e_ his faithful\nOliver breaking with the but-end of his lance the skull of the pagan\nFauseron. \"Comrade,\" cries Roland, \"what do you? Of what use is a stick\nin such a fight? Iron and steel are what you need. Where is your\nHauteclaire--your sword hafted with crystal and gold?\"\n\n\"I cannot draw it,\" said the other. \"I have to strike the blows so\nthick and fast, they give me too much to do.\"\n\nNevertheless, with knightly skill he snatches it from its scabbard, and\nholds it up to Roland, the next moment striking with it a pagan, who\nfalls dead, and cutting also through his gold-enamelled saddle and his\nhorse to the chine. \"I hold you for my brother,\" cries Roland. \"Such\nare the blows which our emperor loves so much.\" And on all sides they\ncry, _Montjoie!_\n\nHow the fight rages! What blows fall on every side! How many broken\nlances covered with blood! How many gonfalons torn to shreds! And, ah!\nhow many brave Frenchmen there lose their youth! Never more will they\nsee again their mothers, their wives, or their friends in France, who\nwait for them beyond the mountains!\n\nDuring this time, Charles groans and laments: to what purpose? Can he\nsuccor them by weeping? Woe worth the day that Ganelon did him the\nsorry service of journeying to Saragossa! The traitor will pay the\npenalty; the scaffold awaits him. But death, meanwhile, spares not our\nFrench. The Saracens fall by thousands, and so, also, do our own; they\nfall, and of the best!\n\nIn France, at this very hour, arise tremendous storms. The winds are\nunchained, the thunder roars, the lightning glares; hail and rain\nfall in torrents, and the earth trembles. From S. Michael of Paris to\nSens, from Besan\u00e7on to the port of Wissant, not a place of shelter\nwhose walls do not crack. At mid-day there is a black darkness, lit up\nonly by the fire of the lightnings; there is not a man who does not\ntremble; and some say that, with the end of the century, the end of the\nworld is coming. They are mistaken; it is the great mourning for the\ndeath of Roland.\n\nMarsilion, who until then had kept himself apart, has beheld from afar\nthe slaughter of his men; he commands the horns and clarions to sound,\nand puts in motion the main body of his army.\n\nWhen the French behold on every side fresh floods of the enemy let\nloose upon them, they look to see where is Roland, where is Oliver,\nwhere are the twelve peers? Every one would seek shelter behind them.\nThe archbishop encourages them all. \"For God's sake, barons, fly not!\nBetter a thousand times die fighting! All is over with us. When this\nday closes, not one of us will be left in this world; but paradise, I\npromise you, is yours.\" At these words their ardor rekindles, and again\nthey raise the cry, _Montjoie!_\n\nBut, see there Climorin, the Saracen who at Marsilion's palace embraced\nGanelon and gave him his sword. He is mounted on a horse more swift\nthan the swallow, and has even now driven his lance into the body of\nAng\u00e9lier de Bordeaux. This is the first Frenchman of mark that has\nfallen in the _m\u00eal\u00e9e_, and quickly has Oliver avenged him; with one\nblow of his Hauteclaire the Saracen is struck down, and the demons bear\naway his ugly soul. Then this other pagan, Valdabron, strikes to the\nheart the noble Duke Sanche, who falls dead from the saddle. What grief\nfor Roland! He rushes on Valdabron, dealing him a blow which cleaves\nhis skull, in sight of the terrified pagans. In his turn, Abp. Turpin\nrolls in the dust the African Mancuidant, who has just slain Ans\u00e9is.\nRoland overthrows and kills the son of the King of Cappadocia; but\nwhat mischief has not this pagan done us before he died? G\u00e9rin and\nG\u00e9rer, his comrade, Berenger, Austore, and Guy de Saint Antoine, all\ndied by his hand.\n\nHow thin our ranks are growing! The battle is stormy and terrible.\nNever saw you such heaps of dead, so many wounds, and so much blood\nflowing in streams on the green grass. Our men strike desperate blows.\nFour times they sustain the shock, but at the fifth they fall, saving\nsixty only, whom may God spare! for dearly they will sell their lives.\n\nWhen Roland sees this disaster, \"Dear comrade,\" he says to Oliver, \"how\nmany brave hearts lying on the ground! What grievous loss for our sweet\nFrance! Charles, our emperor, why are you not here? Oliver, my brother,\nwhat shall be done, and how shall we give him of our tidings?\"\n\n\"There is no means,\" answers Oliver; \"it is better to die than\nshamefully to flee.\"\n\n\"I will sound my _olifant_,\" says Roland. \"Charles will hear it in the\ndepths of the defiles, and, be assured, he will return.\"\n\n\"Ah! but what shame! And of your race, my friend, do you then think no\nmore? When I spoke of this anon, nothing would you do, nor will you\nnow, at least not by my counsel. Your arms are bleeding; you have not\nnow the strength to sound it well.\"\n\n\"Sooth, but what hard blows I have been giving! Nevertheless, we have\nto do with too strong a force. I will blow my _olifant_, and Charles\nwill hear.\"\n\n\"Nay, then, by no means shall you do this thing, and by my beard I\nswear it. Should I ever see again my noble sister, my dear Aude, never\nshall you be in her arms!\"\n\n\"Wherefore this anger?\" Roland asks.\n\n\"Comrade,\" the other answers, \"you have lost us! Rashness is not\ncourage. These French are dead through your imprudence. Had you\nbelieved me, the emperor would have been here, the battle would be\ngained, and we should have taken Marsilion, alive or dead. Roland, your\nprowess has cost us this mishap. Charles, our great Charles, we never\nshall serve more.\"\n\nThe Archbishop Turpin hears the two friends, and runs to them,\nexclaiming, \"For God's sake, let alone your quarrels! True, there\nis no longer time for you to sound your horn; but it is good,\nnotwithstanding, that the emperor should return. Charles will avenge\nus, and these pagans shall not return into their Spain. Our French\nwill find us here, dead and cut to pieces, but they will put us into\ncoffins, and with tears and mourning carry us to be laid in the\nburial-grounds of our monasteries; at least, we shall not be devoured\nby dogs, or wolves, or wild boars.\"\n\n\"It is well spoken,\" answers Roland; and forthwith he puts the\n_olifant_ to his lips, and blows with all the strength of his lungs.\nThe sound penetrates and prolongs itself in the depths of these\nfar-reaching valleys. Thirty long leagues away the echo is repeating\nitself still!\n\nCharles hears it; the army hears it also. \"They are giving battle to\nour people,\" cries the emperor. \"Never does Roland sound his _olifant_\nbut in the heart of a battle.\"\n\n\"A battle, indeed!\" says Ganelon. \"In another mouth one would have\ncalled it a lie! Know you not Roland? For a single hare he goes horning\na whole day. Come, let us march on. Why should we delay? The lands of\nour France are still far away.\"\n\nBut Roland continues to blow his _olifant_. He makes such great efforts\nthat the blood leaps from his mouth and from the veins of his forehead.\n\n\"This horn has a long breath,\" says the emperor; and the Duke de Naymes\nreplies, \"It is a brave man who blows it; there is battle around him.\nBy my faith, he who has betrayed him so well seeks to deceive you\nlikewise. Believe me; march to the succor of your noble nephew. Do you\nnot hear him? Roland is at bay.\"\n\nThe emperor gives the signal. Before setting out, he causes Ganelon to\nbe seized, abandoning the traitor to his scullions. Hair by hair they\npull out his moustache and beard, striking him with stick and fist, and\npassing a chain round his neck, as they would round that of a bear, and\nthen, for the extreme of ignominy, setting him on a beast of burden.\n\nOn a signal from the emperor, all the French have turned their horses'\nheads, and throw themselves eagerly back into the dark defiles and by\nthe rapid streams. Charles rides on in haste. There is not one who, as\nhe runs, does not sigh and say to his neighbor, \"If we could only find\nRoland, and at least see him before he dies! How many blows have we not\nstruck together!\"\n\nAlas! to what purpose are these vain efforts! They are too far off, and\ncannot reach him in time.\n\nYet Roland glances anxiously around him. On the heights, in the plain,\nhe sees nothing but Frenchmen slain. The noble knight weeps and prays\nfor them. \"Lords barons, may God have you in his grace, and may he\nopen to your souls the gate of his paradise, making them lie down upon\nits holy flowers! Better warriors than you I have never seen; you have\nserved us so long, you have conquered for us so many lands! O land of\nFrance! my so sweet country, behold, thou art widowed of many brave\nhearts! Barons of France, you died by my fault. I have not been able to\nsave you or guard you; may God be your helper--God, who is always true!\nIf the sword slay me not, yet shall I die of grief. Oliver, my brother,\nlet us return to the fight.\"\n\nRoland appears again in the _m\u00eal\u00e9e_. As the stag before the hounds, so\ndo the pagans flee before Roland. Behold, however, Marsilion, coming\nforth as a warrior, and overthrowing on his way G\u00e9rard de Roussillon\nand other brave Frenchmen. \"Perdition be your portion,\" cries Roland,\n\"for thus striking down my comrades!\" And with one back-stroke of\nDurandal he cuts off his hand, seizing at the same time the fair hair\nof Jurfalen, the king's son. At this sight the Saracens cry out, \"Save\nus, Mahomet! Avenge us of these accursed ones: they will never give\nway. Let us flee! let us flee!\" So saying, a hundred thousand of them\ntook flight, nor is there fear that they will ever return.\n\nBut what avails it that Marsilion has fled? His uncle, Marganice,\nremains in the field with his black-visaged Ethiopians. He steals\nbehind Oliver, and strikes him a mortal blow in the middle of the back.\n\"There is one,\" he cries, \"whose destruction avenges us for all we have\nlost!\" Oliver, stricken to death, raises his arm, lets fall Hauteclaire\non the head of Marganice, makes the diamonds sparkling on it fly around\nin shivers, and splits his head down to the teeth. \"Accursed pagan,\" he\nsays, \"neither to thy wife nor to any lady of thy land shalt thou boast\nthat thou hast slain me!\" Then he calls Roland to his aid.\n\nRoland sees Oliver livid and colorless, with the blood streaming down.\nAt this sight he feels himself fainting, and swoons upon his horse.\nOliver perceives it not; he has lost so much blood that his eyes fail;\nhe sees neither things far-off nor near. His arm, which goes on wishing\nto strike, raises Hauteclaire, and it is on the helmet of Roland that\nthe blow falls, cutting it through down to the nasal, but without\ntouching his head. At this blow, Roland looks at him, and asks gently,\n\"My comrade, did you purpose to do this? It is I, Roland, your dearest\nfriend. I know not that you have defied me.\"\n\nAnd Oliver answers, \"I hear you; it is your voice, but I see you not at\nall. If I have struck you, pardon me, my friend!\"\n\n\"You have done me no hurt, my brother,\" answers Roland, \"and I forgive\nyou here and before God.\" At these words they bend towards one another,\nand are separated during this tender adieu!\n\nRoland cannot tear himself away from the body of his friend, stretched\nlifeless on the earth; he contemplates him, weeps over him, and aloud\nreminds him of so many days passed together in perfect friendship.\nOliver being dead, what a burden to him is life!\n\nDuring this time, without his having perceived it, all our French had\nperished, excepting only the archbishop and Gauthier. Wounded, but\nstill standing, they call to Roland. He hears and joins them. The\npagans cry out, \"These are terrible men; let us take heed not to leave\none of them alive.\" And from all sides they throw themselves upon them.\nGauthier falls; Turpin has his helmet cloven, his hauberk torn, four\nwounds in his body, and his horse killed under him. Roland, thinking of\nthe emperor, again seizes his _olifant_, but he can only draw from it a\nfeeble and plaintive note.\n\nCharles hears it notwithstanding. \"Woe betide us!\" he cries. \"Roland,\nmy dear nephew, we come too late! I know it by the sound of his horn.\nMarch! Sound clarions!\" And all the clarions of the host sounded\ntogether. The noise reached the ears of the pagans. \"Alas!\" they say\nto each other, \"it is Charles returning! It is the great emperor. O\nfatal day for us! All our chiefs are in the dust. If Roland lives, the\nwar will begin again, and our Spain is lost to us. Never will he be\nvanquished by any man of flesh and blood. Let us not go near, but from\nafar off cast at him our darts.\" Thereupon they withdraw, and rain upon\nhim, from a distance, darts and arrows, lances and spears. Roland's\nshield is pierced, his hauberk broken and unfastened; his body is\nuntouched, but Vaillantif, wounded in twenty places, falls dead beneath\nhis master. This blow given, all the pagans flee at full speed further\ninto Spain.\n\nRoland, without horse, is unable to follow the fugitives. He goes\nto the succor of the archbishop, unlaces his helmet, binds up his\ngaping wounds, presses him to his heart, and gently lays him on the\ngrass. Then he says to him softly, \"Shall we leave without prayers our\ncompanions who lie dead around us, and whom we loved so well? I will\nfetch their bodies, and bring them before you.\"\n\n\"Go,\" answers the archbishop, \"we are masters of the field; go, and\nreturn again.\"\n\nRoland leaves him, and advances alone into the field of carnage,\nseeking on the mountain, seeking in the valley. He finds them--his\nbrave comrades and the Duke Sanche, the aged Ans\u00e9is, and G\u00e9rard, and\nBerenger. One by one he brings them, laying them at the knees of the\npriest, who weeps while he blesses them. But when it comes to the\nturn of Oliver; when Roland would carry the body of this dear comrade,\nclosely pressed against his heart, his face grows pale, his strength\nforsakes him, and he falls fainting on the ground.\n\nThe archbishop at this sight feels himself seized with a deathlike\ngrief. There is, in this valley of Roncevaux, a running stream; if\nonly he could give some water to Roland! He seizes the _olifant_, and\ntries, with slow steps, to drag himself tremblingly along. But he is\ntoo feeble to advance. His strength fails, and he falls, with his face\nto the earth, in the pangs of death.\n\nRoland revives, and sees the prostrate warrior. With his eyes raised\nto heaven, and with joined hands, he makes his confession to God, and\nprays him to open to the good soldier of Charlemagne the gate of his\nparadise. Then he approaches the bleeding body of the holy prelate,\nraises his beautiful white hands, and lays them crosswise on his\nbreast, bidding him a tender adieu.\n\nBut Roland in his turn now feels that the hand of death is upon him. He\nprays to God for his peers, supplicating him to call them to himself,\nand invokes the holy angel Gabriel. Taking in one hand the _olifant_,\nand Durandal in the other, he climbs an eminence looking towards Spain,\nand there, in the green corn, underneath a tree, he lets himself sink\nupon the ground.\n\nNear at hand, behind a marble rock, a Saracen, lying in the midst of\nthe corpses, his face stained with blood, the better to counterfeit\ndeath, was watching him. He sees him fall, and, suddenly springing up,\nhe runs to him, trying out, \"Conquered! the nephew of Charles! His\nsword is mine; I will carry it to Arabia!\" He tries to draw it, but\nRoland has felt something, opens his eyes, and says, \"You are not one\nof our people, it seems to me;\" and with a blow of his _olifant_ lays\nhim dead at his feet. \"Miscreant,\" he says, \"thou art very bold--some\nwould say very mad--thus to lay hands on me. However, I have split my\n_olifant_; the gold and precious stones are shaken from it by the blow.\"\n\nLittle by little Roland finds that his sight is failing him. He raises\nhimself on his feet, trying to support himself as best he may; but his\ncountenance is colorless and livid. On a rock hard by he strikes ten\nblows with Durandal. He would fain break it, his valiant sword. What\ngrief and mourning would it not be to leave it to the pagans! May this\nshame be spared to France! But the steel cuts into the rock, and does\nnot break. Roland strikes anew upon a rock of sardonyx. Not the least\nflaw in the steel! He strikes again. The rock flies in pieces, but the\nsteel resists. \"Ah!\" he cries, \"Holy Mary help me! My Durandal, thou\nwho didst so brightly gleam in this resplendent sun; thou, so beautiful\nand sacred, who wast given to me by Charles at the command of God\nhimself; thou by whom I have conquered Brittany and Normandy, Maine\nand Poitou, Aquitaine and Romagna, Flanders, Bavaria, Germany, Poland,\nConstantinople, Saxony, Iceland, and England, long hast thou been in\nthe hands of a valiant man; shalt thou fall now into a coward's power?\nAh! sacred Durandal, in thy golden guard how many precious relics are\nenshrined!--a tooth of S. Peter, the blood of S. Basil, some hair of S.\nDenis, a portion of Our Lady's robe--and shall ever any pagan possess\nthee? A brave man and a Christian has alone the right to use thee.\"\n\nEven as he utters these words, death is stealing over him, until it\nreaches his heart. He stretches himself at length upon the green grass,\nlaying under him his sword and his dear _olifant_; then, turning his\nface towards the Saracens, that Charles and his men should say, on\nfinding him thus, that he died victorious, he smites on his breast,\nand cries to God for mercy. The memory of many things then comes back\nto him--the memory of so many brave fights; of his sweet country; of\nthe people of his lineage; of Charles, his lord, who nourished him;\nand then his thoughts turn also to himself: \"My God, our true Father,\nwho never canst deceive, who didst bring Lazarus back from the dead,\nand Daniel from the teeth of the lions, save my soul! Snatch it from\nthe peril of the sins which I have committed during my life!\" And so\nsaying, with his head supported on his arm, with his right hand he\nreaches out his gauntlet towards God. S. Gabriel takes it, and God\nsends his angel cherubim and S. Michael, called \"_du P\u00e9ril_.\" By them\nand by Gabriel the soul of the count is borne into paradise.\n\nCharlemagne has returned into this valley of Roncevaux. Not a rood,\nnot an inch of earth, which is not covered by a corpse. With a loud\nvoice Charles calls the name of his nephew; he calls the archbishop,\nand G\u00e9rin, and Berenger, and the Duke Sanche, and Ang\u00e9lier, and all\nhis peers. To what purpose? There are none to answer. \"Wherefore was I\nnot in this fight?\" he cries, tearing his long beard and fainting with\ngrief; and the whole army laments with him. These weep for their sons,\nthose for their brothers, their nephews, their friends, their lords.\n\nIn the midst of all this mourning, the Duke Naymes, a sagacious man,\napproaches the emperor. \"Look in front,\" he says. \"See these dusty\nroads. It is the pagan horde in flight. To horse! We must be avenged!\"\n\nCharles, before setting forth, commands four barons and a thousand\nknights to guard the field of battle. \"Leave the dead there as they\nare,\" he says. \"Keep away the wild beasts, and let no man touch them,\nneither squires nor varlets, until the hour, please God, of our\nreturn.\" Then he bade them sound the charge, and pursued the Saracens.\n\nThe sun is low in the heavens; the night is near, and the pagans are\non the point of escaping in the evening shadows; but an angel descends\nfrom heaven. \"March,\" he says to Charles. \"Continue marching; the light\nshall not fail you.\"\n\nAnd the sun stays in the sky. The pagans flee, but the French overtake\nand slay them. In the swift-flowing Ebro the fugitives are drowned.\nCharles dismounts from his charger, and prostrates himself, giving\nthanks to God. When he rises, the sun is set. It is too late to return\nto Roncevaux; the army is exhausted with fatigue. Charles, with a\nmourning heart, weeps for Roland and his companions until he sinks to\nsleep. All his warriors sleep also, lying on the ground; and even the\nhorses cannot remain standing. Those which want to feed graze as they\nlie upon the fresh grass.\n\nIn the night, Charles, guarded by his holy angel, who watches by his\nside, sees the future in a vision; he sees the rude combat in which\nshortly he will need to engage.\n\nDuring this time, Marsilion, exhausted, mutilated, has managed to reach\nSaragossa. The queen utters a cry at the sight of her husband, cursing\nthe evil gods who have betrayed him. One hope alone remains. The old\nBaligant, Emir of Babylon, will not leave them without succor. He\nwill come to avenge them. Long ago Marsilion sent letters to him; but\nBabylon is very far away, and the delay is great.\n\nThe emir, on receiving the letters, sends for the governors of his\nforty kingdoms; he causes galleys to be equipped and assembled in his\nport of Alexandria, and, when the month of May arrives, on the first\nday of summer he launches them into the sea.\n\nThis fleet of the enemy is immense; and how obedient to the sail, to\nthe oar, to the helm! At the top of these masts and lofty yards how\nmany fires are lighted! The waves glitter afar off in the darkness of\nthe night, and, as they draw near the shores of Spain, the whole of the\ncoast is illuminated by them. The news soon flies to Saragossa.\n\nMarsilion, in his distress, resigns himself to do homage for Spain to\nthe Emir Baligant. With his left hand, which alone remains to him, he\npresents his glove, saying, \"Prince Emir, I place all my possessions in\nyour hands; defend them, and, avenge me.\" The emir receives his glove,\nand engages to bring him the head of the old Charles; then he throws\nhimself on his horse, as he cries out to the Saracens, \"Come, let us\nmarch; or the French will escape us.\"\n\nAt daybreak Charles sets out for Roncevaux. As they draw near, he says\nto those about him, \"Slacken your pace somewhat, my lords; I would\ngo on before alone to seek my nephew. I remember that, on a certain\nfestival at Aix, he said that, should it be his hap to die in a foreign\nland, his body would be found in front of his men and of his peers,\nwith his face turned towards the land of the enemy, in token that he\ndied a conqueror--brave heart!\" So saying, he advances alone, and\nmounts the hill. He recognizes on three blocks of rock the strokes of\nDurandal, and on the grass hard by the body of his nephew. \"Friend\nRoland,\" he cries out in extreme anguish, as he raises the corpse with\nhis own hands,-\"friend Roland, may God place thy soul among the flowers\nof his paradise, in the midst of his glorious saints! Alas! what hast\nthou come to do in Spain! Not a day will there be henceforth in which\nI shall not weep for thee. Relations still I have, but yet not one\nlike thee! Roland, my friend, I return to France; and when I shall\nbe in my palace at Laon, people will come to me from every quarter,\nsaying, Where is the captain? And I shall make answer, He is dead in\nSpain! My nephew is dead, by whom I gained so many lands. And now, who\nshall command my armies? Who shall sustain my empire? France, my sweet\ncountry, they who have caused his death have destroyed thee!\"\n\nWhen he had thus given free course to his grief, his barons requested\nthat the last duties should be performed for their companions. They\ncollect the dead, and burn sweet perfumes around them; then are they\nblessed and incensed, and buried with great pomp, excepting Roland,\nOliver, and Abp. Turpin, whose bodies are laid apart to be carried into\nFrance.\n\nThey were preparing for departure when in the distance appeared the\nSaracen vanguard. The emperor tears himself away from his grief, turns\nhis fiery glance upon his people, and cries aloud with his strong and\nclear voice, \"Barons and Frenchmen, to horse and to arms!\"\n\nThe army is forthwith put in readiness for the combat. Charles disposes\nthe order of battle. He forms ten cohorts, giving to each a brave and\nskilful chief, and placing himself at the head. By his side Geoffrey of\nAnjou bears the oriflamme, and Guinenant the _olifant_.\n\nCharles alights and prostrates himself, with an ardent prayer, before\nGod, then mounts his horse, seizes his spear and shield, and with a\nserene countenance throws himself forward. The clarions sound, but\nabove the clarions there rings the clear note of the _olifant_. The\nsoldiers weep as they hear it, thinking upon Roland.\n\nThe emir, on his part, has passed his soldiers in review. He also\ndisposes his army in cohorts, of which there are thirty, as powerful as\nthey are brave; then calling on Mahomet, and displaying his standard,\nhe rushes with mad pride to meet the French.\n\nTerrible is the shock. On both sides the blood flows in streams. The\nfight and slaughter continue without ceasing until the day closes,\nand then, in the twilight, Charles and the emir encounter each other.\nThey fight so fiercely that soon the girths of their horses break, the\nsaddles turn round, and both find themselves on the ground. Full of\nrage, they draw their swords, and the deadly combat begins anew between\nthem.\n\nCharles is well-nigh spent. Stunned by a blow which has cloven his\nhelmet, he staggers, and is on the point of falling; but he hears\npassing by his ear the holy voice of the angel Gabriel, who cries\nout to him, \"Great king, what doest thou?\" At this voice, his vigor\nreturns, and the emir falls beneath the sword of France.\n\nThe pagan host flees; our French pursue them into Saragossa; the town\nis taken, and King Marsilion dies of despair. The conquerors make war\nagainst the false gods, and with great blows of their battle-axes\nbreak the idols in pieces. They baptize more than a hundred thousand\nSaracens, and those who resist they hang or burn, except the Queen\nBramimonde, who is to be taken as a captive into France, Charles\ndesiring to convert her by gentle means.\n\nVengeance is satisfied. They put a garrison into the town, and return\nto France. In passing through Bordeaux, Charles places upon the altar\nof S. Severin his nephew's _olifant_; there pilgrims may see it even\nto this day. Then in great barks they traverse the Gironde, and in S.\nRomain-de-Blaye they bury the noble Roland, the faithful Oliver, and\nthe brave archbishop.\n\nCharles will not again halt on his way, nor take any repose, until he\nreaches his great city of Aix. Behold him arrived thither. He sends\nmessengers through all his kingdoms and provinces, commanding the\npresence of the peers of his court of justice to take proceedings\nagainst Ganelon.\n\nOn entering his palace, he sees coming to him the young and gentle\nlady, the fair Aude. \"Where,\" she asks, \"is Roland--Roland the Captain,\nwho promised to take me for his wife?\" Charles, upon hearing these\nwords, feels his deadly grief awaken, and weeps burning tears. \"My\nsister and dear friend, he of whom you speak is now no more! I will\ngive you in his place a spouse worthy of you--Louis, my son, who will\ninherit all my kingdoms; more I cannot say.\"\n\n\"These are strange words,\" she answers; \"God forbid, and the angels and\nsaints likewise, that, Roland being dead, Aude should live!\" So saying,\nshe grew pale, and, falling at the feet of Charlemagne, she died. God\nshow to her his mercy!\n\nThe emperor will not believe but that she has fainted: he takes her\nhands, lifts her up; but alas, her head falls down upon her shoulder;\nher death is only too true. Four countesses are commanded to watch by\nher all the night, and to cause her to be nobly buried in a convent of\nnuns.\n\nWhile they are weeping for the fair Aude, and Charlemagne renders to\nher the last honors, Ganelon, beaten with rods and laden with chains,\nawaits his sentence.\n\nThe peers are assembled. Ganelon appears before them, and defends\nhimself with subtlety. \"I am avenged,\" he says, \"but I have betrayed no\none.\" The judges look at each other, and are inclined to be lenient.\n\"Sire,\" they say to the emperor, \"let him live; he is a good nobleman.\nHis death will not restore to you Roland, your nephew, whom we shall\nnever see more.\" And Charles exclaims: \"You all betray me!\"\n\nUpon this, one of them, Thierry, brother to Geoffrey of Anjou, says to\nthe emperor: \"Sire, be not disquieted; I condemn Ganelon. I say that he\nis a perjurer and a traitor, and I condemn him to death. If he has any\nkin who dares to say that I lie, I have this sword wherewith to answer\nhim.\"\n\nForthwith Pinabel, the friend of Ganelon, brave, alert, vigorous,\naccepts the challenge. At the gates of Aix, in the meadow, the two\nchampions, well-confessed, well-absolved and blessed, their Mass heard,\nand their swords drawn, prepare themselves for the combat. God only\nknows how it will end.\n\nPinabel is vanquished, and all the barons bow before the decision of\nGod. All say to the emperor, \"He ought to die.\"\n\nGanelon dies the death of a traitor--he is quartered.\n\nThen the emperor assembles his bishops. \"In my house,\" he says to them,\n\"a noble captive has learnt so much by sermons and examples that she\ndesires to believe in God. Let her be baptized; it is the Queen of\nSpain.\" They baptize her, therefore, under the name of Julienne. She\nhas become a Christian from the depths of her heart.\n\nThe day departs; night covers the earth. The emperor sleeps in his\nvaulted chamber. The angel known to Charles, S. Gabriel, descends to\nhis bedside, and says to him on the part of God: \"To the city which\nthe pagans are besieging, Charles, it is needful that thou march. The\nChristians cry aloud for thee.\"\n\n\"God!\" cries the king, \"how painful is my life.\" And, weeping, he tears\nhis long white beard.\n\nHere ends the song which Turoldus has sung.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWe will conclude, as we began, with the words of the original, giving\nthe last stanza of the poem (ccxcvi)\n\n    \"Quant l'emper\u00e8re ad faite sa justise,\n    E esclargie est sue grant ire,\n    En Bramidonie (Bramimonde) ad chrestientet mise,\n    Passet li jurz, la nuit est ascrie,\n    Culcez s'est li rei en sa cambre voltice.\n    Seint Gabriel de part Deu li vint dire,\n    'Carles, semun les oz de tun empire,\n    Par force iras en tere de Bire;\n    Reis Vivien si sucuras en Imphe\n    A la citet que paien unt asize,\n    Li chrestien te recleiment e crient.'\n    Li emper\u00e8re n'i volsist aler mie:\n    'Deus!' dist li reis, 'si penuse est ma vie!\n    Pluret des oilz, sa barbe blanche tiret.'\n    --Ci falt la geste que Turoldus declinet.\n\n                                          A O I.\"\n\n\n\n\nVENITE, ADOREMUS.[159]\n\n\n    God an infant--born to-day!\n      Born to live, to die for me!\n    Bow, my soul: adoring say,\n      \"Lord, I live, I die, for thee.\"\n    Humble then, but fearless, rise:\n    Seek the manger where he lies.\n\n    Tread with awe the solemn ground;\n      Though a stable, mean and rude,\n    Wondering angels all around\n      Throng the seeming solitude:\n    Swelling anthems, as on high,\n    Hail a second Trinity.[160]\n\n    'Neath the cavern's[161] dim-lit shade\n      Meekly sleeps a tender form:\n    God on bed of straw is laid!\n      Breaths of cattle keep him warm!\n    King of glory, can it be\n    Thou art thus for love of me?\n\n    Hail, my Jesus, Lord of might--\n      Here in tiny, helpless hand\n    Thy creation's infinite\n      Holding like a grain of sand!\n    Hail, _my_ Jesus--all my own:\n    Mine as if but mine alone!\n\n    Hail, my Lady, full of grace!\n      Maiden-Mother, hail to thee!\n    Poring on the radiant face,\n      Thine a voiceless ecstasy;\n    Yet, sweet Mother, let me dare\n    Join the homage of thy prayer.\n\n    Mother of God, O wondrous name!\n      Bending seraphs own thee Queen.\n    Mother of God, yet still the same\n      Mary thou hast ever been:\n    Still so lowly, though so great;\n    Mortal, yet immaculate!\n\n    Joseph, hail--of gentlest power!\n      Shadow of the Father[162] thou.\n    Thine to shield in danger's hour\n      Whom thy presence comforts now.\n    Mary trusts to thee her child;\n    He his Mother undefiled.\n\n    Jesus, Mary, Joseph, hail!\n      Saddest year its Christmas brings.\n    Comes the faith that cannot fail,\n      With the shepherds and the kings:\n    Gold, and myrrh, and incense sweet\n    Come to worship at your feet.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[159] This is a second edition of a lyric that appeared in THE CATHOLIC\nWORLD four years ago. The alterations are so considerable as to make it\na new poem.\n\n[160] Jesus, Mary, and Joseph are called \"The Earthly Trinity.\"\n\n[161] It was a cavern used for a stable.\n\n[162] See Faber's _Bethlehem_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FUR TRADER.\n\nA TALE OF THE NORTHWEST.\n\n\n                               CONCLUDED.\n\nThe next morning, at a very early hour, it was apparent that an\nassemblage of Indians at the council lodge had been summoned, to\nconsider the proposal of the missionary. His hopes were encouraged when\nhe noted that many of the old men and earliest converts were mingling\nwith the fierce warriors and young men of the vicinity, on their way to\nthe place of meeting.\n\nAfter some time, a delegation, with the brave who had borne the message\nof the priest to his chief at their head, proceeded with measured and\nstately steps from the council lodge to that of the missionary, where\nthey were received with the silent and ceremonious solemnity so dear to\nIndians.\n\nThe result of the debate, which they communicated, was, that their foes\nshould be requested to meet them--under guaranty of the missionary\nfor their good faith, and the assurance that the injured party would\nmeet them unarmed, if they also would leave their arms behind--that\nthe proposed council should be solemnly held. Should its decision be\nfor peace, all should join in the pursuit and recapture of the maiden;\nif otherwise, time should be allowed for the foe to regain their camps\nbefore her people should take the war-path.\n\nThe trapper departed immediately to proclaim these decisions in the\nnearest camps of the hostile party, and to secure their general\ndiffusion among those tribes. The missionary soon set out to notify\nthe residents of other missions, after seeing that the young chief had\ndespatched runners to summon a full attendance of his own people and\nfriends.\n\nThere is wonderful despatch in the simple machinery set in motion\nby the aborigines of our country upon such occasions, executing\ntheir purpose with a speed which proves their ignorance of the wise\n\"circumlocution offices\" of civilization.\n\nImmediate preparations were set on foot at the appointed rendezvous for\nentertaining a multitude. Large parties were sent out in quest of game.\nThe women of the vicinity assembled to prepare the meats, the _camash_,\nthe _wappato_, and the bitter root, for a great feast.\n\nDuring the three days succeeding the transactions related above,\nmultitudes were to be seen gathering from all quarters, and taking\ntheir course to the village where they were to meet, in profound\nsilence, and with the grave composure befitting an assembly before\nwhich the tremendous issues of life and death were to be discussed.\n\nThe trapper came with a large party of the fiercest warriors whom the\nwiles of the \"Northwester\" had deceived. Several priests from scattered\nmissions, more or less remote, with their converted Indians, arrived.\nNumerous savages of both sides advanced in parties by themselves,\ncaring for nothing but blood and plunder should war be the word, or\nfeasting and revelry should it be peace. French creoles, half-breeds,\nCanadian _voyageurs_, _coureurs des bois_, and free trappers, completed\nthe list of this wild and miscellaneous assemblage.\n\nArrangements were made with great precision for the opening of the\ncouncil. When the council lodge was in readiness, notice for the\nassembling of the various delegates was proclaimed from its roof by an\nIndian crier.\n\nThe missionaries passed in first, followed by the chiefs, and seated\nthemselves on a semicircular platform slightly elevated from the\nearthen floor at the further end of the lodge, the priests sitting in\nthe centre, between the two parties, as umpires. Then the elders, the\ndelegates, and the warriors took their seats upon the floor along each\nside of the lodge.\n\nThe oldest chief of the injured confederates arose, and proceeded with\ncalm dignity to explain the relations which the two parties, although\nancient enemies even unto blood, had maintained with each other since\nthey had been mutually moved by the message of peace, delivered by the\nholy Black Gowns, to bury the hatchet and live, as Christian brethren\nshould, in peace and amity. He showed how faithfully those of his\nside, on their part, had kept the compact, depicting in vivid colors\ntheir grief and horror at the perfidy of their brothers, and the cruel\nslaughter of their innocent and unsuspecting friends. When he described\nthe ambush, the sudden attack, the death of the old chief, and the\nmurder of his followers; the plunder of their goods, the massacre of\nthe women and children, and the capture of the cherished daughter of\nher race, it was fearful to see among the warriors the kindling passion\nfor revenge flashing from fiery eyes which glared like those of the\ntiger thirsting for blood, though their manner remained otherwise cool,\ncollected, and subdued.\n\nAt the close of this harangue, he called upon his brother,[163] the\noldest chief of the opposite party, to reply, and state what he could\nin justification of their conduct.\n\nWith the same lofty composure, the respondent recapitulated and\nconfirmed all that had been stated as to the former enmity and the\nfriendly relations promoted and established between them by the labors\nand influence of the Black Gowns.\n\nHe then set forth in glowing language the dismay with which his people\nand their allies had heard that these their pretended friends were\njoining among themselves and with the new American companies--under the\nsanction of the missionaries--for their destruction and the possession\nof their hunting-grounds. That their good friends of the Northwest\nCompany had warned them of their impending ruin, and furnished arms\nand ammunition, that they might avert the calamity by making the first\nattack themselves. That this was their sole motive for the act, and\nin self-defence, for self-preservation, they were ready to pursue\nthe war-path as long as a man was left of their tribes to fight. But\nas to the massacre at the encampment, and abduction of the maiden,\nhe indignantly denied for himself, his people, and their allies, all\nknowledge of any such place, or aid in its fulfilment, or of the\ninstruments by which it had been executed.\n\nConvictions of the crafty fabrications by which the Northwest Company,\nthrough its wily commander, had beguiled them, fastened gradually upon\nthe minds of both parties, as their history was thus opened.\n\nThe missionaries now proceeded to re-establish peace, in which they\nwere so successful that the calumet was duly passed from one to another\nthrough the whole assembly. Before the close of the council the terms\nof a new alliance were fully settled, and all parties pledged to\nfidelity in maintaining it, and diligence in seeking the lost maiden.\n\nMuttered threats were breathed against the Northwest Company, and\nespecially its false commander, and a determination to take his life\nvehemently expressed. The missionaries reproved these threats so\nsternly that they were accused of befriending him, and the trapper\nwas again obliged to exert all his influence in quelling the rising\ndistrust.\n\nMeanwhile, preparations for a grand banquet, after the most approved\nand bountiful mode of savage magnificence, had been going on, and the\nvillage was redolent of savory odors from every variety of meat and\nvegetables in process of cooking according to the Indian fashions.\n\nThe great assemblage regaled themselves plentifully, but with staid\ndecorum. The mirth, the dancing, and the songs, customary upon such\noccasions, were omitted, out of respect for the memory of the departed\nchief and the sorrows of his son.\n\nAt the close of the feast, the Rosary was recited by the missionaries\nand their converts; after which the parties who were to set out in\nquest of the maiden were duly organized and equipped with arms and\nammunition, procured for the purpose from the nearest American station.\nThese were so dispersed as to surround by a long circuit the principal\ntrading post of the Northwest Company--at which the commander made his\nheadquarters--and draw towards it by narrowing circles, to intercept\nany party which might be sent to convey the object of their search to\nsome other place should news of their expedition reach the post before\ntheir arrival. A runner accompanied each party to notify the next of\nany important incident touching the interests of their expedition.\n\nAs they were patiently and gradually converging toward their\ndestination, one detachment met a party of traders from the Hudson's\nBay Company, who informed them that the \"Northwester\" whom they sought\nwas absent.\n\nHe had failed to meet them, as he had agreed, to arrange terms of\nrequital with them for plunder committed upon their territory by his\nagents; and had departed a day or two before, with a fleet of canoes\nand a large party of _voyageurs_, down the river to an American station\nwhich was commanded by a former partner in his company, with whom he\nwas on terms of suspicious intimacy, considering their rival interests.\n\nThere were a number of women in the canoes, supposed to be the wives of\nthe _voyageurs_.\n\nThis intelligence changed the course of the expedition. The several\nbands were notified, and united as speedily as possible, to make their\nway to the station indicated.\n\nWhen they reached its vicinity, they found a great carousal was on foot\nthere. The boisterous mirth and revelry that prevailed made it easy\nto reconnoitre without detection. They soon discovered the quarters\nwhere the women were assembled. It was a large tent or camp, guarded\nfrom intruders by a detachment of _voyageurs_ and their wives. The\nConnecticut trapper sauntered carelessly up to one of the sentinels,\nand began playing off some rough jokes of the wilderness upon him, in\nthe mingled jargon of Indian dialects and Canadian _patois_ used among\nthat class.\n\nHe found the fellow sulky and silent; not too well pleased with the\nduty assigned him, and impatient to join the revellers. He very kindly\noffered--\"bein' a man of sobriety and havin' no hankerin' for such\ndoin's\"--to relieve the watcher, and take his place for a time. As he\nwas a Yankee, who, as the Canadian stranger supposed, might belong to\nthe station, he did not hesitate to accept the offer.\n\nFrom this tent, on the west side, a patch of very high grass extended\nto a dense clump of bushes at some distance. After the new guardian\nhad surveyed the premises for some time, with his habitual air of\ncareless indifference, he caught a glimpse through the door, over\nwhich a buffalo robe had been hung to close it, of the woman who\nattended the daughter of the chief. All doubt of the maiden's presence\nvanished before that vision. But how to give notice that friends were\nnear? Pacing slowly back and forth close beside the tent, he uttered\ndistinctly, in a low voice, the sacred name given the maiden in\nbaptism, and known to none here but her attendant--\"Josephine!\" and was\ndelighted to receive a quick reply, \"S. Joseph!\" He continued pacing,\nand humming carelessly, in her native dialect, a short of chant, as if\nfor his own amusement, the words of which conveyed a distinct idea of\nthe grass and the bushes west of the tent, and a hint that she could\ncreep through the one unobserved, and find friends concealed in the\ncovert of the other.\n\nAnother sentinel accosted him, in derision, as a \"merry singer,\" when\nhe complained of this tedious business of watching the women, and\nwished the fellow he had relieved would finish his frolic, and come\nback.\n\n\"He will be in no haste to do that,\" his companion replied. \"Gabriel\nis a sad gossip, and too fond of the drinking-cup to quit it without\ncompulsion.\"\n\nOur trapper, favoring the impression this man also had received that he\nbelonged to the station, said he must be released to meet an engagement\nat this hour, or break the rules of the post; when Gabriel's daughter\nwas called to go and summon her father. An interval elapsed which\nseemed an age to the trapper, whose wonted coolness almost forsook\nhim before the truant appeared, highly elated with liquor, and loth to\nresume his irksome duty.\n\nThe relieved sentinel vanished to meet his \"engagement,\" the result of\nwhich was that the ground in the high grass was speedily filled on both\nsides with armed and prostrate Indians, listening for the rustle which\nwould betray the presence of their coveted prize.\n\nNor did they wait long; and, when the maiden with her attendant crept\nstealthily by them, she was informed that a swift-footed pony was\nconcealed in the covert of the bushes for her use. Her friends soon had\nthe satisfaction of seeing them mounted, and flying, with the speed of\nthe wind, in the direction of their distant home; for the trapper had\nfound a moment in which to direct her as to the course she was to take,\nand the maiden was no stranger to the use of the noble animal, in the\nmanagement of which her people are trained from their infancy.\n\nScarcely were they out of sight over the vast plain before their escape\nwas discovered. A wild sortie of the revellers ensued.\n\nThe commander, with the friend whom he was visiting, and his favorite\nclerk, who was always with him, mounted on swift horses, started in\npursuit of the fugitive, while his followers engaged in a bloody combat\nwith her friends. The \"Northwester\" was the first to descry her in the\ndistance, and his horse was gaining rapidly upon her frantic flight,\nwhen she suddenly changed her course toward the river, which here\nrushed through a gorge bounded by a precipice on each side. Putting\nhis horse to its utmost speed, and shouting his entreaties that she\nwould refrain from fulfilling the intention he too clearly divined,\nhe plunged madly on, reaching the bank only in time to see the pony\nstruggling in the wild waters; but the maiden had disappeared from his\nsight for ever!\n\nWhile he was still lamenting, with frenzied exclamations, his own\nfolly, and the dire calamity in which it had resulted, a pursuing party\nof her friends arrived. It was terrific to mark the fierce flash of\neyes that fixed their blazing regard upon him from all sides, as his\nsavage foes encircled him!\n\nHe seemed too completely lost in the tumult of his own grief,\ndisappointment, and passion to heed their approach, or the imminent\nperil in which he stood, as one after another of the band drew up his\nrifle and prepared to fire upon him at a word from their leader, when\nthe tall form of the trapper stalked into the circle, and his ringing\nvoice gave the command that was instinctively obeyed.\n\n\"Down with your rifles, ye bloody-minded sarpints\"--suiting a gesture\nto the word, that was understood in a twinkling. Then, addressing them\nin their own tongue: \"Are the red men wolves, that they would drink\nthe blood of the pale chief without hearing what he has to say? How\nwill they answer to the holy Black Gown for the deed, or how will they\nface the pestilence and famine which will surely follow every life-drop\nthat flows from the veins of the great medicine-man of the palefaces?\"\nhe added, appealing to the faith of the converted Indians, and to the\nsuperstitions of the unconverted, and whispering a brief sentence in\nthe ear of the young chief, who had been maddened at the loss of his\nsister, but was subdued by the presence and words of the trapper. Then\nresuming his own language, he said to himself as if musing--indulging\na habit formed during his long and lonely wanderings--\"I'm willin'\nto own the chap has many ways that a man of peace and justice like\nmyself can't approve by any manner of means, for they don't square\nwith my notions of what's right. But it may be more the misfortune of\nthe critter than his fault, seein' he comes of them Britishers, whose\nblood, I conclude, carries its pesky pizin down from father to son to\nthe third and fourth generation, as the holy commandments say both\ngood and evil is carried. But there's two sides to every story, and I\nan't agoin' to stand by and see the life of a feller-critter taken, if\nhe _is_ a son of Satan, without hearin' both. Them Injins an't sich\nangils of innocence either as to have the right to cast the first stone\nat the wicked. I'm not a prejudiced man, I hope, but 'cordin' to my\nnotion there an't a truer thing in natur 'cept the Holy Bible--which\nI take to be the truest of all--than that they're a tarnal pack, take\n'em by and large, and 'ud ruther drink blood than water any day, every\nmother's son on' em, savin' and exceptin' always--as lawyer Smith used\nto say--the Flat-heads and the Pendorays, who're 'bout the likeliest\nfolks I've met this side of the univarsal world, and have as nat'ral\na twist towards Gospil light as the sunflower has to the sun. But all\nthis is neither here nor there\"--he said, rousing himself from his\nsoliloquy, which the natives had heard to a close with quiet gravity,\nbeing accustomed to his manner; and, striding up to the \"Northwester,\"\nwho remained sitting motionless on his horse, with his back to his\npursuers and his eyes fixed upon the rushing flood, as if so petrified\nby the shocking event he had witnessed as to have eyes or ears for\nnothing else--\"Are you crazy, or a fool?\" exclaimed the trapper in a\nlow voice as he approached--\"to sit here as unconsarned as if you was\nin a lady's parlor, with a hundred rifles raised to draw your heart's\nblood, and your long account with etarnity all unsettled! What on airth\nis the critter thinkin' of! Speak quick! or I wouldn't give the glim\nof a lightnin'-bug for all they'll leave of the vital spark in your\ncarkiss in less'n the twinklin' of its wings; they'll put daylight in\nits place, and your scalp'll be danglin' from the belt of the young\nchief in less time than it takes to speak the words--a sight I should\ngreatly mislike, bein' a man of peace, though no great admirator of\nyour race, any more'n I be of the Injuns.\"\n\nSuddenly assuming the careless manner natural to him, and turning\ntowards the maddened throng with the scornful indifference which seldom\nforsook him, and was the best weapon he could have opposed to the fury\nof his savage foes at this critical juncture, the young man related in\na few words what had happened.\n\nWith a sneer of contempt, the Indian appointed to speak for the band\nreplied: \"Did the Great Spirit give his bird wings that she might fly\nfrom the white chief to the home where his falsehood has sent her\nfather? or is she a fish that she may cleave the waters of that flood\nand escape from him? No, no, our daughter lives! When the white chief\nsays she went over the rock, his words are to deceive; and when he\nbewails the fate of the maiden, he is making a false face. He sent the\nhorse over the rock to blind the eyes of her people. He has a long arm\nand a strong voice, and can call his braves from every covert. He knows\nwhere he has hidden our daughter. But we will follow him even unto the\nhomes of the palefaces, and lie in wait until more moons are counted\nthan the hairs on his scalp would number, to drink his blood at last.\nOur feet will be swift to pursue and our knives to find his heart, even\nto the piercing of stone walls!\"\n\n\"Lord give us patience with their Injin nonsense!\" the trapper\nejaculated. Then, speaking in their language: \"Will my red brethren\nwaste time in idle words like prattling women? The white chief will go\nwith us to the lodge of the holy Black Gown, whose words are truth,\nand whose counsels are wise and just. That's as true's you're alive,\nHezekiah,\" he proceeded, resuming his own tongue; and, as if moved\nby an irresistible impulse--\"Talk about your Methodist preachers,\nyour Presbyterers, your Baptists, and all sorts, who deny that these\nmissionaries hold to Gospel truth! But let 'em obsarve how they follow\nout Gospel rules by layin' aside all critter comforts, forsakin'\nfather and mother, brother and sister, housen and lands, and, comin'\ninto these howlin' deserts, without scrip or staff, wives or children,\nlabor with their own hands for a livin', sharin' and puttin' up with\nall the poverty and hardships of the shiftless critters they come to\nteach--whose souls, I make no dispute, are of as much value for the\nnext world, and in the sight of their Maker, as if they belonged to\nthoroughgoin', giniwine Yankees--though their works don't amount to\nmuch in this, even in the line of their callin' in furs and sich, at\nwhich a Connecticut trapper 'ill beat 'em all hollow any day.\" Then,\nsuddenly recollecting himself, he again addressed his wild companions:\n\"The Big Foot will pledge his own life to his red brothers, against\nthat of the white chief, that he prove not false in this matter; and\nthey will let the Black Gown say what his children shall do.\"\n\nAfter some consultation the proposal was accepted, and without any\ngreat delay they all departed in the direction of the mission.\n\nWhen the missionary had examined the matter after their arrival,\nhe became convinced that the life of the young commander would be\nin danger while he remained within reach of his exasperated foes,\nand would hardly be safe in his Montreal home from their revengeful\npursuit. He therefore advised him to leave without delay.\n\nThe advice was scornfully rejected at first, but soon perceiving that\nit would be folly to provoke a fate which flight only could evade, he\njoined a party who were leaving for Lake Superior, to proceed thence by\nthe usual route to Montreal, and was seen no more in those Northwestern\nregions.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMany years had elapsed since these events took place. A dark and rainy\nnight had succeeded a tempestuous autumnal day, and settled down like a\nwet mantle over Montreal, wrapping the city in its chilling folds.\n\nThe street-lamps with which it was dimly lighted in the early evenings\nof yore--when oil furnished an obscure foreshadowing of this era of\ngas, that served only to make \"darkness visible\"--had gone out one\nby one, leaving the narrow streets, with their high stone houses\noverhanging on either side, in utter gloom.\n\nThe twinkling of a lantern borne by an invisible pilgrim might be\nseen--like the transient dancing gleam of a will-o'-the-wisp--revealing\noccasional glimpses of a tall form by his side clad in the habit of the\nSociety of Jesus. They were threading the narrow course of old St. Paul\nStreet, which they followed until they reached a road that turned and\nascended a rising ground to the west, in the direction of a district\nwhere there had formerly been a beaver meadow of considerable extent,\nthrough which flowed a sluggish brook, but which was rapidly assuming\nthe features now presented by that part of the city lying in the\nneighborhood of Beaver Hall Block.\n\nInto this road they turned, and, passing the district mentioned, took a\npath to the left, which led them to the base of the hill on the summit\nof which the city water-works and reservoir are now situated.\n\nIn those days the ascent was by no means easy, and the aged father had\nto pause frequently to take breath during the course of it. Having\nreached the height, and rested for a brief space, they turned again to\nthe left into spacious, neglected grounds, surrounding a very large\nstone mansion which stood unfinished on the side of the mountain, as\nentirely isolated on that lonely height as if in the midst of vast\nsolitudes, instead of the suburb of a populous and thriving city. So\nchilling, gloomy, and repulsive were all the features of the lofty\nedifice and its bleak environs, which had been an open common for many\nyears, that even the reverend father, long accustomed to encounter\nsuch varied forms of desolation as the missionary in savage regions\nmust continually meet, recoiled unconsciously as he passed the dismal\nportal, which no door had ever closed, into the damp atmosphere within.\nHere the mouldy walls appeared to give shelter only to a multitude of\nowls and bats, whose wings flapped indignantly at the unwonted gleam\nof light in their dark dominion, and equally rare intrusion of a guest\nupon the silence of their retreat.\n\nThe man with the lantern passed on in advance, followed slowly\nand cautiously by his venerable companion, over a narrow platform\nconstructed by laying planks on the timber of the framework, until\nthey came to a remote corner of the building, in which a small room had\nbeen awkwardly prepared, and arranged in a manner to render it barely\nhabitable. A more comfortless abode could hardly be imagined. Before\nthe door of this rude apartment they paused, the guide inserted a key\nin the huge lock, the bolt of which yielded slowly as if fearing to\nbetray its trust, the door creaked harshly on its rusty hinges and gave\nadmittance to the reverend guest.\n\nGuided by the faint glimmer of a taper--standing on a rough block\nbeside a bed on which the form of a man tossing in restless agony was\ndimly visible, the priest approached the sufferer, addressing some\nsoothing words to him.\n\n\"Ah, reverend father! is it you?\" he faintly gasped. \"It was kind of\nyou to come through the storm this dismal night, and, after your long\njourney, to seek the lost sheep so utterly unworthy of your care! I\nam near the close of a misspent and wasted life! Will the worthless\nwreck offered at the eleventh hour in penitence and tears be accepted?\nO father! how true were the words you uttered when reproving my sinful\ncourse: 'Unless you repent the wrongs you have inflicted, making such\nrequital as remains within your power, a fearful retribution awaits\nyou in this world, and eternal despair in the next.' The first part\nhas been fulfilled--wife, children, family, and friends have fallen\nfrom me one by one, and for long years the victim of his own folly and\niniquity has lingered on desolate and alone--haunted by visions of\nretribution and despair. But I have tried to be contrite, and to offer\nsuch contrition as I could gain, in anguish and tears at the foot of\nmy Redeemer's cross. May I not hope it will be accepted? How I have\nlonged, reverend father, for your return to Montreal! The first emotion\nof joy my heart has known for years was imparted when I heard from\nmy attendant that you had at length arrived--just in time to hear my\nlast confession and console my dying hour, if there is indeed comfort\nfor such a sinner. The blood of that Indian chief--singled first of\nall from his followers for death by my command (because he set his\nauthority against my designs)--and that of his innocent daughter and\nher nurse, who perished by my means, have set a burning seal upon my\nguilty soul; while the phantom of my injured wife, taken from me while\nI was pursuing my unhallowed passion, joins with theirs to reproach\nand haunt me. I am lost, lost in the horrors of remorse for the triple\nmurder, added to an endless list of misdeeds!\n\n\"Peace, my son!\" the reverend father said tenderly and firmly--\"though\nyour sins are as scarlet, their guilt has not surpassed the bounds of\nInfinite mercy! Nor has it reached so far as you suppose. The Indian\nmaiden lives. A holy nun in an American convent, she has never ceased\nher supplications for the salvation of your soul, and for the pardon of\nher own weakness and disobedience to her father, in yielding her young\nheart's affections to your importunities before she learned, as she did\non the voyage down the river, that you were already married, and sought\nonly to make her your dishonored dupe.\n\n\"She urged her horse over the precipice according to instructions from\nthe trapper, who told her to fly with all speed in that direction, and\nat what point to turn to the river, if pursued and in danger of being\novertaken. He also warned her to make no resistance to the current,\nonly to avoid being drawn into whirlpools, but to let it carry her\nthrough the gorge to a place where the waters spread into a small lake,\non the shore of which, near the foot of the gorge, she would find a\nsingular cave opening toward the water, and easily seen, where she\nmust secrete herself until he should bring her brother to her. In all\nthis she succeeded by the skill in swimming which seems to be part\nof an Indian's nature. When the trapper and her brother sought the\nhiding-place--with but faint hope indeed of finding her--so great was\nher dread of your power and of her own weakness, that she entreated\nthem to keep the fact of her escape concealed, and arrange for her\ndeparture with a company of traders belonging to the American stations,\nwho were intending to leave with their wives and pass the winter in\na distant city of the United States. They therefore left her, first\nproviding means by which her servant could obtain their food; and after\nthe return of the party to me, those arrangements were made. Upon her\narrival in that city, and delivery of a letter from me to the superior\nof a convent there, she was received into the house, and soon after\nentered upon her novitiate as one of its members.\"\n\n\"And now, my son,\" he continued, \"it only remains for you to prepare\nfor the solemnities of the approaching hour, with deep humility and\ncontrition. I am sent by my Divine Master to call, 'not the just, but\nsinners to repentance.'\"\n\nThe holy man remained with his dying penitent through the night, and,\nwhile the morning bells of the city were proclaiming the story of our\nsalvation on the wings of the _Angelus_, the spirit, so long perturbed\nwith agonizing throes of remorse, but at length reconciled and\nrefreshed by the healing dews of divine grace, passed to the tribunal\nbefore which it had so dreaded to appear, trusting solely in the merits\nof that Redeemer born of a Virgin for us, and who was now to be its\nJudge.\n\nHe was the first and last occupant of the gloomy mansion that had been\ndesigned for the abode of almost regal magnificence. The phantoms of\nhorror with which his distorted imagination had filled the vacant\nspaces within those extensive walls, and even the surrounding premises,\nled him to confine himself entirely to his room. And thus he lived\nfor years, a prisoner in that dimly lighted and cheerless apartment,\nattended only by the faithful servant who provided his food, and\nhaunted by dark remembrances of the past.\n\nThe shadows of those visions still linger around the empty walls, and\npervade the silent precincts, nourishing a firm belief in the minds of\nmany that they are peopled by unearthly forms, and investing them with\na mysterious influence that keeps all intruders at a distance.\n\nThe Canadian driver, as he conveys the stranger in his cab or cariole\nto different points of interest about the city, pauses a moment on the\nheight opposite the frowning mansion, and points it out--standing in\ndismal grandeur among the brambles of its neglected grounds--with the\nhalf-whispered explanation, \"Yonder is the Haunted House of Montreal.\"\n\nWe questioned the narrator as to the fate of the Big Foot, and learned\nthat he made profession of the Catholic faith soon after the departure\nof the \"Northwester\" for Montreal; and from that time until his death,\na few years later, attached himself to the service of the missionary\nwhom he so venerated.\n\n\"And the confidential clerk of the fur trader?\" we inquired.\n\nRising to his feet, and drawing his tall form to its full height, our\nnarrator replied, with a proud self-assertion of which none but a\nScotch Highlander is fully capable, and which no pen can describe--\"I\nam myself that clerk. His grandfather was chief of the clan to which my\nfamily belonged. When his father came to Canada, mine came with him.\nI was but little younger than this oldest son, and we were brought up\ntogether. When he was sent to the Northwest, I was permitted to go with\nhim, and never left him until the grave closed its inexorable door\nbetween us.\"\n\nHe turned away to hide his emotion, and left us pondering upon the\nstrange things that happen in this world of ours!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[163] Indians always address their equals as \"brothers.\"\n\n\n\n\nARCHBISHOP SPALDING.[164]\n\n\nThe late Archbishop of Baltimore was an admirable type of a class of\nCatholics, hitherto containing but a small number of individuals,\nthough not without considerable influence and importance in the history\nof the American Church. Those of our faith who have risen to the\nhighest distinction in this country, either in the sacred ministry or\nin literature, have rarely been what we may call indigenous Catholics.\nBy birth or by race they have either not been Catholics or not been\nAmericans. Immigration and conquest are still the main dependence of\nthe young church of the United States. What sort of fruit its own\nwill be, when it comes into full bearing, the world has hardly had a\nchance to judge. Abp. Spalding may be taken, however, as a specimen.\nHis ancestors for several generations were American, and, so far as\nthe record goes, they were never anything but Catholics. They came\nfrom England to America in the early days of the Maryland colony, and\nwere possibly among the two hundred families brought over by Lord\nBaltimore in 1634. They lived for nearly a century and a half in St.\nMary's County, and thence Benedict Spalding, the grandfather of the\nArchbishop, moved to Kentucky in 1790. Benedict was the leader of a\nlittle colony of Catholics who left their native state to seek their\nfortunes together in the wilds of what was then the far West.\n\nThey settled in the valley of the Rolling Fork River, in Central\nKentucky, not far from Bardstown, where another offshoot from the\nMaryland church had established itself a few years before. There Martin\nJohn Spalding was born, May 23, 1810.\n\n  \"Kentucky,\" says his biographer, \"was in that day covered with\n  dense forests and tangled woods. There was scarcely a place in its\n  whole territory that might be dignified with the name of village,\n  and the only roads were the almost untrodden paths of the forest,\n  on either side of which lines of blazed trees showed the traveller\n  the route from point to point.\n\n  \"The forests were filled with a luxuriant undergrowth, thickly\n  interspersed with cane and briers, which the intertwining wild\n  pea-vine wove into an almost impenetrable network; so that, in\n  certain parts, the only way of getting from place to place was\n  to follow the paths worn by the migrating buffalo and other wild\n  beasts. The Indian still hunted on the 'Dark and Bloody Ground,' or\n  prowled about the new settlements, ready to attack them whenever an\n  opportunity was offered. It has been stated on good authority that,\n  from 1783 to 1790, fifteen hundred persons were killed or made\n  captive by the Indians in Kentucky, or in migrating thither.\n\n  \"In 1794, the Indians appeared on the Rolling Fork, and killed\n  a Catholic by the name of Buckman. This produced a panic in the\n  little settlement, which caused many Catholics to move for a time\n  to Bardstown, where the population was more dense. But Benedict\n  Spalding remained at home, and the Indians disappeared without\n  committing further outrage.\n\n  \"The early emigrants to Kentucky had to endure all the hardships\n  incident to pioneer life. Even the ordinary comforts were not\n  to be had in the wilderness in which they had taken up their\n  abode, and they not unfrequently suffered the want of the most\n  indispensable necessaries. To obtain salt, they had to go to the\n  Licks, travelling often many miles through a country infested by\n  savages. They dwelt in rudely constructed log-cabins, the windows\n  of which were without glass, whilst the floors were of dirt, or,\n  in the better sort of dwellings, of rough hewn boards. After the\n  clothing which they had brought from Virginia and Maryland became\n  unfit for use, the men, for the most part, wore buckskin and the\n  women homespun gowns. The furniture of the cabins was of an equally\n  simple kind. Stools did the office of chairs, the tables were made\n  of rough boards, whilst wooden vessels served instead of plates and\n  chinaware. A tin cup was an article of luxury. The chase supplied\n  abundance of food. All kinds of game abounded, and, when the hunter\n  had his rifle and a goodly supply of ammunition, he was rich as\n  a prince. This was the school in which was trained the Kentucky\n  rifleman, whose aim on the battle-field was certain death. The game\n  was plainly dressed and served up on wooden platters, and, with\n  cornbread and hominy, it made a feast which the keen appetite of\n  honest labor and free-heartedness thought good enough for kings.\"\n\nMartin was sent to a school kept by a Mr. Merrywether in a log-cabin\nnear the Rolling Fork, and soon distinguished himself by his\nproficiency in mathematics. He learned the whole multiplication table\nin a single day when he was eight years old. At the age of eleven,\nhe entered S. Mary's College, near Lebanon, Kentucky, being one of\nthe first students enrolled in that institution; and by the time he\nwas fourteen, he was acting as teacher of mathematics, and was famous\nthroughout the country as the boy-professor. From S. Mary's he went,\nat the age of sixteen, to the theological seminary at Bardstown,\nthen under the personal direction of Bp. Flaget and his coadjutor,\nBp. David. Francis Patrick Kenrick was one of the professors in this\nhome of learning and piety, and soon became Mr. Spalding's intimate\nfriend. F. Reynolds, afterwards Bishop of Charleston, was there, and\nthe Rev. George Elder, founder of S. Joseph's College, was another of\nthe little company. Mr. Spalding remained at Bardstown four years,\ndividing his time, according to the system pursued in several of our\nAmerican seminaries, between the study of theology and the instruction\nof boys in the college which formed a part of the institution. He\npaid no more attention to his favorite science of mathematics, and\nnever developed the extraordinary powers in that branch of learning\nof which he had given such evidences in boyhood; but his aptitude for\ntheology was so marked, and his personal character so amiable, that Bp.\nFlaget determined to send him to Rome to complete his studies at the\nPropaganda. It was a long and rather difficult journey in those days.\nHe set out in April, 1830, and did not reach Rome until August. On the\nway, he visited Washington and Baltimore, and made the acquaintance\nof some notable persons, of whom he makes interesting mention in his\nletters of travel. He seems to have been strongly impressed by the\nRev. John Hughes, afterward Archbishop of New York, whom he met in\nBaltimore; and he writes with patriotic ardor of the venerable Charles\nCarroll, of Carrollton, whose \"good-will and benediction\" it was his\nfortune to receive on the eve of departure from his native land. Our\nyoung Kentuckian, as might have been supposed from his ancestry and\neducation, was an enthusiastic lover of his country. \"I am sure,\"\nhe wrote some time afterwards from Rome, \"that my attachment to the\ninstitutions of my country has been increased by my absence from it.\"\nNothing could exceed the warmth of his enthusiasm for the sacred city\nand all its religious associations; but he never forgot his home, and,\nlike most of his countrymen who have been educated under the shadow of\nthe Vatican, he came back as ardent an American as he went away.\n\nAfter completing his studies with brilliant success, and sustaining a\npublic defence of two hundred and fifty-six propositions in theology,\nchurch history, and canon law against the most formidable adversaries\nRome could send to the encounter (a highly interesting description\nof which intellectual tilt is given by Bp. England), he returned\nto Kentucky with the title of doctor, and was made pastor of the\nCathedral at Bardstown and professor of philosophy in the seminary.\nHis keen appreciation of the peculiar needs of the American Church is\nillustrated by the zeal with which he immediately entered into the\nscheme of his associates in the seminary for the establishment of a\nCatholic periodical. The _S. Joseph's College Minerva_, to which he\nbecame the principal contributor, was a monthly magazine, which lived\nfor about a year, and was then succeeded, in 1835, by the weekly\n_Catholic Advocate_, of which Dr. Spalding was chief editor, with\nFathers Elder, Deluynes, and Clark for his assistants.\n\n  \"With Americans, Dr. Spalding used to say, newspaper reading\n  is a passion which amounts to a national characteristic. In\n  the Propaganda the American students were proverbial for their\n  eagerness to get hold of journals, whether religious or secular.\n  Now, he argued, this craving must be satisfied. If we do not\n  furnish our people with wholesome food, they will devour that which\n  is noxious. He believed the American people to be frank, honest,\n  and open to conviction. Their dislike or hatred of the church\n  he ascribed to misapprehension or ignorance of her history and\n  teachings. Hence he believed that if the truth were placed before\n  them plainly, simply, and fearlessly, it could not fail to make a\n  favorable impression upon them. He therefore thought that to the\n  Catholic press in the United States had been given a providential\n  mission of the greatest importance.\n\n  \"Americans have not time, or will not take the trouble, as a\n  general thing, to read heavy books of controversy. Comparatively\n  few Protestants ever enter our churches, and, even when there,\n  everything seems strange, and the sermon intended for Catholics\n  most frequently fails to tell upon those who have not faith. And\n  yet we must reach the non-Catholic mind. 'The charity of Christ\n  urges us.' Apathy means want of faith, want of hope, want of love.\n  Besides, the church must act intellectually as well as morally.\n  If it is her duty to wrestle ever with the corrupt tendencies of\n  the human heart, to point to heaven when men seek to see only this\n  earth, to utter the indignant protest of the outraged soul when\n  they would fain believe themselves only animals, it is not less a\n  part of her divine mission to combat the intellectual errors of\n  the world. We observe in the history of the church that periods of\n  intellectual activity are almost invariably characterized by moral\n  earnestness and religious zeal. On the other hand, when ignorance\n  invades even the sanctuary, and priests forget to love knowledge,\n  the blood of Christ flows sluggishly through the veins of his\n  spouse, and to the eyes of men she seems to lose something of her\n  divine comeliness. Indeed, there is an essential connection between\n  the thoughts of a people and their actions, especially in an age\n  like ours; and, if we suffer a sectarian and infidel press to\n  control the intellect of the country, our words will fall dead and\n  meaningless upon the hearts of our countrymen.\"\n\nThe Catholic press of America was then in its infancy, yet Catholic\ncontroversies were assuming a great importance. The Hughes and\nBreckinridge discussion was raging in Philadelphia. Protestantism,\nalarmed apparently at the rapid progress of the American Church, was\neverywhere assuming an attitude of aggression, and the country was\non the eve of one of those periodical outbursts of anti-Catholic\nbigotry which seem fated to disturb every now and then the course of\nnational politics. Dr. Spalding was fully sensible of the wants of\nthe day. He wrote frequently to the Propaganda of the condition of\nthe American Catholic press and his efforts to extend its influence\nand direct its attacks. His pen was incessantly busy. Though he was\npersonally one of the most amiable and peaceful of men, he allowed\nno assault upon the faith to pass unnoticed; and his life for some\nyears was almost an incessant battle. The _Advocate_, the _United\nStates Catholic Magazine_, the _Catholic Cabinet_, the _Metropolitan_,\nwere all enriched by his contributions. He was one of the editors\nof the _Metropolitan_ for several years, and, after the death of\nthe _Advocate_, he founded the Louisville _Guardian_, for which he\ncontinued to write until it was suspended in consequence of the\ntroubles of the civil war. Dr. Spalding well knew that, next to a\nnewspaper, his countrymen loved a speech. He resolved that this passion\nalso should be turned to the advantage of the church. Bp. Flaget had\nremoved his cathedral from Bardstown to Louisville, and Dr. Spalding,\nbeing called thither as vicar-general in 1844, began a series of\npopular evening lectures with the co-operation of the Rev. John McGill,\nafterward Bishop of Richmond. So great was the interest aroused by\nthese discourses, and so great the crowd of Protestants who flocked to\nhear them, that the Presbyterian, Baptist, and Methodist preachers of\nthe city united in a \"Protestant League,\" to counteract the influence\nof the priests by a series of lectures on the abominations of Popery.\nThe result, of course, was exactly the reverse of what they expected.\nThe weekly throng at the cathedral became greater than ever. The\nlectures assumed a more distinctly controversial character. The\nCatholics were roused to greater ambition. For three years Dr. Spalding\ncontinued his lectures every Sunday evening during the winter months,\ncomposing thus the essays which he afterwards revised and published\nunder the title of _Evidences of Catholicity_. In a very short time\nhe was recognized as one of the foremost Catholic apologists of the\nday, holding very nearly the same position which Bp. England had\noccupied before him, and in which the late Abp. Hughes was so highly\ndistinguished in Philadelphia and during the earlier part of his career\nin New York. Dr. Spalding, however, was less of a polemic than either\nof those great men. His comprehension of the popular wants amounted\nalmost to an instinct, and he felt that the objections to the church\nwhich were then commonest rested rather upon historical and political\nthan doctrinal prejudices, and that the great work of the Catholic\napologist was to dispel the ignorance of Protestants respecting the\nfaith of the middle ages, the alliance of church and state, the\ninfluence of the Papacy upon civilization, and the harmony between\nCatholicity and republicanism.\n\n  \"An American, he knew his countrymen, and admired them; a Catholic,\n  he loved his religion, and was convinced of its truth. That, in\n  his person, between faith and patriotism there was no conflict,\n  was manifest. He loved his country all the more because he was a\n  Catholic, and he was all the sincerer Catholic because no mere\n  human authority was brought to influence the free offering of\n  his soul to God's service. He accepted with cheerful courage the\n  position in which God had placed his church in this young republic,\n  and he asked for her, not privilege or protection, but justice,\n  common rights under the common law; and such was his confidence in\n  God, and in the truth of his cause, that he had no doubt as to the\n  final issue of the struggle of religion, free and untrammelled,\n  with the prejudices of a people who, however erroneous and mistaken\n  their views might be, were still fair-minded and generous. Admiring\n  much in the past, he still did not think that all was lost because\n  that past was gone. Let the old, he thought, the feeble, the\n  impotent complain; those to whom God gives youth and strength must\n  act; and the church is ever young and ever strong. God is infinite\n  strength, and of this attribute, as of his others, his spouse\n  participates. If the latest word of philosophy, both in metaphysics\n  and natural science, is force; if the old theory of inertia has\n  been dropped, since the power of analysis has shown that everywhere\n  there is action, motion, force, let it be so. The church, too, is\n  strength. She has a force and an energy of her own. Daughter of\n  heaven, she has brought on earth some of that divine efficacy by\n  which all things were made. Christ is the strength of God, and from\n  his cross he poured into the heart of his spouse, together with his\n  life-blood, his godlike power....\n\n  \"Without entering into the complex and delicate question of the\n  proper relations of the church and state, he accepted the actual\n  position of the church in this country with thankfulness and\n  without mental reservation. In this matter, he neither blamed\n  the past nor sought to dictate to the future, but put his hand\n  to the work which God had placed before him. He saw all that was\n  to be done, and, without stopping to reflect how little he could\n  do, he began at once to do what he could. Taking a moderate, and\n  possibly a just, estimate of his own ability, he considered that\n  his mission as a writer and public teacher demanded that he should\n  be useful and practical rather than original or profound. Hence\n  he neither wrote nor spoke for posterity, but for the generation\n  in which he lived. His first aim was to remove the prejudices\n  which false history and a perverted literature had created in the\n  minds of his countrymen. The influence of the church on society,\n  on civilization, and on civil liberty was wholly misunderstood;\n  her services in the cause of learning, of art, and of commerce\n  were ignored; her undying love for the poor and the oppressed were\n  forgotten.\"\n\nDuring the Know-Nothing excitement, which culminated after his\nelevation to the episcopate (he had been consecrated coadjutor to the\nBishop of Louisville in 1848, and succeeded to the see in 1850), Bp.\nSpalding's course was remarkable alike for prudence, charity, and\ncourage. He used all his influence during the riots in Louisville to\nrestrain the pardonable anger of the Catholic population; and it is\nthe testimony of one who knew him intimately that during those trying\ndays, when Catholics were murdered or driven from the city, and houses\nwere burned, and the mob was threatening to destroy the cathedral,\n\"he manifested a more than usual peace of mind. He spent the greater\npart of his moments of leisure in the sanctuary in prayer, and seemed\nthrough communion with God to grow unconscious of the trouble which\nmen were seeking to bring upon the church, and which he could not but\nfeel most keenly.\" His only great share in the published controversies\nof the period was a discussion with the late Prof. Morse as to the\nauthenticity of an anti-Catholic phrase attributed to Lafayette--a\ndispute which attracted a great deal of notice while it lasted,\nalthough, of course, the subject was not of permanent interest. This,\nwe say, was his only direct share in the polemical literature of that\nday; but his collection of _Miscellanea_, which appeared in 1855,\nanswered all the purposes of a formal discussion without assuming a\ncontroversial tone. The essays and reviews comprised in this book were\nwritten, says the biographer, in \"a free, off-hand, straight-forward\nstyle, peculiarly suited to the American taste. They covered the\nwhole ground of what was then the Catholic controversy in the United\nStates, and, by facts resting upon unexceptionable testimony, by\narguments which appeal at once to the good sense and fair-mindedness\nof the reader, and by the whole spirit and temper in which they are\nwritten, furnish a defence of the church, as against the attacks of\nher accusers, the strength of which could not be easily broken.\" Bp.\nSpalding had none of the ambition of a scholar or a man of letters. He\ncared nothing for literary reputation. He set no store by the graces\nof a polished style. He wrote for present effect, and not for future\nfame; and if his essays could be read and discussed while they were\nwet from the press, he had no particular desire that they should hold\na place on the library shelves of posterity. Whatever he wrote had an\noccasional--we might almost say an evanescent--appearance, because\nhis sole impulse in writing was some immediate want of the American\nchurch. His pen was powerful, because it was always employed on timely\nthemes, and he had a wonderfully happy art of suiting his style to\nthe tastes and capacities of his readers. With all his scholarship\nand culture, he spent no great pains upon learned research, simply\nbecause he knew that, under the circumstances in which he was placed,\nsuch pains would be wasted. His books, however, will long survive\nthe generation for which they were written; and his _History of the\nProtestant Reformation_ especially, though it is ostensibly nothing\nmore than a caustic review of D'Aubign\u00e9 and other Protestant writers,\nis universally esteemed as one of the most valuable works in American\nCatholic literature.\n\nIf Dr. Spalding's single-hearted devotion to the church was conspicuous\nin his literary labors, it was still more remarkable in the other\nincidents of his busy career. The story of his life is one long record\nof untiring effort to advance the glory of the church and extend\nher conquests. The question of education always engrossed a great\ndeal of his care. Soon after his consecration, he went to Europe to\nobtain the services of some teaching brotherhood, and succeeded in\nsecuring a community of Xaverians; and in the pastoral address which,\nas promoter of the First Provincial Council of Cincinnati, he was\ndeputed to write to the clergy and laity of the province (1855), he\nspoke with great earnestness of the need of parochial schools; and\ntime after time he returned to the subject, denouncing the system of\ngodless education, and urging the faithful to fresh exertions and more\ngenerous expenditure for the religious instruction of their children.\nOne result of his opposition to the common-school system was a vigorous\ncontroversy with George D. Prentice, of the Louisville _Journal_, in\nthe course of which the bishop reviewed not only the Catholic position\non the school question, but the whole dispute as to the bearing of\nCatholic principles upon the social and political conditions of the\ncountry. The foundation of the American College at Louvain was almost\nentirely his work. The American College at Rome found in him a firm\nand active friend. In the Second Plenary Council of Baltimore he\nproposed the establishment of a Catholic university in this country;\nand we certainly can never forget the affectionate interest which\nhe manifested in the Catholic Publication Society, aiding it by his\nadvice, his encouragement, and his earnest recommendation to the\nbishops and pastors of the country, and writing the first tract which\nappeared from its press.\n\nAfter what we have said of his devotion to the church, and the\nenthusiasm with which he bent every energy to her service, it can\nhardly be necessary to explain with what dispositions he took his place\nin the Vatican Council. Strangely enough, however, his relations with\nthat venerable assemblage have been somewhat misunderstood, and his\nbiographer has been at commendable pains to remove all mistake and\nobscurity.\n\n  \"Archbishop Spalding had always believed in the infallibility of\n  the Pope. This belief was a tradition with the Maryland Catholics,\n  fostered and rendered stronger by the Jesuit fathers, who for so\n  many years were their only religious teachers. His fathers had\n  taken this faith with them to Kentucky. It was the doctrine which\n  he had received from Flaget and David. Neither the Catholics of\n  Maryland nor their descendants in Kentucky were tainted with even\n  a tinge of Gallicanism. Indeed, it may be affirmed that, as far as\n  we have a tradition in this country, it is thoroughly orthodox. It\n  is the special pride of the American Church that it has not only\n  been faithful to the Vicar of Christ, but has ever had for him the\n  tenderest devotion.\n\n  \"'Thank God,' wrote Archbishop Spalding to Cardinal Cullen in\n  1866, just after the close of the Second Plenary Council of\n  Baltimore--'thank God, we are Roman to the heart.' The confession\n  of faith of both the Plenary Councils of Baltimore is as full and\n  complete on this point as it was then possible to make it. When,\n  after the convocation of the Vatican Council, the question, whether\n  or not it would be opportune to define the infallibility of the\n  Pope, first began to be discussed, Archbishop Spalding inclined\n  to the opinion that a formal definition would be unnecessary and\n  possibly inexpedient. He thought that Gallicanism was dead, and\n  that Catholics everywhere believed in the infallibility of the Holy\n  See. Hence, he argued, there could be no necessity for a formal\n  definition. He believed, too, that much time would be consumed\n  in conciliary debate, in case the question of fixing the precise\n  limits of Papal infallibility should be submitted to the fathers.\n\n  \"These considerations led him to think that the most proper way of\n  proclaiming the dogma of Papal infallibility would be to condemn\n  all errors opposed to it; and this was his opinion when he went\n  to the council. It was, however, merely an opinion, formed, as he\n  himself felt, without a perfect knowledge of all the circumstances\n  in the case, and one which, upon fuller information, he might see\n  cause to change. He was not a partisan. He had in him none of the\n  stuff out of which partisans are made. He was simply a Catholic\n  bishop, who had never belonged to a party either in the church or\n  out of it.\n\n  \"On the 27th of March, 1869, eight months before the assembling of\n  the council, he wrote as follows to a distinguished theologian who\n  was at that time in Rome:\n\n  \"'I believe _firmly_ the infallibility of the Pope, but incline to\n  think its formal definition unnecessary and perhaps inexpedient,\n  not only for the reasons which you allege, but also on account\n  of the difficulty of fixing the precise limits of doctrinal\n  decisions. Where they are formal, as in the case of the Immaculate\n  Conception, there is no difficulty. But are all the declarations\n  of encyclicals, allocutions, and similar documents to be received\n  as doctrinal definitions? And what about the decisions of\n  congregations, confirmed by the Pope?'\n\n  \"And again, in August, he wrote:\n\n  \"'While maintaining the high _Roman_ ground of orthodoxy, I caution\n  much prudence in framing constitutions.'\n\n  \"In both these letters, Archbishop Spalding seems to take for\n  granted that a definition will be made; and he simply indicates his\n  preference for an implicit rather than a formal definition.\n\n  \"In August, 1869, two months before leaving for the council, he\n  wrote to Cardinal Barnabo, giving his views on various subjects\n  which he supposed would be brought before the fathers. One of\n  these he designates as 'The Infallibility of the Sovereign Pontiff\n  teaching _ex cathedra_.' 'I have not,' he says, 'the least doubt\n  of this infallibility, and there are very few bishops who do\n  doubt of it. The only question which may, perhaps, arise will\n  relate to the utility, advisability, and necessity of making an\n  _explicit_ definition in the council. It will have to be considered\n  whether a definition of this kind would not be likely to excite\n  controversies now slumbering and almost extinct; whether an\n  _implicit_ definition--an amplification of that of the Council of\n  Florence--which would define the dogma without using the word,\n  would not be more opportune and of greater service to the cause of\n  the church.\n\n  \"'Should the fathers deem it expedient to make a formal definition,\n  its limits should be accurately marked, and, in the accompanying\n  doctrinal exposition, statement should be made whether and how\n  far, in the intention of the fathers, this infallibility should be\n  extended to pontifical letters, allocutions, encyclicals, bulls,\n  and other documents of this nature.'\n\n  \"This letter affords sufficient evidence that Archbishop Spalding\n  had all along contemplated the contingency of an explicit\n  definition, and that he did not look upon it with any alarm. In\n  fact, he held that a definition, either implicit or explicit, was\n  necessary. If he did not, in the beginning, advocate a formal\n  definition, he was still less in favor of abstaining from the\n  unmistakable affirmation of the faith of the church on this point.\"\n\nHe expressed his views more fully in a _postulatum_ drawn up after\nhis arrival in Rome--a document asserting the infallibility of the\nPope in the most unmistakable manner, but suggesting an implicit and\nindirect instead of an explicit and direct definition, because such\na course would be likely to command \"the approval of almost all the\nfathers, and would be confirmed by their quasi-unanimous suffrage.\"\nSoon after this memorial was drawn up, Abp. Spalding was made a member\nof the committee of twelve cardinals and fourteen prelates appointed by\nthe Holy Father to consider all _postulata_ before they were brought\nbefore the council, and he consequently refrained through delicacy from\npressing the consideration of his own scheme; but it was energetically\ndiscussed in various quarters, and Abp. Spalding came to be looked\nupon as a leader of the so-called \"third party,\" which was supposed to\nhold a position between the opportunists and the non-opportunists in\nthe council. Meanwhile, it became evident to the archbishop that, to\nquote his own language, but two courses lay before the fathers--either\nto place themselves openly on the side of the Pope, or on that of the\nopposition; and he wrote a letter to Bp. Dupanloup, repudiating the\nfalse construction which had been placed upon his _postulatum_, and\nthe false inferences drawn from it, and declaring himself emphatically\nin favor of the plainest possible definition of the doctrine. \"When\nthe history of the Vatican Council comes to be written,\" says an\nEnglish author, \"not many names will be written with more honor than\nthat of the wise and prudent Archbishop of Baltimore; nor will any\nextra-conciliary document be recorded in future generations with deeper\nsatisfaction or warmer gratitude than the letter in which Mgr. Spalding\nvindicated himself and his colleagues from all complicity with Gallican\ndoctrines and intrigues.\" In a pastoral address to his flock, written\nimmediately after the definition, the archbishop made a very clear\nstatement of the doctrine, and pointed out some of its consequences. He\nanswered the objection that it was in conflict with civil and political\nliberty, which he believed could flourish only under the shadow of the\naltar and the cross, and he reminded his people that the same theories\nof government upon which the American republic is founded were taught\nby the Catholic schoolmen three hundred years before Washington was\nborn.\n\nWe have not attempted, in this brief survey of the character of\nthe late Archbishop of Baltimore, to sketch the incidents of his\nepiscopate--and, indeed, they were very few--or even to enumerate\nthe most important works which occupied his busy brain. Our purpose\nhas rather been to select from the valuable pages before us a few\nindications of those peculiar qualities of mind which made him\npre-eminently a representative of the young and vigorous American\nChurch, so strong in the faith, so ardent in attachment to the Holy\nSee, so reverent of Catholic tradition, and withal so quick to adapt\nitself to the special wants of a free and growing country. We would\ngladly have paused for a little while over the attractive story of\nBp. Spalding's early pastoral peregrinations through the primitive\nsettlements of Kentucky, his charity, his gentleness, his love for\nchildren, the touching scenes when he visited the orphan asylums, in\nwhich he took such a tender interest, or the beautiful picture of the\ngreat preacher and prelate sitting humbly in the school-room with the\nlittle ones about his knees. All this would draw us too far away from\nour proper subject; but we must allow ourselves one extract from the\nfew scattered passages in which the biographer has told us of his\nprivate life:\n\n  \"I shall never forget the pleasant journeys which, when quite a\n  small boy, I had the happiness to make with him. His merry laugh,\n  that might have been that of a child who had never known a sorrow\n  or a care, the simple and na\u00efve way he had of listening to the\n  prattle of children, the whole expression of the countenance\n  showing a soul at rest and happy in the work which he was doing,\n  are still present to my mind, like the remembrance of flowers and\n  sunshine. And I remember, too, with what warmth, and reverence, and\n  love he was received everywhere, and how his presence was never\n  connected in my mind with anything morose or severe. Eyes that\n  seemed to have looked for his coming grew brighter when he had\n  come; and when he was gone, it was like the ceasing of sweet music\n  which one would wish to hear always, but which, even when hushed,\n  keeps playing on in the soul, attuning it to gentler moods and\n  higher thoughts. He was full of human sympathies and human ways.\n  The purple of the bishop never hid the man; nor did he, because\n  he belonged to the supernatural order, cease to be natural. There\n  was, indeed, a certain elegance and refinement about him which\n  no one could fail to perceive, the true breeding of a gentleman;\n  but withal he was as plain as the simplest Kentucky farmer. He\n  rarely talked about learned things; and when he did, he did not\n  talk in a learned way. He possessed naturally remarkable powers\n  of adaptation, which enabled him to feel perfectly at ease in\n  circumstances and companies the most dissimilar. There was not a\n  poor negro in his whole diocese with whom he was not willing to\n  talk about anything that could be of advantage to him. I remember\n  particularly how kindly he used to speak to the old servants of his\n  father, who had known him as a child. He had a special sympathy\n  with this whole race, and I have known him, whilst Archbishop of\n  Baltimore, to take the trouble to write a long letter to an old\n  negro in Kentucky who had consulted him concerning his own little\n  affairs.\n\n  \"He frequently wrote to children ten or twelve years old, from whom\n  he had received letters. In company where there were children, he\n  never failed to devote himself to their amusement, even to the\n  forgetfulness of the claims of more important persons. When at\n  home, he usually passed the forenoon in writing, or in receiving\n  those who called to see him on matters of business. After dinner,\n  he spent some time in conversation, which he always enjoyed, then\n  withdrew to his room to say vespers, with matins and lauds for the\n  following day. In summer, he kept up an old Roman habit of taking\n  a short repose in the afternoon. He would then walk out, calling\n  in here and there to visit some school or convent, or to spend a\n  few moments with some Catholic family. On the street, he would stop\n  to greet, with a few pleasant words, almost every acquaintance he\n  chanced to meet. Frequently he would remain to tea at the house\n  of a friend, after which he returned to his room to write or read\n  until the hour for retiring for the night arrived. The rule in his\n  house was, that every one should be in at ten o'clock, when the\n  door was locked. Apart from this regulation, he never interfered\n  with the tastes or hours of the priests of his household. In the\n  cathedral, he had his own confessional, and, when at home, he was\n  generally found there on Saturday afternoon; and it was his custom\n  to preach at the late Mass on Sunday.\"\n\nThe Rev. F. Spalding, to whom the task of writing this biography was\ncommitted by the archbishop's literary executor, had the advantage of\na somewhat intimate knowledge of his distinguished uncle, and of free\naccess to manuscript sources of information. He has done his work ably\nand conscientiously, with an accurate judgment of the salient points\nin the story, and no slight skill in the arrangement of his abundant\nmaterials. His style is simple and unaffected, and his whole book,\nfrom the first chapter to the last, is thoroughly readable; while, as\na contribution to the ecclesiastical history of the United States, its\nvalue is of course very considerable.\n\nAs a biography of an able and successful prelate, whose career was\nmost honorable and useful--of a man who was virtuous and holy from his\nchildhood to his grave, and who has left a bright example of loyalty\nto God and the holy faith of Christ in a corrupt age--it is of greater\nvalue than any similar work which has hitherto been published in this\ncountry. This great and holy prelate is worthy to be classed among\nthose noble and illustrious rulers of the church in past ages and the\npresent whose history is an ornament to ecclesiastical annals. Apart\nfrom his career as a bishop in the administration of the important\nchurches committed to his care, his share in the successful issue of\nthe first session of the Vatican Council and in that most auspicious\nevent, the definition of the infallibility of the Pope, entitles him\nto the perpetual remembrance, not only of the American Church, on\nwhich he reflected so much lustre, but of the Catholics of the world.\nThe history of his pure and holy life, so highly marked by devotion,\nintegrity, fidelity, and singleness of high purpose, and closing with\na death so beautiful, ought to produce, as we hope it will, a powerful\nand stimulating effect upon the studious Catholic youth of our country.\n\nIt is a great good fortune to a man whose life is worth writing to\nfind an affectionate, just, and skilful biographer. In this respect\nAbp. Spalding has been more fortunate than those other great ornaments\nof the American hierarchy, England and Kenrick; though we hope the\nlack may yet be supplied in the case of these two prelates. We have\nall along expected that this biography would become very soon one of\nthe most popular, widely circulated, and useful books which has ever\nissued from the American Catholic press; and we feel confident that our\nexpectation will not be unfulfilled.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[164] _The Life of the Most Rev. M. J. Spalding, D.D., Archbishop\nof Baltimore._ By J. L. Spalding, S.T.L. New York: The Catholic\nPublication Society. 8vo, p. 468.\n\n\n\n\nTRAVELS WITH A VALETUDINARIAN.\n\n\nI.\n\nThe summer solstice again, and the metropolis an oven! Why should I\nremain in it and be baked? There was just one reason that detained\nme: I could not make up my mind to what point of the compass to\nperegrinate. On my return from last year's ramble, I had determined\nto join an Alpine club on my next holiday, and wander in search of\nthe grand in mountainous districts. It only wants lungs and muscle, I\nthought, and I considered myself equal to the undertaking. The smaller\nthe quantity of luggage the better, was my next reflection. But I was\ncompletely put out of conceit of Alpine climbing on visiting my friend\nMount. I saw Mount six weeks ago, and all my calculations of enjoyment\nwere upset. Mount was already in training for his journey, as if for\na boat-race; he was eating, drinking, taking exercise, gymnastic and\npedestrian, and sleeping just so many hours, to a minute, on the most\napproved system. Then, he had such a collection of what he termed\nindispensable companions for his travels--such optical instruments,\ntheodolites, grappling-irons and sharp-pointed staves, that I was\npersuaded that his peace of mind would be endangered in looking after\nthem, to say nothing of wanting a dromedary to carry them. I, who never\nmake pleasure a toil, wished my friend an agreeable time of it, and\nrespectfully declined participating. I am fully aware that I shall be\ntold by-and-by that I have missed a great deal; and I am equally sure\nthat I shall uncomplainingly submit to my loss; but if ever I ascend\nmountains in quest of the sublime, rather than prepare so laboriously,\nI will charter a balloon.\n\nI was still negativing suggestions that thronged upon me from many\nestimable friends, and was still far from determining my particular\ndestination, when I stumbled on an agreeable, middle-aged bachelor\nacquaintance, Mr. Stowell.\n\n\"I am rejoiced to see you looking so well,\" I began.\n\n\"Appearances are deceptive, my dear Lovejoy,\" he replied. \"But I am\nbetter, thank you. Ah! what a blessing is health.\"\n\n\"It is, indeed.\"\n\n\"And yet how men squander it away; yes, Mr. Lovejoy, squander it just\nas they do money; and of the two it is the more precious! It should be\nan object of unceasing care--to be husbanded with wise frugality.\"\n\n\"Well, it is, sir, as you instituted the comparison, to be treated like\nmoney in certain respects. There is an old saying that, if we look to\nthe pence, the pounds will take care of themselves; and in like manner,\nif a few simple regulations patent to every one are attended to, health\nis to be attained by the bulk of mankind.\"\n\n\"There, sir, excuse me, you are wrong. I have made the subject my\nstudy, and my conclusion is that the matter is much more complex than\nthe care of pence. Consider its conditions.\" And the worthy gentleman\ntold them off on his fingers very deliberately. \"There is,\" said he,\n\"proper nourishment, temperance, exercise, repose, suitable raiment,\nsalubrious locality, cleanliness, ventilation. And where is the man\nwho is mindful of the harmonious working of all these agencies; for the\nneglect of one of them is mostly fatal to the rest?\"\n\n\"Then, there are such a number of complications in the constitution of\nhealth, I think we must withdraw the charge of squandering; for the\nmass of men could never be hemmed in by a series of sanitary rules only\npartially understood and only partially practicable, though they might\nbe like children throwing away treasures without a knowledge of their\nvalue. Squandering implies, to my mind, wilful waste.\"\n\n\"No, sir; I maintain that squander is the right word, and I accept your\nmeaning of it. I say it is every man's duty to study health, and, if\nhe does, he will find the complications I have spoken of exceedingly\neasy of comprehension. But, sir, men will not learn; they will put\nthemselves to no trouble at all; and they squander their days away,\nbecause they heed not the value of them. Their daily conviction makes\nthem conscious of that value, but they stifle it--yes, sir, they\nsquander!\"\n\n\"I will not argue the question further. I perceive you have given it\nmore attention than I have.\"\n\n\"I own it, and I am proud of it. And now, if you will add a favor to\nthe concession you have just made, you will join me, be my _compagnon\nde voyage_ out of this furnace, which, we shall both agree, is only\nsuited to the constitution of a salamander.\"\n\n\"You flatter me by your invitation; but I have not settled in my mind\nwhat direction to take.\"\n\n\"Leave that to me, sir. If you will gratify me by giving me the\npleasure of your company, I would propose to change about from place to\nplace--now inland scenery, then seaside, different parts of the coast,\na last view of the country rich in autumnal tints, and then home before\nBoreas is too rough for us.\"\n\n\"That will do admirably. You speak like one who had well considered his\nplans.\"\n\n\"I have, sir; it all comes under the study of health.\"\n\n\"Really, you will make a convert of me.\"\n\n\"All in good time. We will get off first; let us start to-morrow, if\nnot too soon for you.\"\n\n\"With all my heart. I love promptitude in action. But by land or water?\nAnd whither?\"\n\n\"We will take the Great Slaughterton Railroad, in the first instance.\nThat's imperative!\"\n\n\"My dear sir, there was a fearful accident on that line only\nyesterday--a hundred and sixteen persons killed, besides loss of limbs,\ndislocations, contusions innumerable!\"\n\n\"The very thing for us! A nine days' wonder! That line will be\nparticularly careful for a whole week to come while the public eye\nis on it. We shall be quite safe, sir; but the earlier, the better.\nTo-morrow, then?\"\n\nAssent was given, and I was booked for the Great Slaughterton. I was a\nlittle startled at my friend's precipitation, which seemed at variance\nwith his usual deliberation; but he had given a reason for expedition\non the route he had selected, and, on accompanying him home, I found\nthat his preparations had been made. He showed me all the latest\ncontrivances for comfortable travelling, in a variety of valises,\nportmanteaus, leather bags, satchels, baths, and a mahogany box which\nreminded me of a liquor case or cabinet of choice revolvers.\n\n\"You see I am all but ready,\" he said.\n\n\"Indeed you are,\" I replied. \"But I shall overtake you, though I\nhave not begun to pack; for I travel in a more primitive style. I\nleave behind me all I can do without, and trust to civilization to\nsupply wants that may come upon me. A purse and the least possible\nencumbrances are what I look to. You are not, I suppose, going to\nburden yourself with that mahogany case, though I perceive it is\nlabelled.\"\n\n\"My life-preserver, sir!\"\n\n\"Oh! I thought it might be a strong box for your valuables, and I\nwas about to suggest your entrusting it to your bankers. We are not,\nhowever, going into any dangerous quarters where firearms....\"\n\n\"No dangers, sir, while I have the honor to be your guide! It is my\nmedicine-chest--an indispensable part of my equipment!\"\n\n\"Ha! You cannot trust country apothecaries; and you, of course,\nunderstand something of physic.\"\n\n\"A person at my time of life, sir, is usually said to be a fool or a\nphysician. Not that I despise the faculty--we may have to call in their\naid before we return.\"\n\n\"I hope not, Mr. Stowell; and present appearances are not in their\nfavor, I am happy to say.\"\n\n\"You have not, I see, made health a study.\"\n\n\"You have the advantage of me there,\" I rejoined, as speedily as I\ncould relieve myself of the sentiment, fearing another dissertation;\nand the occurrence of the topic impressed my mind with some alarm that\nour difference of mental organism might compromise our good-fellowship\nbefore we came to the end of our journey. Dwelling for a moment on this\nidea, I thought I would venture to insinuate terms of concord; so I\nfollowed up my hasty remark by a suggestion of mutual forbearance while\nwe were birds of passage.\n\n\"It may not be thought out of place,\" I said, \"if I take this early\nopportunity of pointing out that our minds do not work in the same\ngroove; and that we may find it necessary to give and take, as the\nsaying is, while we shall be together. For my part, I may claim a\nlittle indulgence for some hobby of my own, possibly; and I trust\nyou will bear in mind how completely I give in to you on all that\nappertains to the laws of health.\"\n\nMr. Stowell fidgetted about in his chair, and seemed scarcely to take\nin the scope of my observation.\n\n\"All I would recommend,\" I added, \"is that we should endeavor to 'play\nfair'--in our intellectual conflicts, I mean. Let 'Put yourself in his\nPlace' be a lesson to each of us, and I have no doubt that nothing will\noccur to ruffle our temper or lessen our enjoyment.\"\n\n\"Temper, sir!\" replied my friend. \"I am glad you spoke of it. You will\nonly find me too much of a lamb. I detest bickerings and disagreements.\nNo, sir, you will have an easy time of it with me. A little humoring\nof some whim of mine might be judicious, not to say friendly; but,\nbeyond that, you will not find anywhere a less quarrelsome and more\nconciliatory being than Benjamin Stowell.\"\n\n\"Then there is every prospect, I rejoice to say for both our sakes, of\na lasting understanding between us.\"\n\n\"As firm and durable as adamant!\" exclaimed Mr. Stowell energetically,\nemphasizing the remark by a smart blow on the arm of his chair.\n\n\nII.\n\nWe started on the Great Slaughterton Railroad next day, and it duly\nconsigned us to our destination--a romantically situated town on a fine\ntable-land. The main street in the town, at its extremity, commanded\nan extensive view of a beautiful country, which promised us some\nrefreshing breezes as they swept over the expansive plains, and many\nshady retreats from the fiery sun under the umbrageous arms of lofty\ntrees that relieved the prospect from monotony. We took lodgings, Mr.\nStowell undertaking to suit our tastes and pockets in this important\nmatter, and claiming from the landlord several extra indulgences\nwithout additional cost, on the score of infirm health. Our journey\nhad been very enjoyable, and it had sharpened our appetites; for the\nprospect of a repast after a good bath in a capacious washstand, which\nseemed to cool the atmosphere of each of our bed-chambers, put us both\nin good humor. Everything was well arranged, and, in an incredibly\nshort space of time, we sat down to an excellent table tempting us with\nits burnished silver and its covering of whitest damask. We both, as it\nseemed to me, did justice to our meal, and I was a little surprised,\ntherefore, when my friend exclaimed:\n\n\"Very provoking, is it not? Travelling has a most peculiar effect on\nme: it creates the semblance of an appetite; but the moment I sit down\nto eat, I have no relish for anything.\"\n\n\"Then have I made all this havoc?\" I inquired, with something, perhaps,\nof a dubious air, pointing to the reduced state of the viands.\n\n\"I don't wish to be rude, sir, but I have been envying your enjoyment.\"\n\n\"I was sharp-set, I confess; and I must have been too busy to observe\nyour inactivity,\" I replied, feeling sure that Mr. Stowell's incisors\nhad been no more idle than my own, and wondering what they would go\nthrough when their owner gave them their allotted amount of work on a\nmore favorable occasion.\n\n\"Always a small eater, sir!\" remarked my friend, speaking of himself in\na tone of regret.\n\n\"Little and often, perhaps?\" I asked.\n\n\"Not at all, sir; loss of appetite is one of my troubles. Weak\ndigestion! If you should be afflicted in that way, I possess an\nexcellent specific, and I have with me one or two valuable treatises on\nthe stomachic functions.\"\n\n\"But have they not failed in your own case?\"\n\n\"They have lost some of their efficacy, I allow; but they had a\nmarvellous effect at first. I take it, all remedies wear themselves\nout, so that we need continual change.\"\n\n\"Of diet?\"\n\n\"Of regimen, sir! You will find it so, if you will make health your\nstudy.\"\n\n\"I won't dispute your conclusions, but I am in the habit of leaving\nmatters to nature, and she has served me hitherto excellently well.\"\n\n\"Very true; but she wants renovating perpetually. It is fatal to rely\nupon her unassisted efforts. The artificial life we lead is too much\nfor her. Cooks have done for nature, and doctors are called in to\nrestore her powers.\"\n\n\"But you would not physic a man in health merely because he lives, as\nis contended, artificially?\"\n\n\"Certainly, most certainly! Prevention is better than cure.\"\n\n\"I prefer to wait until a cure is needed.\"\n\n\"Contrary to all sound system when prevention is possible!\"\n\n\"Your theory will make the fortune of the doctors.\"\n\n\"A noble profession!\"\n\nMr. Stowell now suggested a walk, which had my advocacy, and we sallied\nout.\n\n\"We will allow ourselves exactly one hour,\" said my friend, taking out\nhis watch. \"I go on system, as you will see. Now, which way is the\nwind? Westerly. Ay, that will do!\"\n\n\"A very fine evening! We shall be able to proceed down the chief\nthoroughfare, and go a little distance on the high-road beyond.\"\n\n\"No, sir, we shall have the wind in our teeth!\"\n\n\"It is too balmy to hurt us!\"\n\n\"I am not sure of that. I never face the wind if I can help it. I have\nknown numberless evils result from a little want of attention to such\nan apparently insignificant point.\"\n\nAccordingly, we took a northerly direction, and we were rewarded with a\nsight of some beautiful scenery on that side of the town, so that the\ncaprices of my friend caused me no disappointment.\n\nWe returned to our lodgings after a most delightful stroll of an hour\nand a quarter. Mr. Stowell looked at his watch with a dissatisfied air.\n\n\"I must be aware of you,\" he said, \"a second time; you have beguiled me\ninto a transgression. I am not angry, sir, not angry, but I shall feel\nthe effect of it.\"\n\n\"Pray, what have I done?\"\n\n\"Sir, you have talked me into at least fifteen minutes' excess beyond\nmy regular exercise. I shall suffer for it.\"\n\n\"Do not blame me. Say, rather, that the freshness and novelty of the\nscenery have led us astray. You are not tired?\"\n\n\"Not at all. But I ought to be!\"\n\n\"Then I will prophesy that you will not come to harm.\"\n\n\"Were you not to give in to me in all matters appertaining to health?\nDon't contradict me again, I beg. I know my own constitution so\nthoroughly. I shall not be able to sleep without an opiate!\"\n\n\"I am sorry to hear that; but let me suggest your first trying the\neffect of the change of air?\"\n\n\"Really, sir, you are ignorantly striving to undermine the study of my\nlife. Don't suppose for an instant that any scenery would keep me on\nmy legs five minutes past my time, or that air has anything to do with\nprovoking sleep. In primitive times, such might have been the case,\nand it may be so even now with juveniles; but too much artificiality\nsurrounds adults. I shall be obliged to have recourse to my chest,\nand I shall give you a treat when I open it for inspection. It _is_ a\n_multum in parvo_! Make your mind quite easy that, come what will, I\nhave almost every remedy, not merely within call, but within reach.\nThere's consolation for you!\"\n\nI bowed my acknowledgment, which I could not find words, I own, to\nexpress.\n\nPresently my friend proposed that we should have half an hour's\nreading; and, on his asking me if I had any skill in elocution, I\nreplied that, having some taste for it, I should be happy to read aloud\nto him, if it would afford him any pleasure.\n\n\"Well, you won't be offended,\" he said, \"if I ask you to stop, should I\nnot like your style?\"\n\n\"Certainly not--the moment I fatigue you,\" I replied.\n\n\"And on no account exceed half an hour. Never mind breaking off in a\nfine passage--we can have that another time; but I could not endure\na book more than thirty minutes, not even a newspaper, which, for\ndiversity of contents, perhaps is the best kind of reading.\"\n\nI accepted the conditions, and, finding a volume of _Montaigne's\nEssays_ on a shelf, I took it down, and raised the question whether\nthe old Gascon would be to my companion's taste. He replied in the\naffirmative, and declared his conviction that the art of essay-writing\nwas lost, and that no essayist was comparable to Montaigne. So lively\nan author he could hear, he continued, with a good deal of enthusiasm,\nfor the allotted time, with the greatest pleasure and without a yawn.\n\nFortunate in the selection of my author, I opened the volume without\nlooking for any particular subject--for we both agreed that it was\nimpossible to alight on a dull place--and commenced reading.\n\n\"Capital!\" exclaimed my friend, in less than five minutes. \"Capital!\nWhat a marvellous digestion that man must have had! You can see\nit in the clearness of his ideas! Let's see, he was before Galen,\nwasn't he? Go on, don't let me interrupt you; we will settle these\npoints afterwards. Don't forget what just occurred to me about his\ndigestion--it's important. You may not think so, ha! ha! but I know.\nDon't stop.\" And he composed himself as if for attentive listening,\nwith his head thrown back in his chair, and his arms folded across his\nbroad chest.\n\nI had paused during this slight interruption, but, at the bidding\nof my companion, resumed our essay. Mr. Stowell seemed deep in\nthought as I occasionally caught sight of him, but, becoming more\nand more interested in my author, I glanced at him less frequently.\nMr. Stowell's watch lay on the table before me, probably with a\nview of confining the lecture within the stipulated limits. My eye\nnoted the hour as I progressed. I had been reading exactly twenty\nminutes--two-thirds of my prescribed time. I proceeded a few minutes\nlonger, forgetful of everything but the book, which was enchaining my\nattention. A hoarse noise came from my friend's chair on the opposite\nside of the table. I was too busy to look up, and the noise grew\nlouder and thicker. Was it possible? Was that the heavy breathing of\nmy friend, yielding to the influence of the air and our lively Gascon?\nAnother volume, not of print, but of sound, and it was an unmistakable\nsnore! I raised my eyes, and there was my friend fast asleep.\n\nI read on until my time was up, lest the cessation of my voice should\ndisturb his slumbers. When my half-hour had fairly expired, I satisfied\nmyself that neither the stoppage of any accustomed sound nor the\nraising of an uncommon one had any effect on the sleeper, so securely\nwas he locked in the arms of Morpheus.\n\n\nIII.\n\nFor the next two hours I read to myself, but there was no change in the\nattitude of my friend, unless he had become more musical in the double\nbass of his nasal intonations. A reflection crossed my mind. Was I not\nin a dilemma? Mr. Stowell had fallen to sleep without his opiate! He\nwould be very testy at finding his theory at fault, and an ignoramus\nlike myself right! It was dangerous to awake him; and, if I allowed him\nto sleep on, he would be angry when he awoke to discover that he was\nnot in bed.\n\nTwelve o'clock struck. I continued reading. One o'clock struck, two,\nthree--no change! Four o'clock! Montaigne had deeply interested me,\nbut at last I was tired and inclined to rest. Should I retire? Was my\nfreedom of action gone? I did not wish to be thought inconsiderate, but\nwas I shackled by the companionship of a middle-aged bore? Again I took\nrefuge in my book. Five o'clock--broad daylight again! Seven hours'\nsleep for Mr. Stowell, and not a wink for me! I could put up with it\nno longer. I called to him by name, shouted, whistled, walked about,\ntreading heavily on the floor. To no purpose. I opened the window,\nand let in the streaming sun and the refreshing morning breeze. An\nextra snort from Mr. Stowell, nothing more! At length I repaired to my\nchamber, which adjoined our sitting apartment. I had just undressed,\nwhen my friend was evidently on his legs.\n\n\"What a bore!\" I overheard him exclaim. \"I told him not to read more\nthan half an hour, and he must have prosed on till dawn. I must be rid\nof him!\"\n\n\"Thank heaven!\" was on my lips, when he slammed the door of his chamber\nwith great violence. Here is a recompense, I thought, for obliging a\nfriend.\n\nWe were late at breakfast. I was taking my seat at the breakfast-table,\nwhen Mr. Stowell savagely accosted me.\n\n\"I am a lamb in temper, but I can't stand this, Mr. Lovejoy! I will\nthank you to read to yourself another evening. A pretty thing to keep\nme up, and then leave me exposed to the chill dews!\"\n\nI restrained myself as a man does with right on his side.\n\n\"I read at your request,\" I calmly replied, \"and not a moment longer\nthan you desired. I remained up with you until five, not liking to\ndisturb you. It is I, sir, who have reason to complain.\"\n\n\"I don't care. I won't have it. If there is one thing I detest, it is\nbeing up all night! Young men can do without sleep; my constitution\nrequires full seven--\"\n\n\"Hours' sleep, and, to my positive knowledge, it had it; while I have\nnot had three.\"\n\n\"A dog sleep, sir--an unnatural sleep, sir--no sleep at all, sir.\nI shall feel the want of rest for days to come. Ha! I know why it\nwas: you thought to deprive me of my opiate! But I understand my\nconstitution. I will have my opiate in spite of you. You compel me\nto have recourse to my chest. I should but for you have made up my\nmorning's prescription overnight. It must be taken fasting.\"\n\nPatiently I listened to this tirade, and did not condescend to answer.\nMr. Stowell brought out his medicine-chest, and busied himself for\nsome time in weighing and pounding. At length he gulped down some kind\nof mixture. I occupied myself meanwhile with the morning paper. The\nmixture or its preparation had one good effect--it restored my friend's\ngood humor.\n\n\"There, I will not be angry; I never am; I cannot be. I wish you would\nlet me recommend you a dose. I will mix it directly; I will, indeed. It\nwill do you a wonderful amount of good.\"\n\nThe offer I politely declined.\n\n\"I see,\" he continued, \"you have lost your temper. Now, what can I do\nto recover it?\" His eye then caught a programme of a morning concert on\nthe table. \"The very thing!\" he added. \"This very day! We'll go! Let me\npersuade you. 'Music hath charms, etc.' Say yes, and oblige me.\"\n\nNot wishing to appear churlish, I assented, simply pointing out that\nthe thermometer would range high in a concert-room. My objection was\noverruled, and we both sat down to breakfast. I was glad to see my\nfriend enjoy his meal with what I thought a decided relish, for he had\nbeen very actively employed; and I was on the point of asking whether\nhis mixture had not produced an excellent appetite, when he amused me\nby saying:\n\n\"Positively, I never _can_ take a breakfast! Everything very tempting,\nthough. But then, want of sleep! Ah! I can't get over that.\"\n\nBy this time, I knew better than to contradict my friend, and I\nsuffered his remarks, therefore, to pass unchallenged. In due time, we\nwent to the concert. Several songs by distinguished artists were sung,\nthe chief burden of them being the pleasures of summer, bright, sunny\ndays, golden dawns, and glorious eves. These appropriate subjects and\nthe heat of the room made me sigh for some shady retreat under a leafy\ncanopy, such as had charmed my eye during our saunter of the previous\nevening. The concert came to an end.\n\n\"Do you know,\" said my friend, when we found ourselves in the open air,\n\"I don't much care for music?\"\n\n\"Not on a hot day, perhaps,\" I replied.\n\n\"No, sir, it is not that; but I have turned the occasion to some\nprofit.\"\n\n\"I am glad of it.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; I shall write an article for the _Medico-Chirurgical\nObserver_. I am convinced that vocalization injures the larynx. I can\nprove it. The demonstration became quite painful at last, but I sat it\nout.\"\n\n\"Then we may bless our stars that we are not singers?\"\n\n\"We may, indeed! A fatal gift.\"\n\n\"I will wait to see you in type,\" I remarked, in the expectation of\nclosing a discussion which began to appal me.\n\nOn our return, we encountered a strange-looking individual habited in a\nvery long coat, and wearing a hat with a brim of extraordinary breadth.\nMr. Stowell let this oddity pass, then stopped and looked after him. A\nyouth approached us as we tarried. Mr. Stowell beckoned to him.\n\n\"Pray, who is that gentleman?\" he asked the boy.\n\n\"Dr. Brambleton, if he be a doctor,\" said the boy.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said my friend to his informant; then, turning to me, he\nadded, \"A most remarkable man, I am sure!\"\n\n\"An empiric,\" I suggested. \"I saw his gout specifics, and a column\nof his testimonials in to-day's paper.\" I laughed slightly, then\nexclaimed, \"Only one more infallible cure for gout!\"\n\nMr. Stowell looked very grave, and the boy, who lingered to hear our\nremarks, ran off, cackling a good imitation of \"quack, quack\" as he\nwent along.\n\n\"That's all prejudice,\" said Stowell. \"He, Dr. B., may be a benefactor\nof his race. I say he _may_ be; but I am certain of this--I felt some\nsingular twinges in my big toe while we were on the Great Slaughterton,\nand I have not been entirely free from them since.\"\n\n\"You are not a gouty subject?\"\n\n\"I can't say what I may come to. I should very much like some talk with\nDr. Brambleton.\"\n\n\"Nonsense, my dear sir.\"\n\n\"I am only curious to hear what he would say. I could tell in a minute\nwhether he was a pretender.\"\n\nMr. Stowell now labored under an itching desire to call in Dr.\nBrambleton, and I continued to combat his folly, as I conceived it.\nNothing else for the remainder of the day was talked about except\nvarious human ailments, their propagation, and the means of their\neradication. It was impossible to turn the conversation into any other\nchannel. I was so worn out at last that my replies became shorter and\nless courteous. I grew dogmatic in my turn, and backed my objections\nwith more force as I plunged into topics out of my depth. Mr. Stowell\nwas now frantic, and abused my ignorance. I retorted by ridiculing\nhis credulity. We got so personal in our remarks that it was a relief\nwhen bedtime came; and we retired to our respective chambers in no very\npleasant mood.\n\nThat night, a thunder-storm broke over the town. The storm was\nsucceeded by a sudden fall in the temperature, and the air became as\ncold as it is sometimes in the early spring. A sharp easterly wind was\nblowing when I arose the following morning. Before I left my chamber, I\nheard Mr. Stowell in altercation with our landlord.\n\n\"I told you I was in infirm health,\" said Stowell.\n\n\"You did, sir,\" replied the landlord.\n\n\"Then, how could you put me in a room with an easterly aspect?\"\n\n\"Why did you not choose the other room?\"\n\n\"Because some people know how to take care of themselves.\"\n\nAt this I opened my door, and rushed into our sitting-room.\n\n\"Mr. Stowell,\" I exclaimed, \"I am not accustomed to have ungenerous\nreflections cast upon me. The choice was your own; but you have before\nexpressed a wish to be rid of me, and I reciprocate the sentiment. My\nroom is at your service; I shall not inflict my society on you any\nlonger, and I shall seek more genial companionship than I have found in\na confirmed valetudinarian.\"\n\nWithout waiting for an answer, I hurried out of the house, breakfasted\nat a hotel, conned the newspaper, and proceeded to the railroad depot,\npartly for a walk, and partly to make sure of the time of arrival of\nthe \"up\" train. I did not return to my lodgings until just in time to\ntake away my luggage.\n\nIn the sitting-room, I found Mr. Stowell and Dr. Brambleton. Mr.\nStowell was sitting on a chair, with his bare feet on what I took to be\nan electric battery, but which resembled a coal-scuttle. He held a wire\nin his hands, and on his head he wore a cap encircled, as I supposed,\nwith magnets.\n\n\"Good-day,\" I said, in a conciliating tone, as I was on the wing, and\nmy fancy was tickled at the ridiculous appearance of my friend.\n\n\"Don't think any more of it,\" replied Mr. Stowell. \"My temper emanated\nfrom gout! My first attack, I assure you.\"\n\n\"A most decided case!\" chimed in Dr. Brambleton. \"But he bears it like\na Job.\"\n\n\"A speedy recovery!\" I answered. \"You are in good hands, I hope?\"\n\n\"Excellent,\" said Mr. Stowell. \"I have the fullest confidence.\"\n\n\"He knows where he is, sir,\" put in the doctor slyly. \"But I will stake\nmy reputation on a cure.\"\n\nAnd wishing the patient and doctor a final adieu, I departed, rejoicing\nin my deliverance from both quacks and quacked. I should distinguish\nmyself in Alpine climbing while under the stimulus imparted by freedom\nregained; but experience will make me wary of a travelling companion\nuntil I have tested his congeniality of disposition.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHILD RESTORED.\n\n\n                    FROM THE FRENCH OF MARIE JENNA.\n\n    So long had wept this mother, so implored,\n    So pressed against her heart the head adored,\n      The livid forehead of her dying child,\n    That to the frozen breast the marble brow,\n    As by a miracle, returned the glow\n    Of life and light; and, with a fervent joy,\n    She thanked the God who gave her back her boy;\n      But from that hour the infant never smiled!\n\n    Three months had passed since then, and still the gloom\n    That seemed to linger from his unfilled tomb\n    Remained unbroken; one might almost think\n    That, when the spirit trembled on the brink\n    Of death, some pitying angel made a change\n    To soothe maternal grief. So sad and strange\n    Was the young, drooping head, the silent mood,\n    His mother dared not, in her gratitude,\n    Missing his joyous laugh, his happy voice\n    And glance, even in embracing him, rejoice.\n\n    From open casements song and laughter ring,\n    From turrets high the chimes their carols fling.\n    \"Listen, my Louis. 'Tis the happy day\n    When the New Year bids little children play\n    With their new gifts, all merry for his sake!\n    What playthings will my little Louis take?\n    Wilt have this snow-white sheep, with silken string,\n    That thou canst lead to pasture in the spring?\n    Not this? Well, then, these paints, these brushes, made\n    To color paper flowers that will not fade?\n    Or, see! this gay, rebounding woollen ball,\n    That falls and springs from earth, again to fall?\n    Thou dost not love to play? Thou canst not run?\n    What shall I give thee, then, my cherished son?\n\n    \"Tell me thy secret in one little word;\n    Thy mother fails to guess thy baby need.\n    Say, wilt thou have this pretty, gilded sword\n    To make thee a great captain? No, indeed!\n    Then this thatched cottage, with its drooping eaves,\n    This open book, with all its pictured leaves?\n    No! still the little, mournful, waving hand.\n    _Would_ that thy mother had a fairy wand\n    To bear thee something that would make thee smile!\n    Might not these singing birds thy thoughts beguile,\n    These blooming flowers? Whisper me, tell me, love,\n    While I embrace thee--I who love thee so--\n    Louis, what wantest thou? My darling, say!\"\n    He murmured--\"Only wings to flee away.\"\n\n\n\n\nMADAME DE STA\u00cbL.\n\n\nAnne Louise Germaine Necker, Baronne de Holstein-Sta\u00ebl, the most\nremarkable female writer of our century, was born at Paris on the 22d\nApril, 1766. At that time her father was very far removed from the high\nposition he was one day to occupy, being simply a clerk in Thelluson's\nbank. Mme. Necker herself undertook the education of her daughter--a\ntask for which she was singularly unfitted, being cold and stern by\nnature, and a pedant to boot.\n\nM. Necker was much more loved by his child, and he understood her\ndisposition better. He liked to draw her out and make her talk, and\nfor that purpose he used playfully to tease her: she invariably met\nhim with that mixture of gaiety and tenderness which characterized\ntheir intercourse. Deeply grateful for his affection, Anne put the\nutmost good-will in the execution of his slightest wish. When only ten\nyears old, she was so struck by the admiration he showed for Gibbon\nthe historian, that the idea occurred to her to marry him, and thereby\nsecure to her father the constant presence of one whose conversation\nhe so much appreciated. Undismayed by Gibbon's repulsive ugliness,\nthe child actually made the proposal to him herself. What makes the\ncomical incident more curious is the fact that her mother had been,\nwhen little more than a child, Gibbon's first love. It was said of Anne\nNecker that she had always been young, and yet had never been a child.\nHer favorite pastime was fashioning doll kings and queens, and making\nthem act tragedies of which she improvised the various parts. This\ninnocent amusement was at last forbidden by her Calvinistic mother, but\nAnne used to hide herself and carry on her dramatic little games in\nsecret.\n\nIn her mother's _salon_, Anne early made the acquaintance of some of\nthe clever men of the day--amongst others, Grimm, Marmontel, and the\nAbb\u00e9 Raynal. At the age of nineteen her intellectual faculties had\nbecome developed in the highest degree, but so much to the detriment of\nher health as to cause the greatest alarm to her parents. The famous\nDr. Tronchin was called in, and ordered the young invalid to be taken\nto the country, where the mind should lie fallow, and the time hitherto\ndevoted to study be spent in the open air. No prescription could have\nbeen more unwelcome to Mme. Necker, for it involved a relaxation, or\nrather a complete abandonment, of the severe _r\u00e9gime_ she had adopted\nfor her daughter. As it turned out, this was the best thing that could\nhave happened. Instead of hardening into a learned prodigy, Anne's\nmoral nature was allowed to put forth its full luxuriance. Her father\ncame constantly to St. Ouen, and in the charms of his daughter's\nsociety he sought rest from the cares of the ministry. In this pleasant\nretreat he and Anne learned, if possible, to love each other better.\nM. Necker was not, however, a foolishly fond parent; his tenderness\nnever obscured his judgment; and Anne declared herself that his eye, so\nfar from being blinded by affection, was quicker to detect her faults\nthan her merits. \"He unmasked all affectation in me,\" she writes; \"from\nliving with him, I came to believe that people could see clearly into\nmy heart.\"\n\nAnne made her _entr\u00e9e_ into society at an early age, and immediately\nassumed there the position her talents merited. As the daughter of a\npowerful minister, and a future heiress, it was supposed she would\nmarry at once, but it was not so. Mlle. Necker attained the in those\ndays comparatively mature age of twenty before she gave her hand to the\nBaron de Sta\u00ebl-Holstein, ambassador from the court of Sweden.\n\nImmediately after her marriage, the Baronne de Sta\u00ebl was presented at\ncourt. On this occasion she acquired a character for eccentricity by\nomitting one of the innumerable court courtesies; but what stamped her\nirrevocably as an oddity was that, going a few days later to visit the\nDuchesse de Polignac, the young baroness walked into the room without\nher head-dress--she had dropped it in the carriage. Those who were\ninclined to laugh at her, however, soon desisted, seeing that she was\nherself the first to relate her misdemeanors, and to laugh at them.\n\nBut a great event was at hand which was to turn the current of Mme.\nde Sta\u00ebl's thoughts into other channels: the French Revolution broke\nout. The daughter of the minister who was the immediate cause of that\nvolcanic eruption was not likely to remain a cool spectator of the\nnational upheaving. Misled by her own enthusiasm for the laws and\nconstitution of England, and still more by the ephemeral homage paid\nto Necker, who had made his cause triumphant in the king's cabinet,\nMme. de Sta\u00ebl honestly believed that the dawn of true political liberty\nwas at hand; but this short-lived chimera was changed to horror when\nshe realized the true motives, the aim and object, of the demagogues.\nThe arrest of Louis XVI. and the queen at Varennes filled her with\nregret, the sincerity of which it is impossible to doubt when we read\nher account of this event in the _Consid\u00e9rations sur la R\u00e9volution\nFran\u00e7aise_.\n\nHer knowledge of the men who were the prime motors of these momentous\nchanges enabled her to foresee the terrible catastrophe of the 10th of\nAugust. With great courage and clear-sightedness, Mme. de Sta\u00ebl drew\nup a plan of escape for the royal captives. M. Bertrand de Moleville,\none of the king's ministers, gives the details of this scheme, which\nits author forwarded with a letter to M. de Montmorin, one of his\ncolleagues in the ministry. Her idea was to convey the royal family to\nthe coast of Normandy, whence they were to sail for England. Whether\nthe plan was practicable or not, was never tested; M. de Montmorin knew\ntoo well that it was utterly useless to place it before the king.\n\nThe murder of the king and queen filled the heart of Mme. de Sta\u00ebl\nwith indignation and dismay. Such was the effect that this crime had\nupon her, that for a long time she was quite broken-hearted, all\nher faculties were absorbed and, as it were, paralyzed by the deeds\nof blood that were being perpetrated around her. When at last she\nroused herself to resume her pen, it was on behalf of the unfortunate\nMarie-Antoinette; she addressed to the monsters who then ruled France\nan article entitled \"D\u00e9fense de la Reine.\" We can easily imagine what\nconsummate skill and prudence were necessary at such a moment in\ndealing with the tigers she was striving to disarm. But not even at\nthis crisis would Mme. de Sta\u00ebl descend to flattery; her talent and her\nspirit were alike above such arts. While scorning to propitiate them by\ninsulting the queen, or using any of those invectives against royalty\nthen in vogue, she tried to merge the sovereign in the woman, the\nmother, and the devoted and courageous wife. Strong and deep reverence,\njoined to a delicate and ingenuous pity, breathe throughout this noble\nappeal.\n\nIf Mme. de Sta\u00ebl had written nothing else, this article alone would\nhave sufficed to ensure her fame.\n\nShortly after the fall of Robespierre, she published two pamphlets,\none entitled _Reflections on Peace at Home_, the other _Reflections\non Peace_, _addressed to Pitt and to the French_. This latter work\nreceived a tribute of praise from Fox in the House of Commons.\n\nMme. de Sta\u00ebl took a deep interest in the government formed under\nthe new constitution of 1795, but in her desire to become acquainted\nwith the men who were likely to be chosen members of it, she formed\nintimacies with some who were unworthy of her; even her literary\nreputation suffered from these so-called friendships. The public\nrarely discriminates wisely between the character of an author and that\nof his or her surroundings.\n\nJust at this time Mme. de Sta\u00ebl became the centre of a circle of\npoliticians, who used to meet at the H\u00f4tel de Salm under the title of\nthe Constitutional Club: this society had been formed to counterbalance\nthe doctrines of the Clichy Club, which were ultra-revolutionary.\nBenjamin Constant was one of the principal speakers at the\n\"Constitutional.\"\n\nThibaudeau, in his memoirs, lately published, declares that Mme. de\nSta\u00ebl secretly favored the Directory, and even attributes to her\ninfluence the reappearance on the political stage of one who had long\nforfeited the position he formerly held there. \"M. de Talleyrand,\"\nsays Thibaudeau, \"had just returned from the United States without any\nmoney, when, through the influence of a woman famous for her wit and\nher spirit of intrigue, he was introduced into the intimacy of Barras.\"\n\nBut enthusiastic as this famous woman was for glory and talent, she was\nfar too shrewd to be deceived by the fine talk of the young conqueror,\nwho came with the spoils of Egypt in his knapsack to dictate to France,\npromising to replace the \"ignoble Directory by a splendid and solid\ngovernment.\" Her knowledge of human nature enabled her to foresee\nwith certainty what the result would be when the despot was raised to\npower; it would be war to the knife against liberty in every shape and\nform, and against all its supporters. One of Bonaparte's panegyrists\nhas attempted by a base and monstrous calumny to exonerate his petty\npersecution of a woman by attributing to her a woman's vindictive spite\nas the motive of her resistance to him and his policy. This worthy\nservant of his master declares, on the word of the latter, that Mme. de\nSta\u00ebl was in love with Bonaparte, and that his coldness to the _femme\nsavante_ was the real motive of her opposition. The story is as worthy\nof the husband of the loving and divorced Josephine as it is unworthy\nof Mme. de Sta\u00ebl. Her real crime in his eyes was her unyielding\nintegrity of principle, and the preternatural insight of her genius,\nwhich made it impossible for him to dupe her. He verified all her\nprevisions to the full. No sooner had he seized the reins of power than\nhe used it to paralyze liberty in every form; most, above all, when it\nwas handled by talent. Mme. de Sta\u00ebl was imprudent enough to boast of\nher prophetic instinct on this score to Joseph Bonaparte, who was her\nfriend, but who was also the brother of the First Consul. He entreated\nher to be more guarded in her words, and soon after warned her that the\nconversations of her _salon_ found their echo in the Tuileries. When\nshe laughed at his friendly information, he tried to convince her by a\nmore powerful argument. Necker had deposited two millions in the royal\ntreasury, and this sum should be restored to his daughter if she would\nso far condescend to recognize the First Consul as to ask him for it.\nMme. de Sta\u00ebl replied that she would never sue where she had a right to\nexact, and instead of conciliating the great man, she urged Benjamin\nConstant to pronounce immediately his famous speech denouncing the\ncovert tyranny of the First Consul, which so roused the wrath of the\nlatter against him and her that from this time forth Mme. de Sta\u00ebl was\nto know no peace. The daring act sealed her doom. Friends, terrified at\nher boldness and its consequences, deserted her _salon_. Fouch\u00e9, the\nminister of police, summoned her to his presence, and informed her in\nhis master's name what she already knew, that no one might brave his\nanger with impunity.\n\nA few days after this official interview she went to a _f\u00eate_ given\nby Gen. Berthier, having accepted the invitation in hopes that some\nviolent outburst from Bonaparte would give her the opportunity of\ntaking a woman's vengeance, and sharpening her wit on him. She actually\ntells us that she rehearsed an imaginary scene between them, and wrote\ndown her own answers, polishing them off till they were sharp as steel.\nIt was time and wit wasted, however; Bonaparte only accosted her with\nsome vulgar platitude that afforded no opening for pert reprisals. Not\nlong after this disappointment she met the enemy again, this time by\nchance, and fortune served her better. Mme. de Sta\u00ebl was discussing\nsome political question with great animation when the First Consul came\nup to the group of admiring listeners, and said brusquely:\n\n\"Madame, I hate women who talk politics.\"\n\n\"So do I, General,\" replied his adversary, looking him coolly in the\nface; \"but in a country where men persecute them and cut their heads\noff, it is well to know why.\" On another occasion, when he accosted\nher in a gracious mood, she made bold to ask him what woman in France\nhe was proudest of. \"The woman who has most children,\" was the coarse\nrejoinder.\n\nMme. de Sta\u00ebl made frequent journeys to Coppet, her father's residence.\nThis was another crime in the eyes of the First Consul, as Necker was\nsupposed to have been helped by his talented daughter in his work,\n_Politics and Finance_--a book which Bonaparte resented furiously as an\nattack on his own policy and system of finance.\n\nOn Mme. de Sta\u00ebl's return to Paris after the appearance of the work,\nshe was warned that her personal liberty was in danger. Regnault\nde Saint-Jean d'Ang\u00e9ly, who was her friend though in Napoleon's\nservice, got her safe out of Paris, and secured her the hospitality\nof a relative of his in the country, where, she tells us, she used\noften to sit at her window of a night watching for the arrival of the\n_gendarmes_ to seize her. She soon left this kindly shelter for the\nhome of her friend Mme. R\u00e9camier, at Saint Brice. In the security of\nthis quiet retreat the fugitive fancied herself forgotten by Napoleon,\nand decided to settle down at a small country-house about ten leagues\nfrom Paris. Scarcely had she done so when the happy illusion was\ndispelled. A commandant of _gendarmerie_ presented himself at her door\nwith an order signed by the First Consul, bidding her withdraw forty\nleagues from the capital within twenty-four hours.\n\nJoseph Bonaparte and General Tunat had interceded for her, but in\nvain. Mme. de Sta\u00ebl, exasperated, refused the privilege of remaining\nin France on such conditions, and decided to seek refuge in Germany,\nwhere she could \"confront the courtesy of the ancient dynasty with the\nimpertinence of the new one that was striving to crush France.\"\n\nHer first resting-place was Weimar, the German Athens of that day.\nHere she learned German under such professors as Goethe, Schiller, and\nWieland. In 1804, she visited Berlin, where she met with the kindest\nreception from the king and queen; but her stay there was short; she\nwas summoned hence to her father's death-bed, and arrived too late to\nembrace him. This was a fearful blow; she strove to assuage her grief\nby collecting his MSS., with a view to publishing them, but her health,\nshaken by so many vicissitudes, gave way, and she was obliged to seek\nchange and rest in Italy. The sight of Rome and of Naples awoke a new\nlife within her, and restored to her the power of writing, which for a\ntime she had lost.\n\nBut nothing could long console her for her absence from her own\nbeloved country. The longing to see France at last so far subdued her\nproud spirit that she determined to avail herself of the privilege of\napproaching within forty leagues of Paris; she returned accordingly,\nand settled at Rouen. This was indeed a violation of the permitted\nlimits, but Fouch\u00e9 shut his eyes to it, and the exile remained\nundisturbed at the residence of her friend M. de Castellane, where\nshe finished _Corinne_, and corrected the proof-sheets. The work\nappeared in 1807, and awoke a very trumpet-blast of applause all over\nEurope. But fame was a crime in one who had incurred the tyrant's\ndispleasure, and the author received a peremptory order to quit France.\nBroken-hearted and despairing, she returned to Coppet, where she was\naccompanied by a few faithful friends, who braved all to share her\nsolitude. Here she continued to occupy herself with her great work,\n_Germany_. Feeling, however, that a more perfect knowledge of the\ncountry was necessary before completing it, she resolved to spend the\nwinter of 1807 at Vienna. She met with a flattering reception there\nfrom the Prince de Ligne, the Princesse Lubomirska, and most of the\ndistinguished personages of the court, and returned in the spring to\nCoppet.\n\nAs soon as her book on Germany was ready for the press, Mme. de\nSta\u00ebl set out for France, and placed herself at the distance\nprescribed--forty leagues. She took up her abode at the old castle of\nChaumont, formerly the residence of the Cardinal d'Amboise, Diana of\nPoitiers, and Catherine de' Medicis.\n\nWhile passing a few days with her dear and valiant friend, M. de\nMontmorency, the persecuted author received the terrible tidings that\n10,000 copies of her new work just issued had been seized by the\nminister, although she had taken the precaution of submitting the\nproofs for approval to the censorship. This tyrannical measure was\nfollowed by an order to leave France within three days. She begged\nfor a short delay, hoping, by means of a German passport, to land in\nEngland; but to this request the Duc de Rovigo sent a positive refusal.\nMme. de Sta\u00ebl revenged herself later by placing the duke's letter in\nher second edition of _Germany_.\n\nFrom Foss\u00e9 she fled to Coppet. Here she found that the prefect of\nGeneva had received orders to destroy any proofs or copies of her\nwork that he could discover. At the same time, he hinted to Mme. de\nSta\u00ebl that she might soften the tyrant by seizing the opportunity to\nwrite an ode on the new-born \"King of Rome.\" \"My best wish for his\ninfant majesty,\" she replied, \"is, that he may have a good nurse.\"\nThis impertinence came to Napoleon's ears, and Mme. de Sta\u00ebl expiated\nit by a prohibition to move two leagues from Coppet. Her friends were\nfinally included in her disgrace. M. Schlegel, her son's tutor, was\nordered to resign his position in her family, and M. de Montmorency\nwas exiled for daring to give her the protection of his presence in\nreturn for the courageous hospitality he had received from her during\nthe Terror. Mme. R\u00e9camier was similarly punished for her boldness in\nbefriending the woman who defied Bonaparte. Hunted to earth while she\nremained on French soil, Mme. de Sta\u00ebl felt that nothing remained to\nher but to seek peace and security in flight. But whither should she\nfly? Bonaparte's spies were spread like a network over the Continent.\nThey would vie with each other in setting traps for her. Russia alone\noffered some chance of rest; so, one bright spring morning, Mme. de\nSta\u00ebl went out for a drive, and, instead of returning home, posted on\nthrough Switzerland and the Tyrol to Vienna. She quickly discovered\nthat it was not possible for her to tarry here; the tyrant's tools were\non her track. \"March! march!\" was still the cry of fate; and, like the\nWandering Jew, she sallied forth once more on her wanderings. Moscow\nseemed like a promised land where she might rest awhile; but, scarcely\nhad she drawn breath amidst the unmelted snows of the northern city,\nwhen the hunter was down upon her. The _Grande Arm\u00e9e_ was advancing\nrapidly on the Russian capital. \"March! march!\" And again the fugitive\nwas on the road, flying to St. Petersburg. Here at last came a respite.\nThe emperor and empress received her like a dethroned sovereign; the\nnobility followed suit, partly out of admiration for the gifted exile,\npartly in hatred to her foe, who was theirs also. She was entertained\nat public banquets, and became the lion of the hour. At one of these\nmagnificent _f\u00eates_ given in her honor, the toast, \"Success to the\nRussian arms against France!\" was proposed. Mme. de Sta\u00ebl seized her\nglass, and, with a sudden inspiration of patriotism, cried out: \"No,\nnot against France! against her oppressor!\" The amendment was adopted\nwith applause. But St. Petersburg was no safe retreat for the baroness\nwhile the French legions were at Moscow. She was advised by friends to\nfly, and, once more folding her tent, she carried it to Stockholm. Here\nshe was allowed to recruit her wearied limbs and more wearied spirit\nfor some months. She employed the interval of quiet in writing the\nrecollections called _Ten Years in Exile_. On leaving Sweden she set\nsail for England, with a view to publishing her famous _Allemagne_--the\nwork which had been the immediate cause of her recent persecutions,\nhaving exasperated Bonaparte beyond all powers of endurance. It was\nnot until the fall of her enemy that Mme. de Sta\u00ebl ventured to return\nto France. Her joy, however, at this twofold event was of short\nduration. The despot who knew no mercy to the weak was not to be bound\nby the chains of honor. He broke his plighted word, fled from Elba,\nand landed one morning on the shores of France. It was the signal\nfor Mme. de Sta\u00ebl to fly from them. Filled with patriotic grief and\npersonal dismay, she started immediately for Coppet. She had barely\narrived there when a letter followed her with the unexpected order to\nreturn to Paris, \"where the emperor considered her presence would be\nuseful in establishing constitutional ideas.\" But she, whom threats and\nexile had not daunted, was not to be beguiled by flattery. \"Tell your\nmaster,\" she replied to the writer of the singular invitation,--\"tell\nyour master that since he has got on for twelve years without me or the\nconstitution, he can do without us a little longer, and that at this\nmoment he hates one about as much as the other.\"\n\nWhat wonder if the health of this intrepid woman gave way, in spite of\nher indomitable spirit, under this long spell of mental and physical\nfatigue, and ceaseless vexation and disappointment. Her declining years\nwere consumed in intense suffering, borne with the utmost courage and\nresignation. She returned finally to France after the Restoration, and\nwas treated with every mark of esteem by Louis XVIII. He delighted in\nher conversation, and gave her a more substantial proof of good-will\nby restoring to her the two millions that her father had deposited in\nthe treasury before his fall. This act of justice bound her by ties of\nenduring gratitude to the king and his dynasty.\n\nBut she was not spared long to enjoy the honors that now surrounded\nher. Sorrow, and the despondency consequent on great bodily exhaustion,\nhad tempted Mme. de Sta\u00ebl into the deadly habit of using opium, and\nwhen once contracted she had not strength to relinquish it, even after\nthe cause that made the stimulant a necessity of existence to her had\ndisappeared. Her friends used every argument and every stratagem to\ncure her, but in vain. She fell into a state of lethargy, or rather\ninto a succession of lethargic slumbers, broken by sudden gleams of\nher old brightness. Her patience was very touching, and many evidences\nare preserved to show that she drew it from her unshaken faith in\nChristianity, however imperfect the form in which she had been reared,\nand to which she was outwardly attached. Once, on awaking from her\nslumbrous state, she exclaimed to those who surrounded her bed: \"It\nseems to me that I know now what the passage from life to death is; and\nI feel how God in his mercy softens it to us.\" She expired on the 14th\nof July, 1817, the anniversary of the very day on which her father's\nfalse theories and blind self-confidence had put the match to the\npowder and kindled that terrific conflagration which enveloped France\nin flames. Her remains were deposited at Coppet, in the tomb she had\nraised to the memory of the great financier.\n\nThose who were present at the reading of her will, heard for the first\ntime of her marriage with M. de Rocca. In that document she bade her\nchildren proclaim the fact, as also the birth of a boy by this union. A\nrelative and intimate friend of Mme. de Sta\u00ebl's gives us an account of\nher first meeting with her second husband:\n\n\"A young man of good birth excited much interest at Geneva by the\nstories current about his bravery, and by the contrast between his age\nand his fragile appearance and shattered health; the result of wounds\nreceived in Spain, where he had served in a French hussar regiment.\nA few words of sympathy addressed to him by Mme. de Sta\u00ebl produced a\nmost wonderful effect; his head and heart took fire. 'I will love her\nso well,' he vowed, 'that she will end by marrying me!' and he was\nright. Their affection for each other was of the deepest and tenderest\nkind. She lived in perpetual fear of losing him, owing to his delicate\nhealth; and yet it was he who survived her, but only a year; he died at\nHy\u00e8res, more from grief than from his infirmities, in his thirty-first\nyear.\"\n\nWe have said nothing of the person of this singularly gifted woman.\n\"She was,\" to quote the words of a contemporary, \"graceful in all\nher movements; her face, without being handsome, attracted your\nattention, and then fixed it; a sort of intellectual beauty radiated\nfrom her countenance, which seemed the reflex of her soul. Genius was\nvisible in her eyes, which were of a rare splendor; her glance had\na fire and strength that resembled the flash of the lightning, and\nwas the forerunner of the thunder-roll of her language; her large\nand well-proportioned figure gave a kind of energy and weight to her\ndiscourse. To this was added a certain dramatic effect. Though free\nfrom all exaggeration in her dress, she studied what was picturesque\nmore than what was the fashion. Her arms and hands were beautiful, and\nsingularly white.\"\n\nThis picture is an attractive one, and paints Mme. de Sta\u00ebl in very\ndifferent colors from those generally used by her portrayers. It is\nonly natural that a woman who had all her life been before the world,\nshould be variously judged by various people. A celebrated writer of\nher own day, who knew the author of _Corinne_ both as an author and a\nwoman, said that she would not be impartially judged until a century\nhad gone by. Napoleon raised her to a pedestal of martyrdom by his\nunmanly and cruel persecution, and the _\u00e9clat_ of her genius hid her\nindividual faults and errors in a haze of glory. She was hated by\nthe flatterers who fawned on the tyrant because she dared to defy\nhim. Some considered her a cold, masculine woman, who had none of the\ncharm of womanhood about her; while others, dazzled by her talent,\nidealized her as a sort of demigod. Distance enables us to estimate\nher more justly. She was a woman of unrivalled energy of character,\nof incomparably brilliant parts, and endowed with a heart equal in\ntenderness to the power of her genius. Her written style gives but a\nfaint idea of the lustre of her conversation. She was, perhaps, quite\nunparalleled in this last sphere. The play of wit, logic, and grace\nnever flagged for an instant, but kept her hearers spellbound as long\nas her voice was heard. Once, at a _soir\u00e9e_ at Mme. R\u00e9camier's, she got\ninto a discussion with the Archbishop of Sens, as to whether it was an\nadvantage or a misfortune for a nation to be in debt; the archbishop\ntook the latter view of the question, and they kept up the ball for\ntwo hours, until the excitement among the guests became so great that\nthey stood upon chairs in the adjoining _salon_ to enjoy the brilliancy\nof the intellectual combat. She was, as her death attests, a devout\nbeliever in Christianity. On one occasion, after listening to some\nmetaphysicians crossing lances over their pet theories, she remarked:\n\"The Lord's prayer says more to me than all that.\"\n\nFrom the repetition of this divine prayer during her long nights of\nsleeplessness she drew patience and resignation. By birth and education\na Protestant, she never allowed her lofty mind to be prejudiced against\nCatholics, and often spoke with enthusiasm of the heroic courage of\nthe martyred priests and bishops of the memorable 2d of September,\n1792. _The Imitation of Christ_ was her constant companion and solace\nduring her long illness. This woman of genius was a devoted mother.\nHer literary pursuits did not interfere with her maternal duties:\nshe superintended the education of her children herself, and often\nimpressed upon them that, \"if they fell away from the path of honor and\nduty it would be not alone an irreparable sorrow, but a remorse\" to\nher, as she would accuse herself of being the cause of it.\n\nShe was not happy in her first marriage, which was purely one of\n\"arrangement.\" There was no sympathy of taste or ideas between her and\nthe Baron de Sta\u00ebl; her separation from him was nevertheless a deep\nsource of pain to her, and she never would have consented to it but for\nthe ruinous state into which his imprudence and extravagance had thrown\nher financial affairs, and which must have led to the utter ruin of his\nfamily if they had been left longer in his hands. When his increasing\nyears and illness demanded the consolation of her companionship, she\nreturned to her husband with affectionate alacrity, and devoted herself\nto him until his death.\n\nThe multiplicity of Mme. de Sta\u00ebl's writings earned for her the\n_sobriquet_ of \"the female Voltaire.\" She began to write when most\ngirls of her age are still in pinafores; her early works are like the\nflights of a young eagle, betraying the fearless temerity of conscious\npower, combined with the inexperience of youth--she plunges into\ndepths, and soars to heights of metaphysics and philosophy with all\nthe audacity of untaught genius. _The Influence of the Passions on\nthe Happiness of Nations and Individuals_ is one of the most striking\nof those juvenile feats, and was quickly followed by others in the\nsame field. Her novels are undoubtedly the first of her claims on\nenduring fame. _Delphine_ is supposed to be Mme. de Sta\u00ebl as she was,\nand _Corinne_ as she wished to be. They are both masterpieces of the\nromantic school prevalent in that day, and they both inaugurated a new\nreign in fiction. The closing years of the author's agitated life were\ndevoted to the compilation of the volumes entitled _Considerations\non the French Revolution_--a work of great magnitude, and which was\nintended to embrace the full exposition and justification of her\nfather's policy and life, and a philosophical analysis of the theories\nof all known forms of government, as well as an elaborate history\nof the causes and effects of the Revolutionary crisis. The plan was\ncolossal in scope, and almost infinite in the variety of subjects it\nincluded; but death did not wait for her to finish it. Amongst her\nearliest literary productions we must not refuse a passing mention to\nher dramatic efforts. She was not twenty when _Sophie_ and _Jane Grey_\nearned for her a place amongst the most mature and brilliant writers of\nthe period. There is no doubt, if she had had leisure to pursue this\nvein, Mme. de Sta\u00ebl would have enriched the French language with some\nremarkable comedies and tragedies. Her works were collected after her\ndeath by the Baron de Sta\u00ebl, her son, and form a series of eighteen\nlarge volumes.\n\nThe interest of the subject has led us into a somewhat lengthy sketch\nof the life of this distinguished lady. French annals furnish a study,\nalmost unique, of women who were models of all womanly virtues, and\nyet by their brilliancy, wit, and conversance with public affairs were\nfitted to be the advisers of rulers and statesmen. We are very far\nfrom wishing to see the sex drawn out of their proper sphere, but when\nby natural and acquired talents they evince a vocation for affairs of\nstate, we think that governments may wisely accept their counsel, and\nthat their services are worthy of permanent record.\n\n\n\n\nFATHER SEBASTIAN RALE, S.J.\n\n\nThe rivalries of the French and English for dominion in the\nnorthwestern corner of our republic have deeply impressed themselves\nupon the pages of our history. The element of religious controversy was\nnot the least of the exciting causes which made that frontier the scene\nof angry strife. The French carried the Catholic faith wherever they\nerected the arms of their kings, and the natives flocked with ardor\nand conviction around the standard of the cross. Whatever may have\nbeen the merits of the respective parties in the contest for dominion,\nit is now the settled voice of history that the Catholic missionaries\nwere actuated by motives far above all earthly considerations, and that\ntheir cause was that of no earthly king, but was the sacred cause of\nthe King of Heaven.\n\nSebastian Rale was born of a good family in Franche-Comt\u00e9, in the year\n1658. At an early age he entered the Society of Jesus. After passing\nthrough the novitiate, he was engaged in teaching at the College of\nNismes. To fine natural abilities he added great industry, and thus\nbecame an accomplished scholar. A foreign mission was the object of his\nholy aspirations; and, after his ordination, he received directions\nfrom his superior to embark for Canada. He sailed from Rochelle on the\n23d of July, 1689, and, after a voyage without accidents, arrived at\nQuebec on the 13th of October following. As his destination was the\nmission among the Abnakis, the Men-of-the-East, he employed his time at\nQuebec in studying their language.\n\nIt was not long, however, before he was sent on the mission to St.\nFrancis, an Abnaki village, containing about two hundred inhabitants,\nmost of whom were Catholics. Among these, the gentlest of the Indian\ntribes in the North, his first essays at his favorite vocation were\nmade by this illustrious missionary.\n\nHe had commenced the study of the Abnaki dialect at Quebec; surrounded,\nas he now was, by the Abnakis themselves, he prosecuted that study with\ngreat industry. While acquiring their language, he was also engaged in\nwriting his Abnaki catechism and dictionary. Every day he spent some\ntime in their wigwams, in order to catch from the lips of the Indians\nthe idioms of their language; and he often subjected himself to their\nmerry laugh by uttering some sentence for the proposed catechism in his\nbroken Abnaki, which, as they rendered in the pure idiom, the patient\nstudent copied in his book. After two years' labor at St. Francis, he\nwas selected by the superior to succeed the missionary of the Illinois,\nwho had recently died, because that mission required a father who had\nalready acquired some one of the Algonquin dialects.\n\nBefore setting out for his Illinois missions, he spent three months at\nQuebec, studying the Algonquin language. On the 13th of August, 1691,\nhe launched his little bark canoe, for his long and arduous voyage to\nthe West. Slowly they moved onward; he and his companions landed night\nafter night to build their fire and erect their tent, which consisted\nof their little canoe turned up, as their only shelter from the storms.\nAfter those long days of labor and fasting, their slender meals were\nmade upon a vegetable, called by the French _tripe de roche_.[165] His\ncompanions were so exhausted on reaching Michilimackinac that he was\nobliged to stop and winter there. Well may the historian remark of\nthese expeditions of the Catholic missionaries to the West that \"all\nmust feel that their fearless devotedness, their severe labors, their\nmeek but heroic self-sacrifice, have thrown a peculiar charm over the\nearly history of a region in which the restless spirit of American\nenterprise is going forth to such majestic results.\"[166]\n\nF. Rale wintered at Michilimackinac with the two missionaries stationed\nthere, one of them having the care of the Hurons, and the other of\nthe Ottawas. Here, with the aid of F. Chaumonot's grammar, he learned\nsufficient of the Huron tongue--the key to most of those spoken in\nCanada--to assist the Huron missionary. Scarcely had the spring\nopened, when F. Rale was urging his canoe along the western coast of\nLake Michigan. He passed by the villages of the Mascoutens, Sacs,\nOutagamis or Winnebagoes, Foxes, and others, till he came to the bottom\nof the lake. Having reached the Illinois partly by river and partly\nby portage, he launched his canoe on that river, and glided down its\nstream one hundred and fifty miles, till he came to the great town\nof the Illinois Indians. This town contained about two thousand five\nhundred families, and the rest of the nation were scattered through\neleven other villages. F. Rale was welcomed to their country by the\ngreatest of Illinois feasts, \"the Feast of the Chiefs,\" at which the\nappetite was penanced by feeding on dogs, which were esteemed the\ngreatest of delicacies among the Indians, and of which a large number\nhad been served up on this occasion in honor of their distinguished\nguest. To every two persons an entire dish was allotted. The father\nmanifests no great relish for the food he received, but he expresses\nthe greatest admiration and astonishment at the powerful eloquence and\nwild beauty of the oration with which he was regaled on this occasion.\n\nF. Rale devoted himself with zeal to the care of his new flock. His\nprincipal difficulty consisted in overcoming in them the practice of\npolygamy. \"There would have been,\" he writes, \"less difficulty in\nconverting the Illinois did the Prayer permit polygamy among them. They\nacknowledged that the Prayer was good, and were delighted to have their\nwives and children instructed; but when we spoke on the subject to the\nbraves, we found how hard it was to fix their natural fickleness, and\ninduce them to take but one wife, and her for life.\" Again, the father\nwrites: \"When the hour arrives for morning and evening prayers, all\nrepair to the chapel. Not one, even the great medicine-men--that is to\nsay, our worst enemies--but sends his children to be instructed, and,\nif possible, baptized.\" The good missionary had the consolation of\nbaptizing numbers of sick infants before death carried them off, and\nthere were among the adults many devout Christians, to whom the faith\nwas dearer than their lives.\n\nAfter two years thus spent among the Illinois, his superior recalled\nF. Rale for other duties about the year 1695. During the return to\nQuebec, he instructed fully in the faith, and baptized, a young Indian\ngirl, whose edifying death afterwards this zealous father esteemed an\nample consolation and recompense for all the trials and hardships of\nhis life. On arriving at Quebec, he was assigned to the mission in the\nheart of the Abnaki country, which F. Bigot had re-established.\n\nBut this field, which F. Rale now entered as a minister of the gospel\nof peace, had become, during his absence, the scene of war. While he\nhad been laboring on the distant banks of the Illinois, the Abnakis\nhad sustained injuries from their English neighbors which provoked\nthem to take up the hatchet in defence and retaliation. Maj. Waldron,\nof Dover, had, in 1675, seized four hundred Indians of their tribe,\nand sold them into slavery in the West Indies. Though deeply incensed\nat this revolting crime, the Indians remained quiet till 1688, when,\nupon a breach of the peace of 1678 on the part of the English, they\ncould no longer restrain their fury. The war-cry was sounded through\nthe land, bands of infuriated and injured braves rushed upon the\nEnglish frontier, Dover was taken, and Waldron himself fell a captive\ninto their hands, and suffered a death most shocking, it is true, but\none which all must admit he had deserved as many times over, if that\nwere possible, as there had been victims of his rapacious inhumanity.\nPemaquid was next taken, and destruction was visited upon the entire\nline of frontier settlements. The colonists now proposed a peace,\nbut the Indians had already suffered too much from the violation of\ntreaties. They exclaimed: \"Nor we, nor our children, nor our children's\nchildren will ever make a peace or truce with a nation that kills us in\ntheir halls.\"\n\nBut the Abnakis, unsupported in the war by the French, were finally\nconstrained to accept the offer of peace--a peace as deceptive as\nformer ones had proved.\n\nThe following year the great and brave chief Taxus went to Pemaquid,\nwith some others, to propose an exchange of prisoners: admitted into\nthe fort for this purpose, they were treacherously fired upon, two of\nthem were killed, and Taxus killed two of the garrison in cutting his\nway through to make his escape.\n\nThis being the condition of the country at the time that F. Rale was\nsent there by his superior as missionary to the Catholic Abnakis,\nit may be easily judged how far that state of things is justly\nattributable to what Mather calls \"the charms of the French friar.\"\nFrom what has already been related, it is quite certain that there\nexisted sufficient causes for war on the part of the Indians without\nany influence from F. Rale, had he been there to exert it.\n\nSo far from instigating or countenancing acts of cruelty or blood on\nthe part of his flock, his office and his labors were those of peace\nand charity. His mission was to announce the glad tidings of the\nGospel: \"Glory to God on high, and peace on earth to men of good-will.\"\nAnd we have authority, not prejudiced in favor of his cause, for the\nassertion that he was not faithless to his sacred duty. Thus Gov.\nLincoln says: \"His followers were not only the bravest, but _the most\nsparing_, of the fierce race to which they belonged; and though spoil\nand havoc were their element, they could sometimes be generous and\nforbearing. But when the old man expired by the side of the altar he\nhad reared, the barbarism he had only in a measure controlled, broke\nloose with a ferocity not softened by the dogmas he had taught.\"[167]\n\nThe village of Narrantsouac, on the Kennebec, still called Indian Old\nPoint, became the residence of F. Rale. Here he found, on his arrival,\na little church and a flock of converted Indians remarkable for their\ndevotion and sincerity. They entertained a profound attachment to the\nPrayer, and great veneration for him who was its minister. Besides\nthis, they soon learned to love and esteem F. Rale as their best\nfriend; he was their arbitrator in all disputes, their physician in\nsickness, and their consoler in all their distresses. Religion was the\nreigning sentiment in this truly Christian community, and the little\nchapel, erected by the hands of the neophytes, became at once the\nobject of their love and the scene of their unalloyed devotion.\n\nAs game was scarce, the Abnakis bestowed much care and labor in the\ncultivation of their fields. After planting the seed in the spring,\nthey sallied forth on fishing parties to the sea-shore, accompanied\nby F. Rale. In these expeditions, a rustic altar, covered with an\nornamental cloth, was carried along, and the chapel-tent was pitched\nevery evening for prayer, and struck in the morning after Mass. On\nreaching the sea-shore a large bark cabin was erected for the church,\nand the wigwams of the Indians were arranged around it. Thus arose,\nas by the magic power of religion, a beautiful village on the distant\nsea-shore, with its chapel, priest, and flock, and there were heard\nthe pious chant and fervent prayer, there the mysteries of the faith\nwere taught to docile hearers, there devout confessions heard, and\nthere the bread of life distributed. The priest was truly the father\nof the faithful. He was also their companion and sympathetic friend.\nHunger, thirst, and fatigue he bore with them, and their sorrows, as\ntheir joys, were common. Yet in this rude and simple mode of life the\nfaithful Jesuit conformed himself to the strictest rules of his order.\nHis hours of rising and retiring, his Office, meditations, and all his\nspiritual exercises were as regular as those of his brethren in the\ncolleges of Europe. In order to avoid interruptions while saying his\nOffice or performing his other devotions, he would refrain from all\nconversation, except in cases of necessity, from evening prayers till\nafter Mass. His annual retreat was observed at the beginning of Lent\nwith the same scrupulous exactness. The pension which he was allowed\nby the French government he distributed among the more needy of his\nspiritual children.\n\nIn 1697, F. Rale heard, with solicitude for his flock, that a strange\nand unconverted tribe--the Amalingans--were coming to settle near to\nNarrantsouac. He feared for the faith and morals of his neophytes\nwhen exposed to the tricks of the medicine-men and the seductive\ngames and dances of such superstitious neighbors. He was engaged in\nthe confessional all the evening before Corpus Christi and during the\nmorning of the festival till near noon. In the meantime, deputies from\nthe newly arrived Amalingans came, bearing presents, according to the\nIndian custom, for the relatives of some Abnakis recently destroyed\nby the English. Towards noon the procession of the blessed sacrament\nbegan to move with a degree of magnificence that astonished those\nnatives of the wilderness. Struck as were the Amalingan deputies with\nthe solemnity, the earnestness, and the majesty of the scene, they\nlistened with conviction to the fervent and eloquent words of the\nfather, who seized upon so favorable an occasion to acquaint them with\nthe existence and attributes of the Deity, whose worship they then\nbeheld. How sublime and beautiful must have been the appeal which the\nzealous missionary made to those astonished warriors! The deputies\nwere convinced, but they could not accept the prayer before laying\nthe words of the Black Gown before the assembled sachems of their\ntribe, who were expected to arrive in the autumn. During the summer,\nthe father sent them a message, reminding them of his words and their\npromise. In due time the answer was returned, that they desired to\nembrace the Prayer, and they invited the Black Gown chief to come\namong them, and bring the wampum of the faith. It happened that\nNarrantsouac was then deserted by its inhabitants, who were on one of\ntheir excursions; and F. Rale set out in his canoe for the village of\nthe Amalingans, who received him with every honor, and welcomed him\nwith a salute of musketry. Soon a cross was raised in the centre of\nthe village and a bark chapel was erected. The missionary visited the\ncabins and instructed the catechumens. After Mass every day, three\npublic instructions were given; between these they received private\ninstructions in their cabins. Four chiefs and two matrons were first\nbaptized; then followed two bands of twenty each, and finally the\nentire tribe publicly received the Prayer and were baptized. A public\nassembly was then held, and the missionary received the simple but\ntouching tokens of their gratitude and love, and then he returned in\nhis canoe to Narrantsouac, while the Christian Amalingans departed for\nthe sea-shore. F. Rale found no difficulty afterwards in uniting in one\nnation the two tribes that were now members of the one fold of Christ.\n\nIn 1698, F. Rale, by the aid of means and skilful labor sent from\nQuebec, succeeded in erecting a neat but simple chapel at his village\nof Narrantsouac, or Norridgewock. In this their new chapel the Abnaki\nChristians assembled to unite with the universal church in the solemn\nrites of the Catholic worship. It was there in their own native\nwilderness that those Men-of-the-East were contented to worship God\nin security and peace. But, strange as it may appear, the New England\nsettlers, themselves professing Christianity, saw with jealousy and\ndislike a Christian temple erected by the Abnakis for Christian\nworship, while all the heathen tribes of New England were left free\nand uncared for in their horrid superstitions and brutal sacrifices.\nThis feeling on their part appears the more extraordinary, since at\nthat time Acadia had been restored to France by the treaty of Ryswick,\nin 1697; that the Catholic faith had been professed by the Abnakis for\nhalf a century; and the Jesuit missionaries had been their pastors\nduring all that period.\n\nThe interval of peace now enjoyed seems not to have resulted in\nstrengthening the friendship nor in conciliating the good-will and\nconfidence of the Indians. Fresh aggressions were from time to time\ncommitted upon them by their white neighbors. But a blow was struck at\ntheir chosen and beloved pastors which exhibits the true sentiments\nentertained on the one side and the grievances endured on the other.\nOn the 15th of June, 1700, a law was passed, which recited: \"Whereas,\ndivers Jesuit priests and Popish missionaries, by their subtile\ninsinuations, industriously labor to debauch, seduce, and withdraw\nthe Indians from their due obedience unto his majesty, and to excite\nand stir them up to sedition, rebellion, and open hostility against\nhis majesty's government,\" and then proceeded to enact, in reference\nto the same priests and missionaries, that \"they shall depart from\nand out of the same province on or before the 10th day of September,\n1700.\" In case any one of them should be found in the province after\nthat time, it was provided that he \"shall be deemed and accounted an\nincendiary and disturber of the public peace and safety, and an enemy\nto the Christian religion, and shall be adjudged to suffer perpetual\nimprisonment. And if any person, being so sentenced and actually\nimprisoned, shall break prison and actually escape, and be afterwards\nretaken, he shall be punished with death.\"[168] Gov. Bellamont, by his\ninfluence, secured in New York also the passage of a law \"for hanging\nevery Popish priest that came voluntarily into the province, which was\noccasioned by the great number of French Jesuits who were continually\npractising upon our Indians.\"[169]\n\nUpon the accession of Gov. Dudley to office, in 1692, he solicited a\nconference with the Abnakis, and accordingly a conference was held\non an island in Casco Bay. The object of the governor was to secure\nthe neutrality of the Indians, in case the French and English went\nto war. Penhallow and such as follow him contend that the governor\nsucceeded in his purpose, and secured a promise from the Indians not to\njoin their allies, the French, in case of war. But treaties had been\nimposed upon those unlettered warriors which they never understood,\nand, consequently, never entered into. Besides, F. Rale, who had the\nadvantage over Penhallow of having been present at the conference,\ngives quite a different statement of the affair. F. Rale, at the\nrequest of the Indians, accompanied them to the conference. \"Thus,\"\nhe relates himself, \"I found myself where neither I nor the governor\nwished me to be.\" The governor and the missionary exchanged the usual\ncivilities, and then the former, stepping back among his people, made\nhis propositions to the Indians in an address, which he concluded\nwith an offer to supply their wants, take their furs, and supply them\nwith merchandise in return \"at a moderate price.\" An English minister\naccompanied the governor, whose presence could have had no other object\nin view than a tender of his services to the Abnakis in lieu of those\nof F. Rale; but the latter supposes that his own presence disconcerted\nthat portion of the plan. When the Indians retired to consult together,\nGov. Dudley approached F. Rale, and said: \"I beg you, sir, not to\ninduce your Indians to make war upon us.\" \"No, sir, my religion and my\nsacred calling require me to give them only counsels of peace,\" was the\nprompt and appropriate reply. The Indians soon returned and gave the\nfollowing answer through their orator: \"Great chief, you have told us\nnot to unite with the Frenchman if you declare war against him. Know\nthat the Frenchman is my brother; we have but the same Prayer, we dwell\nin the same cabin--he at one fire, I at the other. If I see you enter\ntowards the fire where my brother, the Frenchman, is seated, I watch\nyou from my mat at the other. If I see a tomahawk in your hand, I say,\nWhat will the Englishman do with that hatchet? and I would rise to see.\nIf he raise it to strike my brother, I grasp mine, and rush upon him.\nCould I sit still and see my brother struck? No! no! I love my brother,\nthe Frenchman, too well not to defend him. I therefore tell thee, great\nchief, do no harm to my brother, and I will do none to thee. Remain\nquiet on thy mat; I will remain so on mine.\" \"Thus,\" says F. Rale, \"the\nconference ended.\"\n\nPeace was soon interrupted. War broke out between England and France\nin 1703, and involved their respective colonies on this continent in\nthe contest. The Abnakis of Maine joined their French allies, and both\nsides felt the ravages of war to a fearful degree. The Indians, who\nhad long been impatient under the encroaching policy of their white\nneighbors, carried on the war with destructive fury. Casco was taken,\nthe New England villages, forts, and farms were pillaged, and six\nhundred of the inhabitants led away captives. As a minister of peace\nand mercy, F. Rale endeavored to subdue the wild passions of his\ninjured and infuriated Indians, as has been seen above by the testimony\nof Gov. Lincoln; but the people of New England visited upon him all the\nblame for the calamities which their own wrong policy had occasioned.\n\nAmong the hostile movements of the English during the war was an\nexpedition against Norridgewock, the residence of F. Rale. In the\nwinter of 1705, \"when the snow lay four feet deep,\" and \"the country\nlooked like a frozen field,\" Col. Hilton led an expedition of two\nhundred and seventy men against Norridgewock. The village, all deserted\nas it was by its inhabitants, was easily taken. The intended victim,\nhowever, was not there; for the missionary was absent with the tribe,\nas it was his habit to accompany them to the sea-shore. But the cabins\nand the chapel were there; the torch was applied, and soon one blaze\nenveloped the church and the village. When the missionary returned, he\nshuddered at the sacrilege he saw, and wept over the calamities of his\npeople. A bark chapel soon rose from the ashes of the church which had\nbeen destroyed, and in it he dispensed the consolations of religion to\nhis flock for several years.\n\nDuring this year, F. Rale had the misfortune to sustain a fall of\nsuch violence as to break his right thigh and left leg, and in this\ncondition he was compelled to make the painful journey to Quebec for\nsurgical aid. The fractured parts were so imperfectly cemented together\nthat he had to submit to the severe operation of having his leg broken\nagain and reset. During his sufferings, not a groan escaped him; and\nthe surgeon who attended him has expressed his wonder at such an\nexhibition of Christian patience and love of suffering. As soon as his\nwounds permitted him to return, he was again at his post in his little\nsanctuary in the wilderness, where, amid personal dangers the most\nappalling, he continued calmly and without fear the discharge of his\nsacred duties.\n\nIn the meantime, the English were determined to get rid of him, and the\nGeneral Court of Massachusetts, in November, 1720, passed a resolution\nfor that purpose. John Leighton, Sheriff of York, was commissioned to\narrest him. If not found, he was to demand him of the Indians; upon\ntheir refusal, the Indians themselves were to be taken and carried to\nBoston. Every effort was made to induce the Indians to betray their\npastor into the hands of his enemies, or at least to send him away from\nthe country. They made many attempts to seize him by force or take\nhim by surprise, and an offer of \u00a31,000 was made for his head. Such\nwas their horror of Jesuit sorcery! \"I should be too happy,\" says the\nobject of their hatred, \"were I to become their victim, or did God deem\nme worthy to be loaded with chains, and shed my blood for the salvation\nof my dear Indians.\" This was said in no spirit of bravado or vain\ndisplay; for the sequel will show how firmly, yet how meekly, he laid\ndown his life for his altar and his flock.\n\nIn the midst of the wars that desolated the country, it was his mild\nspirit and humane counsels that served to moderate the natural ferocity\nof the Indian character. Instead of urging the infliction of cruelty\nupon those who had so long sought his life, he endeavored to secure\nfor his enemies every mildness consistent with the laws of war. \"I\nexhorted them,\" says F. Rale, \"to maintain the same interest in their\nreligion as if they were at home; to observe carefully the laws of\nwar; to practise no cruelty; to kill no one except in the heat of\nbattle; and to treat the prisoners humanely.\" His solicitude for peace\nduring the period of which we have been speaking, at the very moment\nthat his enemies accused him as an instigator of mischief, and his\nkind sentiments towards them, may be seen from the following letter\naddressed to the authorities at Boston:\n\n                                             NARRANTSOAK, Nov. 18, 1712.\n\n  SIR: The Governor-General of Canada advises me by a letter, which\n  reached here some days ago, that the last royal vessel, arrived at\n  Quebec Sept. 30, announces that peace is not yet concluded between\n  the two crowns of France and England; that, however, it was much\n  talked of. Such are his words.\n\n  Other letters, which I have received, inform me that the Intendant,\n  just come out in that vessel, says that when on the point of\n  embarking at Rochelle, a letter was received from M. de Tallard,\n  assuring them that peace was made, and would be published in the\n  latter part of October.\n\n  Now, this cannot be known in Canada, but you may know it at Boston,\n  where vessels come at all seasons. If you know anything, I beseech\n  you to let me know, that I may send instantly to Quebec, over the\n  ice, to inform the Governor-General, so that he may prevent the\n  Indians from any act of hostility. I am, sir, perfectly your very\n  humble and obedient servant,\n\n                                                    SEB. RALE, S.J.[170]\n\n\nAt length the tidings of the peace of Utrecht, 30th March, 1713,\narrived, and restored quiet to New France and New England. Gov. Dudley\ncalled the Indians together in conference at Portsmouth in July,\n1713, and announced to them that peace had been made, and proposed to\nthem: \"If you are willing, you and we will live in peace.\" He then\ninformed them that the French had ceded Placentia and Port Royal to\nthe English. The Indians, through their orator, replied that they had\ntaken up the hatchet because their allies, the French, had taken it\nup, and they were willing now to cast it away, since the French had\nlaid it down, and to live in peace. Then the orator added: \"But you\nsay that the Frenchman has given you Placentia and Port Royal, which\nis in my neighborhood, with all the land adjacent. He may give you\nwhat he pleases. As for me, I have my land, which the Great Spirit has\ngiven me to live upon. While there shall be one child of my nation upon\nit, he will fight to keep it.\" Penhallow gives a somewhat different\naccount of this conference; but that of F. Rale is more in keeping with\nthe previous history of the Indians, and more consonant with their\ncharacter. If they acknowledged themselves subjects of Great Britain,\nthey knew no better in this than in previous similar instances what\nthey were doing, for they understood not the language attributed to\nthem.\n\nIt may be judged how welcome peace must have been to F. Rale from the\nalacrity with which he availed himself of it to attend to the religious\ninterests of his people. To rebuild his church was the first object\nof his solicitude. As Boston was so much nearer than Quebec, the\nchiefs sent deputies to the former place, in order to procure workmen\nfor rebuilding the church, for whose services they offered to pay\nliberally. The governor gave them a most friendly reception, and, to\ntheir astonishment, offered to rebuild their church at his own expense,\n\"since the French governor had abandoned them.\" Their astonishment,\nhowever, was soon changed into indignation when they heard the\ncondition annexed to this apparently generous offer, which was that\nthey should dismiss their own pastor, and receive in his place an\nEnglish minister. \"When you first came here,\" replied the indignant\ndeputies by their orator, \"you saw me a long time before the French\ngovernors, but neither your predecessors nor your ministers ever spoke\nto me of Prayer or of the Great Spirit. They saw my furs, my beaver and\nmoose skins, and of these alone they thought; these alone they sought,\nand so eagerly that I have not been able to supply them enough. When I\nhad much, they were my friends; but only then. One day my canoe missed\nthe route; I lost my way, and wandered a long time at random, until at\nlast I landed near Quebec, in a great village of the Algonquins,[171]\nwhere the Black Gowns were teaching. Scarcely had I arrived, when one\nof them came to see me. I was loaded with furs, but the Black Gown of\nFrance disdained to look at them. He spoke to me of the Great Spirit,\nof heaven, of hell, of the Prayer, which is the only way to reach\nheaven. I heard him with joy, and was so pleased with his words that\nI remained in the village to hear 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 of it. They,\ntoo, went to the Black Gown to be baptized. Thus have the French acted.\nHad you spoken to me of the Prayer as soon as we met, I should now be\nso unhappy as to pray like you; for I could not have told whether your\nPrayer was good or bad. Now I hold to the Prayer of the French; I agree\nto it; I shall be faithful to it, even until the earth is burnt and\ndestroyed. Keep your men, your gold, and your minister. I will go to\nmy French father.\"\n\nThe required aid was obtained from the French governor; workmen were\nsent from Quebec, and the church was built soon after the peace. \"It\npossesses a beauty,\" says the missionary, \"which would cause it to\nbe admired even in Europe, and nothing has been spared to adorn it.\"\nSubsequently two little chapels were erected, about three hundred paces\nfrom the chapel, by workmen obtained probably from Boston; and these\nchapels are probably what Hutchinson in 1724 alludes to as having been\n\"built a few years before by carpenters from New England.\" One of\nthem was dedicated to the Blessed Virgin, the other to their guardian\nangel. There, in his new church and chapels, with the aid of rich\nvestments and sacred vessels given by some of his friends, and with the\nseraphic music of forty innocent Indian boys, all dressed in cassocks\nand surplices, F. Rale conducted the solemn offices of the church\nin the wilderness with a splendor and beauty not unworthy of more\nfavored lands. The processions on Corpus Christi were quite unique and\nbeautiful. On these occasions the church and chapels were ornamented\nwith the trinkets and fine work of the squaws, and burning tapers\nmade by the Indians from the wax berries growing on their own native\nshores, and were thronged with ardent and sincere worshippers--the\nsimple children of the forest gathering around the Holy of Holies, and\npresenting a scene in which angels themselves might love to mingle.\n\nThe following account of F. Rale's daily life cannot but prove\ninteresting: \"He rose at four, and, after meditation, said Mass at\ndaybreak, which all the Indians heard, and during it chanted their\nprayers aloud; at its close he generally, on week-days, made a short\nexhortation, to inspire them with good thoughts, then dismissing them\nto the labors of the day. He then began to catechise the children\nand the young; the aged, too, were there, all answering with the\ndocility of children. Then, after a slight meal, he sat in his chamber\nto despatch the various matters laid before him--their plans, their\ntroubles, domestic disquiets, or intended marriages--in a word, to\ndirect them all. Towards noon he would go to work in his garden, and\nthen split his wood to cook his little mess of hominy; for this may be\nsaid to have been his only food. Wine he never tasted, even when among\nthe French.\n\n\"After this frugal repast, he visited the sick, and went to particular\ncabins to give instruction where it was more needed; and if a public\ncouncil or feast was to take place, he must be present; for they never\nproceeded to the one without first hearing his advice, nor to the other\nwithout his blessing on the food, which was ready to be placed on the\nbark plates, which each one brought, and with which he immediately\nretired to his cabin.\n\n\"The evening was left him to say his Breviary and give some time to\nprayer and reading; but this was so often intrenched upon that at last\nhe made it a rule never to speak from before evening prayer till after\nMass on the following day, unless he was called to a sick-bed.\"[172]\n\nIn the course of a few years, the free spirit of the Indians began\nto grow impatient under the encroachments of the whites. Not only\ntheir hunting-grounds, but even their fields for cultivation, were\ncircumscribed. A conference with Gov. Shute was held at Georgetown in\nAugust, 1717, but it was evident that redress for the Indians formed no\npart of the governor's designs. He refused to treat with them otherwise\nthan as subjects; he would not acknowledge their natural liberty nor\ntheir hereditary title to their hunting-grounds; nor would he fix a\nboundary beyond which the encroachments of the white men should not\nextend. They were told, however, that the English wished them to become\nof one religion with themselves; an English Bible was given to them,\nand the governor told them that the Rev. Mr. Baxter, who accompanied\nhim, would become their teacher and pastor. Thus it seems that the\ngovernor with one hand presented them a Bible, and with the other\ngrasped their lands. When a letter from F. Rale, pleading in behalf\nof his children, was handed to the governor, he treated it with great\ncontempt. \"He let them know,\" says Hutchinson, \"that he highly resented\nthe insolence of the Jesuit.\"[173] Another mock treaty was now entered\ninto by the aid of interpreters. F. Rale always protested against it as\nfraudulent, and announced to the New Englanders that the Norridgewocks\ndid not recognize it. He never ceased his paternal efforts in behalf of\nhis Indians, and repeatedly addressed letters to the governor and other\nleading men of New England, demanding justice for them.[174]\n\nHaving tried every means of gaining over the Indians to their cause\nin vain, the New Englanders next attacked them in the point which\nseemed to attach them more than any other to the French; this was their\nreligion. The Rev. Mr. Baxter, a minister of ability and education,\nas well as of an ardent zeal against Popery, undertook to evangelize\nthe Abnakis. \"Thus,\" says Bancroft, \"Calvin and Loyola met in the\nwoods of Maine.\" The Protestant minister established at Georgetown a\nschool, which was supported by the government, and, by means of every\nattraction and inducement which he could present to them, endeavored\nfirst to gain the children. But their hearts had already been too\ndeeply impressed with religion by the Catholic missionaries to\nreceive the Prayer from any person other than the Black Gown. He then\nendeavored, but with the same result, to gain his point by addresses\nand harangues to the parents, the chiefs, and braves of the tribe. \"He\nnext assailed the religion of the Indians. He put various questions\nconcerning their faith, and, as they answered, he turned into ridicule\nthe sacraments, purgatory, the invocation of saints, beads, Masses,\nimages, and the other parts of the Catholic creed and ritual.\"[175]\n\nF. Rale saw at once that he must meet the danger thus threatened to the\nfaith of his flock. He addressed a respectful letter to Mr. Baxter,\ncovering an essay of one hundred pages, in which he undertook to defend\nand prove, \"by Scripture, by tradition, and by theological arguments,\"\nthose tenets and practices of the Catholic Church which the minister\nhad endeavored to ridicule. In the letter enclosing the essay he\nremarked that the Indians knew how to believe, but not how to dispute,\nand the missionary felt it to be his duty to take up the controversy in\nbehalf of his neophytes. Mr. Baxter's reply treated F. Rale's arguments\nas puerile and ridiculous. Finding, however, that his mission was a\nfruitless one, Mr. Baxter returned to Boston. The correspondence did\nnot cease here; but, after Mr. Baxter's return to Boston, the letters\nturned upon the purity of their Latinity, rather than the theology of\nthe respective controversialists. F. Rale remained at his post, the\nfaithful guardian of his flock.\n\nThe grievances of which the Indians had been long complaining still\nremained unredressed. In 1719 another conference was held, but with\nno better result than the previous one at Georgetown. Fresh causes\nof resentment were added. Some Indians entered an English house to\ntrade, when suddenly they found themselves surrounded by a force ten\ntimes stronger than their own. When about to cut their way through,\ntheir arms were arrested by a request on the part of the English for a\nparley, and they were told that the English only wished to invite some\nof their number to visit the governor at Boston. Four chiefs consented\nto go, and, when they arrived, they were detained as hostages, to\nsecure the payment of a large ransom demanded by the English for\ndamages sustained by them from depredations committed by the tribe.\nThe prisoners appealed to their countrymen for relief, and the ransom\nwas accordingly paid; but even then the English refused to release\nthem. A conference was invited by the governor, but this was done\nmerely to prevent an immediate rupture. At the designated time, July,\n1721, the chiefs, accompanied by F. Rale; La Chasse, the superior of\nthe missions; Croisel, and the young Castine, repaired to Georgetown,\nbut the governor did not meet them there. La Chasse then drew up a\nletter in Indian, French, and English, setting forth the claims of the\nIndians, and sent it to Gov. Shute. No notice was ever taken of it.\n\nIn December, 1721, the English seized the young Castine, son of the\nBaron de Castine by an Indian wife, and a great favorite with the\nAbnakis. \"The ungenerous and unjust arrest of this young man,\" says Dr.\nFrancis, \"incensed to the highest degree the countrymen of his mother,\namong whom he had always lived.\"\n\nStill, the Indians refrained from retaliation. Another act of\naggression soon followed; a detachment of two hundred and thirty men,\ntowards the end of 1721, or early in 1722, were sent to seize the\nCatholic missionary. As this party entered the Kennebec, two young\nbraves, hunting near the shore, saw them, and, after following them for\nsome distance unobserved, struck into the woods and gave the alarm at\nNorridgewock, which was then nearly deserted. Scarcely had F. Rale time\nto consume the consecrated host on the altar to save it from sacrilege,\nand secure the sacred vessels. He fled precipitately to the woods,\nimpeded as he was by the painful condition of the wounds received\nin the severe fall he had received as related above. The English\narrived in the evening, and, having waited till morning, pursued him\nto the woods. They carefully scoured every place, and at one time\ncame within eight steps of their intended victim, and yet passed away\nwithout seeing him, though only half concealed behind a small tree.\nThe pursuers then returned disappointed to Norridgewock, where they\npillaged the house of God and the missionary's residence, and then\nretired, carrying away with them everything belonging to F. Rale--his\ndesk, papers, inkstand, and the Abnaki _Dictionary_, which he had\ncommenced at St. Francis in 1691. He suffered the extremes of hunger\nwhile thus in the woods, flying from the pursuit of his enemies; yet\nhis courage and resolution remained firm and cheerful. So great were\nthe dangers that threatened him at every moment that his affectionate\nneophytes, and even his superior, advised him to retire for the present\nto Quebec. He always answered: \"God has committed this flock to my\ncare, and I will share its lot, being too happy, if permitted, to\nsacrifice my life for it.\" In a letter to his nephew he asks: \"What\nwill become of the flock, if it be deprived of its shepherd? I do not\nin the least fear the threats of those who hate me without cause. 'I\ncount not my life dear unto myself, so that I may finish my course with\njoy,' and the ministry I have received of the Lord Jesus.\"\n\nWhile thus the object of deadly pursuit on the part of the English\ncolonists, F. Rale enjoyed the purest consolation in the love and\naffection of his devoted flock. On one occasion, while he was\naccompanying them on a hunting party, they suddenly perceived that he\nwas missing, and the report was started that the English had broken\ninto his cabin and carried him off. Their grief was only equalled by\ntheir fury, and at once the braves began to prepare for an effort to\nrescue their pastor at the hazard of their lives. Two of their number,\nhowever, afterwards went to his cabin, and there they found him,\nwriting the life of a saint in their own language. Transported with\njoy, they exclaimed: \"We were told that the English had carried you\noff, and our warriors were going to attack the fort, where we thought\nthey had doubtlessly imprisoned you!\" \"You see, my children,\" replied\nthe father, \"that your fears were unfounded; but your affectionate care\nof me fills my heart with joy; it shows you love the Prayer.\" But as\nsome of the warriors were starting, he added: \"Set out, immediately\nafter Mass, to overtake the others, and undeceive them.\"\n\nOn another occasion he was with them at a great distance from home,\nwhen the alarm was given that the English were within a few hours'\nmarch of the encampment. All insisted on his flying back to the\nvillage. At daybreak he started with two Indians as his escort. The\njourney was long, the provisions were out, and the father had for his\nonly food a species of wood, which he softened by boiling. In crossing\na lake, which had begun to thaw, he narrowly escaped being drowned\nhimself in his effort to assist another. Saved from this danger, he\nwas not the less exposed to death from cold. On the following day\nthey crossed the river on broken pieces of ice, and were soon at the\nvillage. He was welcomed back by a sumptuous feast, consisting of corn\nand bear's meat; and when he expressed his astonishment and thanks\nfor such a banquet, the Indians replied: \"What, father! you have been\nfasting for two days; can we do less? Oh! would to God we could always\nregale you so!\" But while he was thus feasting, his children elsewhere\nwere mourning over his supposed death. His deserted cabin on the shore\nled some, who knew nothing of his flight, to believe that he had been\nkilled. One of these erected a stake on the banks of a river, and to\nit attached a piece of paper-birch bark, on which he had drawn with\ncharcoal a picture of some English surrounding F. Rale, and one was\nrepresented cutting off the Black Gown's head. When the main body of\nthe Indians came that way, and saw the pictorial writing, its meaning\nsank deep into their hearts, and they were overwhelmed with grief. They\ntore out the long scalp-locks from their heads, and then sat on the\nground around the stake, where they remained motionless and without\nuttering a word till the next day. Such was their mode of manifesting\nthe most intense grief. But what must have been their joy, when, on\nreturning to the village, they saw their beloved father reciting his\nOffice on the banks of the river!\n\nIt would appear, from a letter in the _Massachusetts Historical\nCollections_, attributed to F. Rale, that he accompanied the expedition\nthat destroyed Berwick. It is quite evident, from what has been related\nof the determination of the English to destroy him, and of the repeated\nefforts they made to accomplish that deadly purpose, that F. Rale would\nnot have been safe at Norridgewock or anywhere apart from the main\nbody of his people. It is not likely that his devoted children, who\nsaw his danger, and were solicitous for his safety, would permit him\nto remain behind, exposed to the constant attempts of his enemies upon\nhis life. His presence in the expedition against Berwick was enough,\nwith his enemies, to confirm their charge that he led them on to war\nagainst the English. The truth is, their own pursuit of him rendered\nhis presence there justifiable, as necessary for his own safety, if it\nwere not justifiable on the ground that he was their chaplain in war\nas in peace, and that his presence among them was more necessary for\nthe religious consolation of the dying, as well as for moderating, by\nthe counsels we have already seen him giving them, the usual cruelties\nof war. It does not become his accusers, however, to dwell upon this\ncharge, who themselves have boasted of the warlike feats of the Rev.\nMr. Fry, who scalped and killed his Indian in Lovell's expedition, and\nwas killed fighting in the thickest of the engagement.\n\nIt has already been seen how the Indians were, by repeated injuries,\ndriven at last to take up the hatchet. When once at war, they\nprosecuted it with terrible energy and destructive fury. And though\ntheir humanity on several occasions contrasted with the cruelty of\ntheir civilized antagonists, the young settlements of New England\nsuffered much at their hands during this contest.\n\nIn the summer of 1724, hostilities on the part of the Indians had begun\nto moderate, and peace was already spoken of between the respective\nparties. But this did not restrain the fury of the English. On the\n23d of August an expedition of little over two hundred, consisting of\nEnglish and their Mohawk allies, rushed suddenly from the thickets\nupon the unconscious village of Norridgewock. The first notice the\nIndians received was the rattling of the volleys of their assailants\namong their bark cabins. Consternation seized upon the inhabitants;\nthe women and children fled, but the few braves who were then at the\nvillage rushed to arms to defend their altar and their homes. The\nstruggle was indeed a desperate one. F. Rale, when he perceived the\ncause of the excitement in the village, knew that himself was the chief\nobject of the enemy's pursuit. Hoping, too, to draw off the fury of the\nassailants from his neophytes upon himself, he went forth. No sooner\nhad he reached the Mission Cross, where the fight was raging, than a\nshout of exultation arose from two hundred hostile voices, and, though\na non-combatant, a discharge of musketry was immediately levelled at\nhis venerable form. Pierced with balls, he fell lifeless at the foot\nof the cross. Seven principal chiefs lay dead around their saintly\npastor and devoted father. The battle was now over, but the victory\nseemed too easy for the victors; they approached to wreak further\nvengeance upon the lifeless form of F. Rale. They hacked and mutilated\nthe corpse, split open the head, broke the legs, and otherwise brutally\ndisfigured it. Then proceeding to the house of God, the assailants\nrifled the altar, desecrated the sacred vessels and the adorable\nHost, and then committed the church to the devouring flames. After\nthe English had retired, some of the orphaned flock of Norridgewock\nreturned to their desolated home; they first sought for the body of\ntheir good father, and, having found it, they piously interred it\nbeneath the spot where the altar stood.\n\nAfter reading the incidents of the life of F. Rale, the reader would\nbe astonished to peruse the accounts given by New England writers. But\nthe latter bear on their face the evidence that they were the result,\nnot of candid investigation, but of the bitterest partisan prejudice.\nThere may be some explanation of their tone, though no voucher for\ntheir accuracy, in the fact that Penhallow derived his accounts from\ninterpreters, who were known not to be faithful. Charlevoix and De\nla Chasse knew F. Rale personally, and they give us the strongest\nassurances of his innocence, his sanctity, and his many heroic virtues.\nM. de Bellemont, Superior of the Sulpician Seminary at Montreal,\nentertained so exalted an opinion of his merits that he did not\nhesitate to apply to him the words of S. Augustine: \"Injuriam facit\nmartyri, qui orat pro eo.\"\n\nThe accounts hostile to F. Rale have been derived chiefly from\nPenhallow, who was actuated by the strongest party feeling. A single\nspecimen from his pen will show how he felt towards the person, as\nwell as the religion, of F. Rale; it contains a repetition of the\nold calumny about the merit of destroying heretics, which no educated\nperson would in our day repeat: \"We scalped twenty-six besides M. Rale,\nthe Jesuit, a most bloody incendiary, and instrumental to most of the\nmischiefs done us by preaching up the doctrine of meriting salvation by\nthe destruction of heretics. He even made the offices of devotion serve\nas incentives to their ferocity, and kept a flag on which was depicted\na cross surrounded by bows and arrows, which he used to hoist on a pole\nat the door of his church when he gave them absolution previous to\ntheir engaging in any warlike enterprise.\" Now, the flag that awakened\nso much horror in the breast of the New England chronicler was a simple\nIndian Sunday-school banner, than which nothing could have been more\ninnocent. F. Rale, artist as well as priest, had decorated his Indian\nchurch with pious paintings executed by himself, to excite the piety\nand zeal of his neophytes. Amongst other similar representations,\nsuitable for pleasing the simple tastes of the natives, was the flag in\nquestion, ornamented with the cross and the arrow, emblems of the faith\nand of the country. A glance would have convinced any passer-by that it\nwas the banner of an Indian church, and no sensible person in our day\ncould object to see such an one used by the Indians of Florida, Oregon,\nor other hostile Indian country within our territory or bordering on\nour frontier.\n\nDr. Francis, who in his life of Rale follows by preference the New\nEngland accounts, sums up his estimate of our missionary's character as\nfollows: \"But whatever abatements from indiscriminate praise his faults\nor frailties may require, I cannot review his history without receiving\na deep impression that he was a pious, devoted, and extraordinary man.\nHere was a scholar, nurtured amid European learning, and accustomed\nto the refinements of one of the most intellectual nations of the Old\nWorld, who banished himself from the pleasures of home and from the\nattractions of his native land, and passed thirty-five years of his\nlife in the forests of an unbroken wilderness, on a distant shore,\namidst the squalid rudeness of savage life, and with no companions\nduring those long years but the wild men of the woods. With them he\nlived as a friend, as a benefactor, as a brother; sharing their coarse\nfare, their disgusting modes of life, their perils, their exposures\nunder the stern inclemency of a hard climate; always holding his life\ncheap in the toil of duty, and at last yielding himself a victim to\ndangers which he disdained to escape. And all this that he might gather\nthese rude men, as he believed, into the fold of the church; that he\nmight bring them to what he sincerely held to be the truth of God and\nthe light of heaven.\"\n\nMr. Bancroft thus describes the life and character of the subject\nof this memoir: \"At Norridgewock, on the banks of the Kennebec, the\nvenerable Sebastian Rale, for more than a quarter of a century the\ncompanion and instructor of savages, had gathered a flourishing village\nround a church, which, rising in the desert, made some pretensions to\nmagnificence. Severely ascetic--using no wine, and little food except\npounded maize, a rigorous observer of the days of Lent--he built his\nown cabin, tilled his own garden, drew for himself wood and water,\nprepared his own hominy, and, distributing all that he received, gave\nan example of religious poverty. And yet he was laborious in garnishing\nup his forest sanctuary, believing the faith of the savage must be\nquickened by striking appeals to the senses. Himself a painter, he\nadorned the humble walls of his church with pictures. There he gave\ninstruction almost daily. Following his pupils to their wigwams,\nhe tempered the spirit of devotion with familiar conversation and\ninnocent gaiety, winning the mastery over their souls by his powers\nof persuasion. He had trained a little band of forty young savages,\narrayed in cassock and surplice, to assist in the service and chant the\nhymns of the church; and their public processions attracted a great\nconcourse of red men. Two chapels were built near the village, one\ndedicated to the Virgin and adorned with her statue in relief, another\nto the guardian angel; and before them the hunter muttered his prayer\non his way to the river or the woods. When the tribe descended to the\nseaside in the season of wild fowl, they were followed by Rale; and on\nsome islet a little chapel of bark was quickly consecrated.\"\n\nThe scene so peaceful, so happy, so beautiful, in the days of F.\nRale, that it has been appropriately called one of \"nature's sweet\nretirements,\" is described by the poet Whittier after the rude hand of\nwar had blasted its beauty and destroyed its altar and its priest, as\nit appeared to some Indian warriors who revisited the field after the\nbattle, in the following lines:\n\n    \"No wigwam smoke is curling there,\n    The very earth is scorched and bare;\n    And they pause and listen to catch a sound\n      Of breathing life, but there comes not one,\n    Save the fox's bark and the rabbit's bound;\n    And here and there on the blackened ground\n      White bones are glistening in the sun.\n    And where the house of prayer arose,\n    And the holy hymn at daylight's close,\n    And the aged priest stood up to bless\n    The children of the wilderness,\n    There is naught but ashes sodden and dank,\n      And the birchen boats of the Norridgewock,\n      Tethered to tree, and stump, and rock,\n    Rotting along the river-bank!\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[165] Indian name Kangh\u00e9ssanak; botanical, Umbilicaria Muhlenbergii.\n\n[166] Francis' _Life of Rale_, in Sparks.\n\n[167] _Maine Hist. Soc. Collections_, v. i. p. 339, and _Shea_.\n\n[168] Francis' _Life of Father Rale_.\n\n[169] Smith's _History of New York_.\n\n[170] _Mass. Hist. Soc. Collections_, v. viii. p. 258.\n\n[171] _Sillery._\n\n[172] _Shea._\n\n[173] Francis's _Life of Rale_.\n\n[174] _Chalmers._\n\n[175] Francis's _Life of Rale_.\n\n\n\n\nFROM EGYPT TO CHANAAN.\n\n\n    My God, while journeying to Chanaan's land,\n          For peace I do not pray;\n    Nor seek beneath thy sheltering sweetness, Lord,\n          To rest each circling day.\n    I cry to thee for strength to struggle on,\n      But do not ask that smooth the way may be;\n    Sufficient for thy servant 'tis to know\n      That earth's bleak desert ends at last with thee.\n\n    When heavenly sweetness floods my heart, dear Lord,\n          I magnify thy name;\n    When desolations weigh my spirit down,\n          I bless thee still the same.\n    Keep me, O God! I cry with streaming eyes,\n      From love of earth and creatures ever free:\n    Far sweeter are than Eden's fairest blooms\n      The blood-stained blossoms of Gethsemani.\n\n    I do not ask of thee that loving friends\n          Should wander by my side,\n    Or that my hand should feel an angel's touch,\n          A guardian and a guide.\n    But, Israel's God, do thou go on before,\n      An ever-present beacon in the way;\n    A fiery pillar in dark sorrow's night,\n      A cloudy column in my prosperous day.\n\n    I do not ask, O Master dear! to lean\n          My head upon thy breast;\n    Nor seek within thy circling arms to find\n          An ever-present rest.\n    I beg from thee that crown of prickly thorn\n      That once thy sacred forehead rudely tore;\n    And I will press those crimsoned brambles close\n      To my poor heart, and ask from thee no more.\n\n    But when, at length, my scorched and weary feet\n          Shall reach their journey's end,\n    And I have gained the longed-for promised land\n          Where milk and honey blend;\n    Then give me rest, and food, and drink, dear Lord;\n      For then another pilgrim will have past,\n    As thou didst, o'er the wastes of barren sand\n      From Egypt into Chanaan, safe at last.\n\n\n\n\nTHE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1873.\n\n\nWill a new year ever dawn? is the question that must present itself\nin some shape or form to the one who glances at the records of the\nyears as they go by. Eighteen hundred and seventy-three of them have\npassed since that song was heard at midnight on the mountains of Judea,\n\"Glory in the highest, and on earth peace\"; yet to-day the chant is\nas new and strange as it then was. There is no pagan Rome, but there\nis a Christian Germany; the dead ashes of the divine Emperor Tiberius\nwere long ago blown about the world, but the divine Emperor William\nlives; there is no Herod, but there is an Emanuel, whose name is as\ncharacteristic of the man as the word _Eumenides_ of what it was\nintended to represent. Who shall say that there are no Pilates still,\nwho would fain wash their minds of conviction and their hands of the\nblood of Christ with a little water? Are none living who cast lots for\nhis seamless garment? Every person, everything existing at the birth\nand death of Christ, has its living counterpart to-day; which is to\nsay that human nature is still human nature; that the last chapter of\nthe world's history has not yet been written; and that, beautiful and\nsublime as parts of it may be, \"the trail of the serpent is over it\nall.\"\n\nThe year now closing is bigger with portent than event, as far, at\nleast, as events touch humanity at large. A glance at the principal\nstates of the world, east as well as west, though with a drowsier\nmovement in the Orient, will bring before the eye many of the same\nsymptoms throughout; more or less of transition, of rapid and\noften violent national change, which naturally shows itself among\npeoples of a thousand creeds in the relation of the governed to the\ngoverning, of the individual to the state. On this subject there are\ntwo extremes--personal absolutism, on the one hand, and communism, on\nthe other. Both are equally disastrous to humanity, both are opposed\nto the law of Christ; hence the believer in the law of Christ, the\nindividual who founds and builds his life and that of his family on the\nlaw of Christ--the Christian, the Catholic--is equally objectionable to\nboth, and alike an object of hatred to Prussian imperialism and French\nliberalism. We are living in dangerous times; the world seems at the\ncrisis of a fever. God in his mercy grant that it pass safely, and that\nthe patient awake from the long delirium to its senses and the road to\nrecovery, however slow and toilsome!\n\nIn American history the year of our Lord 1873 will probably be known\nas, thus far at least, pre-eminently the year of scandals. Early in\nthis year, the Congress of the United States, as if in emulation\nof the example set by some of our state legislatures and municipal\ncorporations, did, in the now famous Cr\u00e9dit Mobilier transaction,\nfurnish a chapter apart in the annals of political malfeasance and\ncorruption. It shocked and shook the confidence of the nation. The\nout-going Vice-President escaped impeachment by a vote so narrow as to\nimply a conviction of his guilt; his successor entered with the shadow\nof the same offence on his character. The rank-and-file were worthy\nof their leaders. Men stared blankly in each other's faces, and asked\nwhether such a thing as honor existed in political life. The result\nshowed itself in general apathy at the elections, while the tide, such\nas it was, turned again to the opposite party.\n\nCorruption, fraud, embezzlement--embezzlement, corruption, fraud!\nSuch are the chief headlines which the future historian will find in\nthe national annals during this year of grace. The same story is as\ntrue of private individuals as of our public and representative men.\nThe fashionable crimes of the year--always after murder and suicide,\nof course--have been embezzlement and defalcation on the part of\ngentlemanly and well-educated bank and insurance officers. A batch of\nAmerican citizens gave us a world-wide celebrity by their long trial,\nending in conviction and severe punishment, for astounding forgeries on\nthe Bank of England; so that it is doubtful, as matters stand, which\nepithet would convey the severest imputation on character--\"As honest\nas a cashier,\" or \"As honest as a member of Congress.\"\n\nThe early spring was signalized by, perhaps, one of the last efforts\nof the Indians against the whites. A small band of Modocs, under the\nleadership of their chieftain, \"Captain Jack,\" who seemed to have\nhad serious causes of complaint, after considerable negotiation,\nresolved to die in harness rather than wait for what, to them, was a\nlingering death on a narrow reservation. They commenced operations\nby treacherously murdering Gen. Canby, a brave officer, and a peace\ncommissioner, during a peace parley. Retiring to their caves, which\nafforded them an admirable shelter, they for a long time maintained a\nsuccessful resistance to the United States forces despatched to destroy\nthem, inflicting severe loss on the troops. So successful was Captain\nJack's battle that at one time it was feared the other tribes would\nrise and join him. Run to earth at last, he surrendered with one or two\ncompanions who remained faithful. After due trial, they were taken and\nhanged. A poor issue for a Christian government!\n\nTroubles loomed in Louisiana. Faction contended with faction for the\ngovernment at a sacrifice of many lives. When blood once flows in\ncivil strife, it is hard to tell where or when it will stop. As civil\nwar threatened, and as Congress was not sitting, President Grant was\ncompelled to resort to the expedient of ordering in the United States\ntroops, not only to preserve the peace, but to sustain one of the\nparties in power. The country looked with a natural jealousy on this,\nat the time, apparently necessary movement; for if all civil quarrels\nare to be decided by federal bayonets, centralization and consequent\npersonal government must sooner or later ensue. At the same time, it\nis impossible to allow local contests to be fought out _vi et armis_.\nIf the states cannot conduct their internal affairs in a civil fashion\nand in the spirit of the constitution, there is apparently no medium\nbetween centralization and disruption.\n\nThe South was making rapid strides towards commercial recovery; the\ncotton crop for the year was excellent, as, indeed, were the crops\ngenerally; but the recent financial disasters have crippled trade as\nwell as commerce. People will neither buy nor sell. Stock lies idle\nin the market; large business firms close or suspend, and the farmers\ncannot forward their products; so that the country is faced by a long\nwinter with nothing to do, aggravated by a bad business season, for\nwhich the strikers of the preceding year have themselves partially to\nblame; and all ostensibly because one large banking firm suspended\npayment!\n\nThe only remedy for everything is a restoration of confidence among\nall; but that is the precise thing that is slow to come. The money\nmarket has been in the hands of commercial gamblers and tricksters\nso long that, with our paper money, which in itself is demoralizing,\ncommercial gambling seems to be the acknowledged and legitimate line of\nbusiness. Honest men cannot contend with a world of rogues. American\ncredit has suffered terribly. If in political affairs it be true,\nas Prince Bismarck assured the world no later than last March, that\n\"confidence is a tender plant, which, once destroyed, comes never\nmore,\" it is doubly true in matters affecting a man's pocket.\n\nThere is something ominous as well as startling in this sudden collapse\nof all business, all commercial transactions, in a young, wealthy,\npowerful country such as this, in consequence of the failure of one\nor two men. It could not be unless the roots of the evil that wrought\ntheir failure had taken wide and deep hold of the national heart. There\nare dangers more immediate and more fatal than C\u00e6sars or centralization\nthreatening our republic. There is something like a rotting away of\nthe national virtue, purity, and honor which in themselves constitute\nthe life of a nation. When we find dishonesty accepted as a fact, or a\nstate of affairs rather, against which it is hopeless to contend; when\nwe find money accepted as the lever which Archimedes sought in vain,\nand that money itself based on nothing--paper--taken on trust, which\ndoes not exist, we have arrived at a state very nearly approaching\nto national decay, and it is high time to look to our salvation.\nThis can be brought about only by an adherence to the doctrines of\nChristianity, an education of our children in the laws of Christianity,\nso as to save at least the coming generation. Only one thought will\nsave a nation from dishonesty: the consciousness that a dishonest\naction is a sin and a crime against Almighty God. When that doctrine\nis taught and enforced in our public schools, and impressed indelibly\non the plastic mind of innocence, the generation will grow up honest,\ntrue, and manly. While perfectly aware that reasoning of this kind\nwill scarcely be appreciated \"on the street,\" nay, would not even be\nunderstood, that is no reason why prominence should not be given it by\nthose who have the future of their country at heart. The generation\nthat grows up without a Christian education will not know the meaning\nof such words as private or commercial morality.\n\nThe history of the year in Europe is told in a sentence written long\nbefore Rome was founded: \"The kings of the earth stood up, and the\nprinces met together, against the Lord and against his Christ.\" In\nGermany, the work of the construction and consolidation of the new\nempire is advancing bravely. The new German Empire is founded on a\nmilitary code strengthened by penal statutes, executed with all the\npromptness, vigor, and rigor of military law. The great feature of\nthe year has been the passing of the ecclesiastical bills, into the\nparticulars of which question it is unnecessary to enter now, as it\nhas already been dealt with at length in THE CATHOLIC WORLD.[176] The\npresent aspect of affairs may be summed up in a sentence: To be a\nCatholic is to be a criminal in the eyes of the state.\n\nEvery Catholic society of men, and women even, living in community\ntogether, have been expelled from Prussian territory within the year,\nfor the simple reason that they were Catholics. As an excuse in the\neyes of this keen, honest, liberal world of the XIXth century for such\nan outrage on human liberty, the government which boasts as its head\nPrince Bismarck, whose very name has become a byword for sagacity\nand foresight, contents itself with no better reason than that these\nquiet men and women, whose lives are passed out of the world, are a\ndanger to the nation that conquered Austria and France; and the keen,\nhonest, liberal world finds that reasoning sufficient. To be logical,\nthe government should expel all the 8,000,000 Catholics in Prussia, or\nthe 14,000,000 in the Empire, who are left behind; for there is not\none shade of difference in the Catholicity of the societies expelled\nand that of the vast body remaining. But as it would be a difficult\nundertaking bodily to expel 14,000,000 of human beings from an empire,\nand as it would be a costly proceeding in the end, the half a dozen or\nmore men who legislate for this vast empire of 40,000,000 do the best\nthey can under the circumstances, and strain their ingenuity to devise\nmeans for purging Catholicity out of the souls of this vast body, as\nthough the religion of Jesus Christ were a fatal disease and a poison.\n\nConsequently, the first thing to do was to change the Prussian\nconstitution, which guaranteed religious freedom independent of state\ncontrol. By an alteration in Articles XV. and XVIII., religion was\nbrought under complete subjection to the state: Prince Bismarck being\ncompelled to pack the Upper House with his creatures in order to secure\na majority for the measure. It passed, and its result, as far as the\nCatholic Church is concerned, is easily told.\n\nCatholic bishops, the successors of the apostles, may no longer\nexercise apostolic jurisdiction without permission from a Protestant\ngovernment. A Catholic bishop may not excommunicate a rebellious\nCatholic without permission from a Protestant government, under the\nseverest penalties.\n\nA Catholic bishop must, under pain of the severest penalties,\nacknowledge a schismatic as a priest; retain him in his parish, pay him\na salary, and allow him to say Mass and preach false doctrine to his\nCatholic congregation.\n\nA Catholic bishop may not, under the severest penalties, ordain a\nCatholic priest, unless the candidate for holy orders receive the\napproval of Protestant government officials.\n\nCatholic seminaries, where students for the Catholic priesthood are\ntrained, must accept the supervision of a Protestant official and the\nprogramme of education prescribed by a Protestant government, which\nhas declared war against their religion. If the bishop does not accept\nthese conditions, the seminary is closed.\n\nCatholic candidates for holy orders cannot be exempted from military\nservice; the term of military service embraces a period of twelve years.\n\nCatholic candidates for orders may not be admitted to holy orders\nbefore passing three years at a state university under the lectures of\nProtestant or infidel professors. On their entrance to the university\nthey must matriculate to the satisfaction of those professors, and\non leaving it they must pass a rigorous examination, also to the\nsatisfaction of those professors.\n\nA Catholic bishop may not appoint to or remove a Catholic priest from\nany parish without the permission of the Protestant government. If he\ndoes so, the marriages celebrated by such a priest are not recognized\nby law, and the children are consequently illegitimate in the eyes of\nthe law! This too under a government which recognizes and encourages\nby every means in its power civil marriages, without the form of any\nreligious ceremony whatsoever. Surely this is an _Evangelical_ power!\n\nSuch, in brief, is a sketch of what these ecclesiastical bills mean.\nThe sketch, hasty and incomplete as it is, requires no comment.\nA running comment is kept up every day, as readers may see for\nthemselves, by cable despatches announcing penalties inflicted upon\nthis bishop and that for refusing to obey laws that not only the Gospel\nof our Lord Jesus Christ and the apostolic writings forbid him, under\npain of losing his soul, to obey, but against which the heart of any\nman with an ounce of freedom and honesty in his nature must revolt as\nfrom a foul offence. But the cable tells not a tithe of the story.\nEvery penalty of the law in all the cases mentioned above has been\nand is being rigorously, nay bitterly, enforced; and a milder mode of\ntreatment is scarcely to be looked for from the recent return of Prince\nBismarck to the Prussian premiership, with full control this time over\nthe cabinet.\n\nIt is difficult, in these days and in this country of all others,\nto write or speak with calmness of this cool assumption of absolute\npower over soul and body--the souls and bodies of 40,000,000 of human\nbeings whom God created--by one or two men, and of its hypocritical\njustification by appeals to the Deity himself.[177] It is still more\ndifficult to speak or write with calmness of the undisguised or ill\ndisguised approval which such barbarous enactments have evoked in free\nAmerica in the columns of Protestant religious or quasi-religious\njournals. Is religious freedom one thing here and another thing in\nGermany? Or is this country indeed, as some allege, ripe for absolutism?\n\nThe spirit that would wipe out the church of Christ if it could, that\nstifles every breath of religious freedom, naturally and as a matter\nof course laughs at such a thing as pretensions to political freedom\nin any sense. Consequently, it was no surprise to see, in the face of\nthe protest of the majority, the civil as well as foreign polity of\nthe states that compose this German Empire, scarce yet two years old,\ntransferred to the bureau that sits at Berlin. These states were free\nthree years ago, governing themselves by their own laws. They must now\nbe ruled internally as well as externally by the laws of the empire,\nthat is to say, by Prussia; for the imperial chancellor is the Prussian\npremier, with full control over the cabinet. In a word, Germany is to\nbe Prussianized. Prince Bismarck is no lover of half-measures. Already\nit was decreed, in spite of opposition, that the Prussian military code\nshould serve for the whole empire. The bill for the organization of the\nimperial army retains the main features of the former organization.\nThe term of military service is fixed at twelve years, and, as\nalready seen, not even the orders which indelibly stamp a man as the\nconsecrated priest of God, can save him from becoming a man of war.\n\nNow, this one item of itself is sufficient to condemn this government\nin the eyes of humanity. What is the meaning of the words, \"twelve\nyears of military service\"? Prussian military service is no playing\nat soldiers, be it remembered, like our militia here or in England.\nThe average life of a man in these days probably does not much\nexceed thirty-six years. Yet in this new German empire the men who\ngo to compose its 40,000,000 of human souls are compelled to devote\none-third--the best twelve years of their lives--to what?\n\nTo serve in the armies of a tyrannical despot, who styles himself\n\"William, by the grace of God\"--to spend those best twelve years of\ntheir lives in learning the most expeditious method of killing their\nfellow-Christians! And that is what the glorious German Empire means.\n\nWhat wonder that Germans should already fly in such numbers from this\nglorious and consolidated empire as to cause the same government that\nforbids freedom of religion to prohibit freedom of emigration? As all\nthe world has seen, the German government is compelled to throw every\nobstacle in the way of its subjects to prevent their flying to this\ncountry. Does that betoken soundness, and a government grateful to\nthe people? In the face of that one fact, it is needless to call to\nmind the riots that have continued at intervals throughout the year\nin various parts of the country, and the cruelty with which they were\nput down. What wonder that, even in the face of a military power, the\nCatholic party, persecuted as it is, should have gained, on Protestant\nconcession, a small but decided increase on the vote of last year?\nWhat wonder that the liberty of the press should be attacked, and the\njournals that dared to publish the Papal Allocution confiscated?\n\nIt has been alleged all along that Catholics have been the foes of the\nunity of Germany. The allegation is utterly false. It is alleged by the\nPrussian government that they conspire against the empire, from the\nbishops down. Give us the proofs, say the Catholics; lay your finger\non the words or the acts of conspiracy. The government refuses to take\nup the open, manly challenge. It knew that its charge was false. But\nhad it, by any chance, been true, who shall say that a government that\nenforces such barbarous laws as those above given, which is compelled\nto resort to force in order to keep its subjects in the country, which\ncompels every man to devote the best part of his life to preparation\nfor war, whose revenues go only to swell vast armaments and fortify\nfrontiers, which denies not only all religious but all political\nfreedom--practically one and the same thing--is not a curse rather\nthan a blessing to mankind? The German Empire, as it stands to-day, is\nnothing else than a rampant, military Prussian despotism--a danger not\nonly to its sister nations in Europe, but to the world.\n\nIn Italy the story is much the same; and the wonder is the sufferance,\nin these days of vaunted enlightenment and freedom, of the utter\nviolation and disregard on the part of governments of every human\nright, even to the seizure of private property. The bill for the\nappropriation by the state of church property passed through the\nItalian parliament. These fine words, \"appropriation,\" \"parliament,\"\n\"debates,\" in this \"house\" and in that, seem to throw dust in the\neyes of men who, when their own property is touched, are particularly\nkeen-sighted, though the \"appropriation\" go not beyond a single dollar.\nThis high-sounding measure simply means that the Italian parliament\nhas forcibly taken possession of three millions' worth and upwards of\nproperty to which, in the face of earth and heaven, it had not one jot,\none tittle, one shade of claim in any form.\n\nThree years ago, the present Italian parliament--Italian by\ncourtesy--was not known in Rome. The Pope was as much a sovereign as\nVictor Emanuel. The withdrawal of the French troops left the Sovereign\nPontiff defenceless, and let in the King of Sardinia. Unprovoked\nand uninvited, he took violent possession of the slender remnant of\nthe Papal States left to the Pope, and proclaimed himself King of\nItaly--the Pope still remaining on the soil which his predecessors\nowned and governed before the race of Victor Emanuel existed. Under the\nPapal rule, certain religious corporations--the religious orders and\nsocieties--rented, purchased, or owned certain property. The property\nbelonged to those corporations as surely and as sacredly as property\ncan belong to any man or body of men. Of course, when this Italian\ngovernment laid its sacrilegious hand on the domain of the Vicar of\nJesus Christ, it was scarcely to be expected that, with the example\nof Henry VIII. of England and, more recently, of William of Prussia\nbefore its eyes, it would stop short at the property of religious\ncorporations. Consequently, we hear of a bill for the appropriation of\nthis private property by the state. It is debated, and, after the usual\nobjections to what is already a foregone conclusion, the property is\nseized by the state, and the owners turned adrift over the world.\n\nWhen men, and by no means admirable men, calling themselves\ngovernments, play thus fast and loose with every vested right,\nCatholics are told, because they are so bold as to defend their own,\nthat they are and, cannot be other than disloyal to that nowadays\nobscure thing, a state! The Vicar of Jesus Christ lifts up his voice,\nand, after his many warnings, pronounces the solemn sentence of\nmajor excommunication on all who have had hand, act, or part in these\nsacrilegious transactions, which the science of jurisprudence itself\ncondemns utterly--and free men, with sound ideas on the rights of\nproperty, whatever may be their opinion on the rights of religion, find\nin his utterances insolence or ravings.\n\nTreasures of art, libraries that are historical relics, relics of the\nsainted dead, all that the monasteries and convents held, flood the\nItalian market, and are bought up \"for a song\"; while the property\nitself is up at auction to the highest bidder. And what has this\ngovernment done for the country? Has it, in a manner, justified its\nseizure by improving the condition of the people?\n\nIt only needs to read any of the Roman correspondents of the English\nor American press to know that never did brigandage exist in a more\nflourishing condition in Italy than since the entry of Victor Emanuel\ninto Rome. Many Protestant correspondents, be it remembered, intimate\nplainly enough that the authorities wink at the brigands. Capture, of\ncourse, is made once in a while; but so occasionally as only to serve\n\"_pour encourager les autres_.\" But, after all, there is no barometer\nlike a man's pocket; and the rise and fall of taxation is a very safe\nindicator of the state of the political mart. On this point a little\ncomparison will be found instructive.\n\nThe _New York Herald_, in the spring of this year, in an article\nentitled \"The Debts of the State--Important Questions for Taxpayers,\"\nmentions, as the revelation of \"a startling fact,\" that \"the aggregate\ndebt of the several counties, cities, towns, and villages of the\nState of New York, for which the taxpayers are responsible, exceeds\ntwo hundred and fourteen million dollars. This is more than ten and\na half per cent. upon the assessed valuation of all property in the\nState.... If to this total debt of the subdivisions of the State be\nadded that of the State itself, ... we have as the entire corporate\ndebt of the State $239,685,902--almost twelve per cent. of the whole\nassessment of property.\" \"This is a heavy encumbrance upon every\nman's and every woman's estate. It has grown out of a long course of\nreckless abuse of power, too lightly confided to legislative and the\nvarious representative bodies which control the State in its several\ndivisions. Lavish extravagance has been too often authorized in\nexpenditures for the public account, by men who carefully guard their\nprivate interests and credit, and it is no secret that many of the\nburdens imposed upon the taxpayers have enriched those who made the\nappropriations. How are these onerous obligations to be met? Or are\nthey to be paid at all?\"\n\nIt is doubtful whether many of the taxpayers in New York State will\nfeel inclined to call in question the strictures here involved. At\nall events, the ex-Tammany chieftain has recently been consigned\nto the penitentiary. Turn we now to the taxation in Rome since the\ncommencement of the Emanuel _r\u00e9gime_. A _Herald_ correspondent, who was\ndespatched to describe the death of our Holy Father, and the election\nof his successor, and, finding his time heavy on his hands--as the\nPope, in the face of an outraged world, refused to die before his\nMaster called him--collected and sent back the following little items:\n\n  _Comparative Table of Taxes on an Annual Income of 70,000 Lire\n    (Francs) paid in 1869 to the Pontifical Government, and in 1873\n    to the Italian Government._\n\n\nTAXES PAID TO THE PONTIFICAL GOVERNMENT.\n\n                                   Francs.   Per Cent.\n  State taxes on property in\n    Rome,                          467.20\n  State taxes on property in the\n    country,                       248.75\n                                   ------\n    Total,                         715.95 or 1.02279\n  Communal taxes on property\n    in Rome,                       864.95\n  Communal taxes on property\n    in the country,                613.70\n                                 --------\n    Total,                       1,478.65 or 2.11236\n  Total of all taxes paid under\n    the Pontifical Government,   2,194.60 or 3.13515\n\n\nTAXES PAID TO THE ITALIAN GOVERNMENT.\n\n  State taxes on property in\n    Rome,                        6,250\n  State taxes on property in\n    the country,                   940\n                                 -----\n    Total,                       7,190 or 10.62857\n  Communal taxes on property\n    in Rome,                     4,650\n  Communal taxes on property\n    in the country,                651\n                                 -----\n    Total,                       5,301 or 7.57286\n  Income taxes on 59,497 francs  7,854 or 11.22\n  Mortmain taxes on total of\n    70,000 francs,               2,800 or 4.00\n  Mortmain on buildings which\n    give no rent, but are taxed, 1,500 or 2.14286\n                                 -----    -----\n  Total of all taxes paid under\n    the Italian Government,     24,645 or 35.56429\n\n                            SUMMARY.\n\n                                                      Increase\n                                                      of Taxes\n                            Pontifical    Italian      under\n                            Government.  Government.  Italian\n                                                       Gov't.\n                             Per Cent.    Per Cent.   Per Cent.\n  State tax--real estate,     1.02         10.63       9.61\n  Communal and\n    provincial taxes          2.11          7.57       5.46\n  Income tax,                   --         11.22      11.22\n  Mortmain,                     --          4.00       4.00\n  Mortmain on buildings\n    not paying rent,            --          2.14       2.14\n                              ----          ----       ----\n    Total,                    3.13         35.56      32.43\n\nThis schedule refers only to clerical property.\n\nThis is an increase of 32\u00bd percent., or, not including the extra tax on\nmortmain property, 28\u00bd per cent., within, at the time of writing, about\ntwo years.[178] Would the taxpayers of New York, who are presumably\nmore wealthy than those of Rome, consider such an increase of taxation\nas that in two or three years \"a startling fact\"? And what is there\nto show for it? Absolutely nothing. All sorts of fine schemes for\nimprovement of the city and such like are in existence--upon paper;\nunfortunately, they remain there. There is a grand new opera-house\nto be built, however. That is something. And then those royal visits\nto Austria and Germany must have cost something. And Victor Emanuel\nhimself and his worthy son Humbert lead rather expensive lives. In\nthe account of New Year's Day at Rome, a twelve-month since, we find\nthe president of the chamber requesting his majesty to take more care\nof his health. And his majesty in response acknowledges the necessity\nof so doing, while he assured the president that arrangements existed\nwhich would ensure that the unity and liberty of Italy would in no case\nbe endangered.\n\nAnd here the Roman correspondent of the London _Times_, who, like most\nspecial correspondents of that journal, hates the Pope and the Papacy\nwith a solid Saxon hatred that not even what is passing under his own\neyes can remove, furnishes us with a little further information on the\nsame point:\n\n\"The rigorous exaction of the taxes, referred to in former letters, has\nbeen a great element of discontent, especially in the south, which has\nsuffered in many respects from the formation of the Italian kingdom.\nThe only chance of rescuing the country [What country?--The exchequer\nof Victor Emanuel.] from its severe financial difficulties and probably\nfrom bankruptcy, was in such an exaction, but it has not the less\npressed very cruelly on many needy classes. And it must be owned that,\ninstead of seeking to soothe the sufferings of the taxpayers, Signor\nSella has rather increased them by his cynical mode of treatment.\nPeople think it bad enough to be mulcted until they have scarcely\nenough left to live upon, and are not in a mood to be made game of\nalso\"--and much more in the same strain.[179]\n\nOf the banishment of the religious orders and societies from Italy,\nwhich recently came into effect, the same only can be said as of the\nGerman expulsion. Our Holy Father, in receiving the generals of the\nvarious religious orders on January 2, said in reply to their address:\n\"It is the third time during my life that religious orders have been\nsuppressed. These corporations have always been the support of the\nchurch, and it is a dispensation of God that they should from time to\ntime undergo such vicissitudes. This is a secret of Providence which I\nmay not unravel, but I strive to see whether an angel may not be coming\nto aid the church. I do not say that I desire the destroying angel who\nvisited the host of Sennacherib in order to save the chosen people of\nGod. No, I have not that thought. I wish for an angel who might convert\nall hearts. We are in exile; we must come before God with the powerful\narm of prayer, in order to obtain, if not what we wish, at least some\nassuagement of our misfortunes.\"\n\nAt the beginning of summer the world was excited by a rumor of the\nPope's sickness unto death, and it was curious to observe the effect\nof the rumor upon the non-Catholic world. Pius IX. has already seen\nmore than \"the years of Peter.\" He has sustained in his own person\nthe trials of Peter. But whatever the end may be which Jesus Christ\nhas reserved for the close of the glorious career of his true Vicar,\nPius IX. will leave this world, his soul borne up on the prayers and\nblessings of two hundred million hearts, while his name will for ever\nshine resplendent on the glittering scroll of the successors of Peter.\n\n\"On his return from Versailles, M. Thiers was greeted at the railway\nstation by a crowd which was awaiting him there with loud cries of\n_Vive M. Thiers! Vive le Pr\u00e9sident!_\" So runs a despatch from Paris on\nNew Year's Day, 1873. How oddly it reads now! _Le Pr\u00e9sident est mort:\nVive le Pr\u00e9sident!_ M. Thiers is politically as dead as he that was\nlaid in his quiet grave at Chiselhurst in the first month of the year.\nIt almost requires a strained effort of the mind to recall the fact\nthat a short year ago M. Thiers was the master of the situation in\nFrance, receiving deputations and congratulations on New Year's, and\ntalking of his presidential visit to the Vienna exhibition. A quiet but\nsignificant little despatch of the same date may partly explain the\nrapid collapse of M. Thiers: \"Many persons of political distinction\nleft their names at the residence of the Orleans princes.\" THE CATHOLIC\nWORLD for last January, in its review of the year 1872, said on the\nFrench question: \"But Thiers cannot last, and what is to follow? The\ncountry would not bear the rule of the man of Sedan.... The speech of\nthe Duc d'Audiffret-Pasquier, on the army contracts, killed Napoleonism\nfor the nonce. We can only hope for the best in France from some other\nand nobler sprout of former dynasties; we cannot foresee it.\"\n\nIt is needless to tell here the story of how M. Thiers was overthrown,\nor to comment on it, beyond the timeworn illustration that as a\nrule it is a radical mistake for any one man to set himself up as a\nnecessity for a nation; yet such a mistake is the commonest indulged\nin by rulers (_in esse_ or _in posse_, as may be). In the midst of\nintense excitement in that most excitable of capitals, Paris, Marshal\nMacMahon was summoned by the majority of the Assembly to succeed M.\nThiers. He placed himself as an impersonal instrument in the hands of\nthe government, promising by the aid of \"God and the army\" to guarantee\npeace. He chose a conservative government. Order has been kept. The\nlast farthing of the indemnity to Germany has been paid, and the last\nGerman soldier has quitted France.\n\nA volume might be written on those few words--the indemnity has been\npaid: the last German soldier has quitted France. There is nothing but\nsilent wonder for this marvellous feat, which in its way casts into the\nshade even the German conquest of France. A nation whose armies were\none after the other shattered in a few months, an empire destroyed,\nan emperor led into captivity; its great fortresses beaten down, its\ncapital besieged and taken twice over, first by the foe, after by its\nown soldiers from the hands of its suicidal children; two provinces,\nrich and fair, with their cities and peoples, amounting to a million\nand a half, taken away; its raw levies scattered into mist at a ruinous\nwaste of life and money; its government overthrown and the entire\nnational system overturned, so that men turned this way and that, and\nnowhere found a ruler. Men, money, provinces, cities, emperor, empire,\nrulers--all gone; commerce destroyed, the heart of the nation sore\nwith resentment and stricken with sorrow: and all this crowded into\na few months! Yet within less than three years this fickle, false,\ndegenerate French nation--for such was the general character attributed\nto it after the late war--has restored its armies, has maintained\npeace, although even yet it can scarcely be said to have a permanent\ngovernment, has set its commerce again afloat, and has rid itself of\nthe foe at a cost that, when proposed, the whole world deemed fabulous.\n\nOne cannot help wondering now whether Prince Bismarck was prescient\nenough to foresee that France could afford to pay the fabulous sum\nfor which he stipulated--more than a billion dollars. The figures are\neasily written down on paper, the words slip glibly from the lips, yet\nthey signify a sum of money whose immensity, and the power that it\ncontains for good or for evil, it is well-nigh impossible for the mind\nof man to conceive. When first bruited, the whole world looked aghast\nand refused to consider the idea that Prince Bismarck, especially\nafter what the nation had suffered, could stipulate for the payment\nof so vast a sum--one that simply implied national bankruptcy. The\nworld misjudged Prince Bismarck, and possibly he misjudged the power\nand vitality of the nation that lay quivering under his iron heel, or\nhe might have demanded more. Yet here two years afterwards the almost\nimpossible sum is told out to the last farthing, and the Germans are\nover the border again, with their gripe still on two French provinces,\nhastening fast to fortify and defend them from attack.\n\nWith what France has accomplished in these short months before our\neyes, how irresistibly the thought comes to one--would it not have been\nwiser, truer patriotism, a loftier statesmanship, to have left those\ntwo provinces to France, and not hold them up for ever before her eyes\nas the fairest prize pitilessly wrung from her in her hour of anguish?\nHas not Prince Bismarck, or the Emperor, or Von Moltke, or whomsoever's\ndoing it was, left the germ of future wars as a legacy to be fought by\nthose yet unborn, when they shall be rotting in their graves?\n\nA month or two ago, and the crown that once belonged to his race seemed\nto offer itself to the grasp of the Count of Chambord. Our readers\nknow the story too well to repeat it here. All that need be said is,\nhe refused it. Henri Cinq is very unlike Henri Quatre, the founder of\nhis race. That Protestant gentleman deemed a throne worth a Mass; his\nCatholic descendant deems a throne insufficient to compensate him for\na broken word or a wavering in principle. It is a lesson to kings;\nand if there be such a thing as royalty in these days--royalty as men\nonce knew, or thought they knew, it--surely it belongs to the man who\ncould quietly turn aside from a crown within his reach when he could\nnot wear, as the brightest jewels therein, truth and honor untarnished.\nVerily Henri Cinq is the most royal of the Bourbons, and the line of\ncrowned heads is redeemed in the person of their crown-less descendant.\n_Vive la France! Vive Henri Cinq!_\n\nThe crown which all felt to be virtually offered to him being refused,\nthe conservative government, with MacMahon at its head, still remains\nin office, and a provisional government is voted for seven years. It\nis doubtful whether it will live that time. France is still open to\neruption. Yet the present government deserves well of the country. It\nhas shown itself wise, calm, and moderate. The debt was paid off, and\nthe nation scarcely seemed to recognize the fact. How that vast sum of\nmoney was collected so rapidly and transferred to Berlin, where it came\nfrom, and how it was brought together at so short a notice, without any\none apparently feeling the worse for it, is, and will probably remain,\none of the mysteries of finance.\n\nIt is as impossible this year as it was last to forecast the French\nhoroscope. The nation has accomplished wonders, and shown itself\ncapable of everything save choosing a government which could\nsatisfy the whole body. Probably such a government is impossible.\nRepublicanism, in our sense of the word, is as far off from France as\never. Sooner or later some man will again possess himself of the power\nin France, unless, as is still not improbable, _the nation_ invite the\nCount of Chambord. The Duc d'Aumale has \"won golden opinions from all\nsorts of men,\" and continues to win them. He is conducting the trial of\nMarshal Bazaine with great keenness and discretion.\n\n\"The man of Sedan\" went to sleep at last as the year opened. He is\nreported to have died a Christian death, though the evidence of\nadequate reparation for his past crimes is wanting. Whatever he may\nhave been, he left many close personal friends behind him. He did more\nthan this: he left a party, or the germ of one, in that fatal legacy of\nthe \"Napoleonic idea,\" to his young son, who, if his life be spared,\nwill probably guard it well, and follow closely in the footsteps of his\nfather, if he have the chance to do so, which God forefend! His English\neducation will not harm him; and he has seen too much of France and\nimperialism to relinquish an empire which, unless God give him grace to\nlearn a better wisdom than that which his father bequeathed, he cannot\nfail to consider his by right. For the present he is harmless enough\npersonally; but if France continues in its unsettled state, and if the\nson inherit any of the power and scheming of the race, he is as likely\nas any other to be the coming man. We trust, however, that neither of\nthese conditions will be verified.\n\nThe death of the Emperor Napoleon undoubtedly lightened France. This\nis not the time to examine his actions or his policy. He is now part,\nand a very large part, of history; and history will paint him as it has\npainted better and greater men--in light and shade.\n\nThe pilgrimages to the various French shrines were a feature of the\nyear, drawing the eyes of the world to France, and the blessing of\nheaven on France. Millions of pilgrims of all classes, ages, and cast\nof politics visited La Salette, Paray-le-Monial, Our Lady of Lourdes,\nand a multitude of other shrines. The whole world looked on with\nwonder. There was abundance of ridicule among a class of writers\nfrom whose pens commendation would be an insult. One pilgrimage went\nfrom Protestant England under the leadership of the Duke of Norfolk,\nhereditary Earl Marshal of England. The leading secular newspapers,\nas a rule, gave very fair and respectful accounts. If it were not\ninvidious to select from many, the letters of the correspondents of\nthe London _Times_ in England, and of the New York _Herald_ in this\ncountry--particularly the latter--were admirable in tone, spirit,\nand style. Pilgrimages were prohibited in Italy and Germany, on the\nground that they were political assemblages. They seem rather likely to\nincrease than to diminish in the coming year, and undoubtedly they have\nimparted a fresh impetus to faith, and returned a solemn answer to the\n\"men of the time,\" the philosophers of the age, who find it so easy to\ndisbelieve in God.\n\n1873 will be memorable in Spanish annals. The heart sickens and shrinks\nfrom going over the dismal record. It is almost startling to read of\n\"the king\" receiving deputations on New Year's, and that king Amadeus.\nHis abdication can scarcely have caused surprise to persons who had the\nslightest inkling of the real state of affairs in Spain. THE CATHOLIC\nWORLD, in its review of last year, although matters smiled on Amadeus\nat the time, said: \"We do not expect to find Amadeus' name at the\nhead of the Spanish government this day twelve-month.\" It said also,\n\"A good regent, not Montpensier, might bring about the restoration\nof Don Alfonso; but where is such a regent? Don Carlos possesses the\ngreatest amount of genuine loyalty to his name and cause, and he would\nbe the winning man, could he only manage his rising in a more efficient\nmanner.\" How far those predictions have been verified by events our\nreaders may satisfy themselves. They required, indeed, no very keen\ninsight to make.\n\nPrevious to the abdication of Amadeus, the Carlist insurrection, under\nthe leadership of Prince Alfonso, the brother of Don Carlos, Saballs,\nand a number of other chieftains of greater or less note, again broke\nforth with renewed vigor. After his abdication, the government was all\nat sea; and from that time to the present date there has been nothing\nbut a succession of changes of government, one as incapable as another,\nuntil the country no longer presents the appearance of a nation. Don\nCarlos appeared at the head of his forces early in the year. Frequent\nreports of Carlist annihilation have kept the telegraph wires busily\nemployed ever since; yet, singular to relate, Don Carlos at present\nis actual king in the north of Spain. The forces sent against him\nhave been defeated in every important engagement, and he only needs\nartillery to advance into the heart of the country. How it will go with\nhim during the coming winter, which is rigorous in the north, remains\nto be seen. Insurrections broke out in various parts of the country,\nresulting, in some places, in scenes of horror and inhumanity, compared\nwith which the horrors of the Commune in Paris were humane. Men seemed\npossessed by fiends, and the Spanish idea of a federal republic\ntook the form of every petty town its own absolute sovereign. There\nwas serious danger more than once of such insignificant governments\nembroiling themselves with foreign powers. Part of the fleet revolted,\nand is still in revolt. Part of the army endeavored to do so more than\nonce. They cannot but despise wild theorists of the Castelar type, who\nwould heal a bleeding nation with windy speeches. The future looks\ndark for Spain; and its only hope now lies in Don Carlos gaining the\nthrone as speedily as he may. The country is overwhelmed with financial\ndangers, and it will take a cycle of peace and sound government to\natone for the untold evils of these few years of excess. As matters\nnow stand, victory sits on the helm of Don Carlos, and the coming year\nwill probably find him King of Spain. We hope and believe that he will\nprove himself worthy of the vast sacrifices which have been made in his\nfavor, and show as a wise, temperate, and truly Catholic sovereign over\na noble race run mad with riot. As for a Spanish republic, Alcoy and\nCartagena indicate what that means.\n\nIn this connection it would seem that we should take some notice of\nthe case of the _Virginius_; but, at the time of sending this to press\n(Nov. 29), the question is too incomplete and unsettled to enable us\nto announce the final solution, which will have become a fact when\nthese lines are read. To pronounce our own judgment on the merits of\nthe case, in the brief and superficial manner to which our limits\nwould restrict us, we are unwilling. We merely say one thing, which\nis obvious on the face of things, that there was no sufficient reason\nto justify the hurried and summary massacre of the prisoners captured\non the _Virginius_. Filibustering we detest as a crime. Nevertheless,\nCuba has been frightfully misgoverned. The reconciliation of Cuba to\nSpanish rule is impossible. If it can be rightfully made a free state,\nor annexed to the United States, we think it will be a benefit to the\nCubans to be set free from Spanish rule.\n\nThe great feature of the English year has been the educational\nquestion--a question that at present is agitating the world, and is\ndebated alike throughout all Europe, in our own country, in the states\nof South America, in India even, and in Australia. It is summed up in\nthis: Shall education be Christian or not? If Christian, it tends to\nmake the coming race bad citizens, inasmuch as it teaches children that\nthere is a God, whose laws even governments must obey. There are side\nissues, but that constitutes the main point, however governments may\nseek to disguise the fact. If unchristian, the children learn that they\nare only graduating to become capable citizens of the state, and that\nthat is their highest duty. This is paganism, and to this doctrine of\neducation Christians cannot consent.\n\nMr. Gladstone, finding his party shaking, once more strove to\nconsolidate and make it a unit on an Irish question. He took up\nthe Irish educational grievance--and undoubtedly a sore grievance\nit is--and tried to construct a university which should be equally\nacceptable to all creeds and no creeds. As might have been expected,\nit proved acceptable to none. Mr. Gladstone's model university was to\nexclude chairs of theology, philosophy, and history. The very proposal\nis sufficient to show how impossible it was for Catholics to support\nsuch a measure. The Irish vote very rightly turned the scale against\nhim, and Mr. Disraeli was credited with a victory. After a threatened\ndissolution, the Gladstone government resumed, and the conservative\ngains have gone on steadily increasing, so that it is not at all\nimprobable that Mr. Disraeli will find himself and the conservative\nparty in power after the next general elections.\n\nThe British government paid to the United States the amount of the\nGeneva award--\u00a33,500,000.\n\nA war is being waged against the Ashantees, successfully so far. The\nAustralian colonies are advancing in wealth and independence. From\nBengal, at the close of the year, comes a dread rumor of famine that\nseems to be only too well founded. There was an increase in the price\nof coal, resulting, apparently, from a report of its scarcity.\n\nIn the early part of the year, a strike of the miners and iron-workers\nof South Wales, by which 60,000 men were thrown out of employment,\nextended over two months. It was finally settled by mutual concessions\non the part of masters and men. It evinced the growing power of\ntrades-unions; but, at the same time, a few figures, furnished by the\ncorrespondent of the London _Times_, give sad evidence of what a losing\ngame strikes really are when they can possibly be avoided.\n\nThe correspondent writes from Merthyr, February 9, while the strike\nwas still in progress: \"A few figures, showing the cost of the present\nstruggle, are instructive. To-day the strikers enter upon the seventh\nweek of its duration. Not a stroke of work has been done by over 60,000\npersons since the 28th December last. In giving that figure, the number\nis under-estimated rather than exaggerated. The average weekly earnings\nof this industrial host was \u00a360,000, while at the monthly pays or\nsettlements it would not be going beyond the truth to say the payment\nexceeded the ordinary weekly draws by from 50 to 60 per cent. In the\nsix weeks of idleness, therefore, the workmen have lost, in round\nfigures, \u00a3400,000. The withdrawal of this vast sum from the circulation\nof the district has created such a dearth of money as no tradesman has\never experienced before. The strike payment of the Miners' Union has\namounted at the utmost to only \u00a315,000--a miserable pittance compared\nwith the sum which would have been distributed through the various\nchannels of trade had the works continued in operation.\" The past\nalmost unprecedentedly dull business year in New York was owing, in\ngreat measure, to the strikes in the busiest season of 1872.\n\nIn Ireland, and among the Irish in England and Scotland, the agitation\nfor home rule has spread with a vigor that promises success. Recently\nthe Irish prelates have given in their adherence to the programme,\nand thus sanctioned the movement by the voice of the church. A cable\nmessage informs us that Mr. Disraeli has seized upon this fact to warn\nthe world generally, and Mr. Disraeli's proverbially slow-witted party\nparticularly, that the contest between the Catholic Church and the\nworld is rapidly coming to a head, and will probably soon be fought\nout by ordeal of battle. Mr. Disraeli inherits a keen scent for what\nis likely to take in the market, whether of politics or a more vulgar\nkind of commodity. He is at a loss for a party-cry, and has happily\nseized upon one that of all others is likely to commend itself to the\nBritish bucolic intellect. In the meantime, the Irish at home may\nremember that in all their struggles, while they very wisely look to\nthemselves to right themselves, they may count on fast friends, chiefly\nof their own race, scattered through every English-speaking people,\nwhose voices, at least, will be lifted up in their favor. Let them\ncontinue to show such clean calendars as in the past year's assizes--in\nitself a very strong proof for the right, since it involves the power\nof self-government--and self-government cannot tarry much longer. The\nsolemn consecration of the whole country to the Sacred Heart, and of\nArmagh Cathedral, are two events that will live in Irish history. The\ngeneral wonder evoked by the revolt of an Irish priest against his\nbishop furnished a striking testimony to the unity of the church.\n\nRussia has advanced a step farther into Asia and closer upon the\nBritish possessions. Khiva was captured, after a show of resistance\nby the forces of the khan. The collision between these two powers in\nthe East is not far distant. Russia has not yet forgotten Sebastopol;\nand England showed a restive spirit at the advance of its great rival\ninto the East that at one time threatened to burst forth into open\nopposition to the expedition. The contest is only delayed for a time.\nRussia internally is not as calm as it might be. We hear from time\nto time of the eruptions of strange secret societies. Undoubtedly\nsocialism is at work; and in these days, not despotism, but rational\nfreedom, is the only bulwark against its advance. The year opened with\nthe illness of the czarowitz. He recovered sufficiently to absent\nhimself from St. Petersburg just before the kaiser entered to greet\nthe czar. The love of the czarowitz for the Prussians is too well known\nnot to give a significance to his hurried departure on the arrival of\ntheir emperor in his father's capital.\n\nAustria opened a universal exposition at Vienna with a financial panic.\nThe country has under consideration the legislation of the period--a\nbill for the regulation of the affairs of church and state. Austria\nis not too strong as it stands; it will gain little if it join in the\nuniversal attack upon the church of Christ and his Vicar.\n\nSwitzerland has essayed the _r\u00f4le_ of Bismarck admirably. It has turned\neverybody in and everybody out, and church and chapel topsy-turvy, in\nright royal fashion. All the ecclesiastical laws of Prussia have been\nintroduced there, with the addition that the _cur\u00e9s_ were elective. Of\ncourse, Catholics could not vote for the election of their _cur\u00e9s_;\nconsequently, they did not appear at the polls in this matter. But\nthere are Catholics enough in Switzerland, and Italy also, to make\nthemselves felt at the polls in other matters, and it seems that the\nchief remedy for their evils rests in their own hands. In Germany, as\nwas seen, the Catholics have gained a decisive increase on their vote\nof last year, however small; and, to judge of the future by the past,\nthose German delegates will fight the battle of God and freedom nobly.\nIn England Catholics are active at the polls, and, small a minority as\nthey are, their vote tells.\n\nTurning now to the East, every year seems to bring it nearer to the\nWest, and possibly to the fulfilment of the promise that F. Thebaud\nbrings out so strongly in his powerful work on _The Irish Race_--to\nthe time when the sons of Japheth shall \"take possession of the tents\nof Sem.\" During the past year, the Emperor of China made a concession\nunprecedented in Chinese history, and doubtless many an old political\nhead shakes over the headlong rate at which the Chinese constitution is\nbeing driven to destruction. The Brother of the Sun--we believe that is\nthe relationship--has allowed foreign potentates to present themselves\nat court after the fashion of the outer barbarians. This, however, is\nreally an important concession, inasmuch as when the representatives\nof civilized governments have access directly to the person of the\nemperor, European and American subjects resident in China stand a\nbetter chance of having the many annoyances and grievances put in their\nway redressed; and the moral effect of the imperial concession on the\nnarrow-minded Chinese nation cannot fail to be of benefit.\n\nJapan seems earnest in its endeavor to become Europeanized as rapidly\nas possible. But it was as near, or nearer, centuries ago, when S.\nFrancis Xavier confuted the Bonzes. The narrowness and selfishness of\nEuropean traders alone prevented the nation from becoming Christian,\nprobably, at that time. Much depends, therefore, on the representatives\nof foreign governments. If they are wise and large-hearted Christian\nmen, they may prove apostles to this nation, which seems to possess so\nmany admirable elements; but if, as so often seems the case, they are\nonly second-hand agents of Bible societies and narrow-minded bigots,\nwe may as well resign all hope of Japan. Some outrage is sure to recur\nsooner or later with lamentable results. Certainly, as a rule, our own\nforeign diplomats are not a class of men who reflect too much credit\non the American nation. They appear to have been chosen blindly or at\nhap-hazard, in return for some electioneering service. Such is not\nthe spirit that should move the government of a nation like ours,\nor any nation, to select representative men. They should be truly\nrepresentative men of this great people, large and liberal-minded, with\nno bias whatever, but an eye single as that of justice.\n\nPersia has also opened her gates and let forth her king to see the\nworld. What impression the \"civilized\" world made on Nasr-ed-Deen[180]\nwould be something worth knowing. He traversed Europe. He went to\nRussia, and the czar showed him armies; he visited Berlin, and the\nkaiser showed him other armies; he went to Austria--armies again;\nEngland--armies, a navy this time, and a lord mayor; France--more\narmies; Italy--armies still; and the king of kings went back again to\nPersia to open his kingdom to civilized governments. Belgium showed him\nthe inside of a Christian temple for the first time, as he assured the\nPapal Nuncio, when expressing his regret at not being able to visit\nthe Sovereign Pontiff. Can we wonder that the shah was soon weary of\nhis journey? Civilization could show him no grander sight than millions\nof men drawn up in battle array and all the paraphernalia of war. It\nexhausted itself in that--armies and nothing more. Yes, there was\nsomething more--ballets.\n\nThe shah seems to have pawned his kingdom for a period of twenty years\nto Baron Reuter, who is to do what he pleases with it in the interim\nin the construction of railways, canals, and other means of internal\ndevelopment, he paying the monarch \u00a320,000 annually and a tithe of\nthe income resulting from the improvements. It seems a hazardous\nundertaking in such a country; but the man who undertook it doubtless\n\"counted the costs\" beforehand.\n\nThe mission of Sir Bartle Frere from the British government to\nthe interior of Africa, with a view to the putting a stop to the\nbarbarities of the slave-trade, promises, in connection with the\nexpedition under Sir Samuel Baker, to open up a road to European\nintercourse with the natives of the interior. Some German scientists\nin Berlin also set on foot during the past year an association for the\npromotion of the exploration of Africa.\n\nIn the states of South America the same strife that we have witnessed\nin Europe is being waged, which, under the name of church and state,\nreally means the absolutism of the state. The members of the Society\nof Jesus and of other societies and orders have been expelled from\nMexico and several other states. Mexico has decreed civil marriage,\nas has also Brazil, whose Masonic premier and cabinet are entering on\na persecution of the bishops for excommunicating members of secret\nsocieties. During the year, the city of San Salvador was utterly\ndestroyed by an earthquake. The political order in these South American\nstates corresponds very closely with their natural order. They exist in\na chronic state of revolution and eruption.\n\nIn the natural order there have been furious storms, fraught with\ndisaster to life and property; although lives lost in this manner\nhave been insignificant in number compared with loss resulting from\nwrecks owing mainly to neglect, as in the case of the _Northfleet_\nand the _Atlantic_, and several railroad disasters on a large scale.\nBoston was again visited by fire, but escaped with a loss less severe\nthan before. The flooding of the Po once more brought disaster upon\nItaly, as did our own annual freshets upon us in the spring. With the\nexception of the threatened famine in Bengal, the seasons have been\npropitious, and the want which threatens the United States particularly\nduring the coming year is due mainly to financial panics and strikes.\n\nWithin the past year, Berlin, Vienna, and New York have known panics,\nall seemingly resulting from the same immediate cause--the failure\nof one or two great houses; while the markets of the world have been\nthreatened in consequence. Failures of one or two great houses could\nnot possibly affect in so terrible a manner all kinds of business were\nit not that there was something radically wrong at the bottom--an\nevil leaven that has spread to the whole commercial mass. It would\nprobably be a puzzle, even to a financier, to lay before the world\nthe secrets of these periodical panics, resulting in ruin to so many\noutside of the comparative few immediately concerned. It looks as\nthough, in this money-getting age, and among our own money-getting\npeople particularly--on which subject the Holy Father this year\naddressed to us a special warning--the mass of men were animated by\nthe principle, \"Get money at all costs; never mind the means.\" Even\nthe greatest houses live on a system of puff. In private life the man\nwho lives beyond his means must sooner or later come to grief, and\nface ruin or roguery. In business the same rule must hold good. Vast\nestablishments are conducted on a system vitally unsound. Probably\nthere exists scarcely a house to-day that, if called on at any one\nmoment to pay all its outstanding debts, could do so. But when the\nmajority of houses are conducted on principles that on a limited\ncapital base a business involving an outlay of perhaps twenty times its\namount, we must be prepared for these periodical disasters. The evil is\nthat this essentially dishonest system has become the only recognized\nstyle of conducting business in these days; so that commerce has come\nto be a game of speculation, where the cleverest and most daring rogue\ngenerally wins--a game fostered by the excessive issue of paper money.\n\nAmong events that attracted some attention during the year was the\nstill lingering trial of the Tichborne claimant, which was not thrown\ninto the shade by the trial of Marshal Bazaine. There have been\nmeetings of the internationalists and other societies. New York was\nentertained or bored, as may be, for a week, by a meeting of Protestant\ngentlemen, mostly clericals, of all shades of belief, who called\nthemselves an Evangelical Alliance. They were not quite agreed as to\nthe particular object of their meeting, from which nothing resulted.\n\nSeveral Catholic nations and numerous dioceses have been solemnly\ndedicated to the Sacred Heart of Our Lord Jesus Christ during the past\nyear, the province of New York among the number, on the feast of the\nImmaculate Conception, December 8. Dr. Corrigan was consecrated Bishop\nof Newark, and F. Gross of Savannah.\n\nThe last point has come: the mention of the dead. The Emperor Napoleon\nwas the first of note to go; his empire went with him, for from first\nto last it was essentially a personal government. As his will, drawn\nup in his still palmy days, said, \"Power is a heavy burden.\" He forced\nhimself upon a nation of 30,000,000 of human souls; he voluntarily\nassumed the responsibility of the absolute guidance of that mighty\nmultitude. He never had a fixed principle to guide him. He never dared\nhonestly say, \"This is right,\" \"This is wrong.\" The power which he\nvoluntarily assumed and kept to himself so long--one solitary man the\nruler of 30,000,000--ended in disaster for that mighty multitude and\nhimself.\n\nThis death dwarfs all the others. Nevertheless, many a man was laid\nin his grave last year whose name will live after him. The church\nhas lost Mgr. Losanna, Bishop of Biela, the oldest Italian bishop;\nF. de Smet, the apostolic missionary among the Indians; and here, in\nNew York, Vicar-General Starrs. Literature has suffered in Manzoni,\nwhose death the Italians rightly viewed as a national calamity. Edward\nBulwer, Lord Lytton, a man of many and great gifts, has at last gone\nto tell \"what could he do with them.\" History will not soon find again\nan Amed\u00e9e Thierry. Col. James F. Meline, a frequent and very able\ncontributor to THE CATHOLIC WORLD, is a loss to American Catholic\nliterature. The Anglican Bishop of Winchester, a gifted orator, but\na churchman of no very fixed opinions, was killed by a fall from his\nhorse. On the same day died Lord Westbury, a man of a singularly acute\nand powerful intellect, who has left his mark on English legislation.\nOur Chief-Justice Chase is gone, and it will be difficult to find his\nequal. Rattazzi, the Italian minister, is gone to his place. John\nStuart Mill, who could not well be dismissed in a sentence, is dead. He\nwas a singular mixture of philosophical acumen and practical stupidity.\nArt has lost Landseer; science, Maury and Liebig, the chemist; while\nmedicine laments Nelaton. The American, French, and English stage\nmourns respectively Forrest and Macready, the once rival tragedians,\nand Lafont, a prince of comedians. Royalty has lost the Empress Dowager\nof Austria, a very holy woman; the Empress Dowager of Brazil; the King\nof Saxony, a scholar and a Christian, and the Duke of Brunswick, who\nwas famed for anything but holiness. General Paez, who once was famous,\nis dead. The death of Captain Hall adds another to the list of brave,\nadventurous spirits who so far have wasted their lives in the endeavor\nto discover the North Pole. His death involved the failure of the\n_Polaris_ expedition, which was fitted out by the American government.\nThe story of the rescue of the _Polaris_ crew belongs to the romance of\nhistory.\n\nBernstorff and Olozaga, the ambassadors respectively of Germany and\nSpain, have dropped from diplomatic circles into that circle where the\nfinest diplomacy cannot cover the slightest delinquency.\n\nThere is little to add. Another year has happily passed over our\nheads without a serious war, but the future threatens to make ample\nand speedy atonement for this lamentable deficiency. Last year THE\nCATHOLIC WORLD closed its review by saying that \"Europe was arming.\"\nThis year it may say Europe is armed. Prussia, Russia, France, Austria,\nItaly--what are they? Nations of warriors. Had the Persian king asked\nthe meaning of these armed nations, he would probably have been\nanswered, with a grim jocularity, that civilized powers found such\nthe only method of keeping the peace and preserving that imaginary\nthing--equilibrium. The Russian expedition into and capture of Khiva,\nthe defeat of the Dutch by the Atchinese in the Island of Sumatra, the\nEnglish war with Ashantee, make the three ruptures of international\npeace during the year. England seems particularly choice in her\nselection of foes: Abyssinia, the Looshai tribes, and now--Ashantee.\nShe is jealous of her turbulent neighbors, and must vindicate her\nancient prestige.\n\nThe main events which have moved the world during the past year have\nnow been touched upon hastily and crudely enough, but sufficiently, it\nmay be hoped, to give the reader some idea of the mainsprings which\nmove this busy world, of which we form a part, and in which each one\nis set to play a part and render an account of it. What was said at\nthe beginning may be more readily appreciated now, or denied--that the\nyear of our Lord 1873 is bigger with portent than event, and a portent\nthat bodes ill, as far as human eye can see, for the church of Christ,\nbuilt upon Peter. Mr. Disraeli's party-cry may contain more truth than\nthe crier, wise man though he be, dreamed: there is such an intense,\nbitter, determined, and general hostility, on the part of \"the kings\nand the princes of the world, against the Lord and against his Christ\";\nthe opposition is fast becoming so intolerant and absolutely unbearable\nto Catholics; while protest and opposition in words alone seem vain and\nidle when addressed to ears that are deaf.\n\nIn the meanwhile, Catholics must not budge an inch. They are not only\nfighting for their religion, but for human freedom. To yield the\nsmallest point of principle is to be false to their conscience. The\nmore persistent is the non-Catholic world in false theories of human\nrights and human wrongs, the more persistent must they be in adhering,\nat any sacrifice, to what they know to be right, and what was right\nwhen modern nations were unborn. Catholics must remember that all are\nfighting the same battle, and all are bound to take a hand in the\nstruggle. What the Pope fights for, that all Catholics fight for--from\nthe bishop to the priest, from the priest to the one whose voice is\nheard in the halls of legislation, to the editor in his office, to the\nmerchant in his counting-house, to the very beggar in the street. There\nis no difference, no line to be drawn. We must be one, and, if right\nmust win, then victory is ours.\n\nFor, for what do we contend? To be Christian; to be free to obey the\nchurch which our Lord Jesus Christ founded. Allegiance to a foreign\npower? What folly! Allegiance to Pius IX. is allegiance to Jesus\nChrist. Nothing more, nothing less. Are Catholics not Americans, or\nGermans, or Irishmen, or Englishmen, for being Catholics? How, when,\nwhere, was it ever shown that they were not? Why, when Protestantism\nwas not known, were Catholics not nationalists--when Christendom was\none?\n\nA new year is opening before us--a year of trial, not so much in\nthis country, but to the universal church. Where freedom is left to\nCatholics, as in this country, they must never cease, by prayer, by\nthe pen, by the voice, by every means that the occasion calls forth,\nto help their persecuted brethren; not looking to this government or\nto that to help them, but basing their cause on their natural rights.\nThere is not a civil, religious, or political right anywhere existing\non this earth, belonging to non-Catholics, which does not also belong\nto Catholics. They must get that idea fast in their minds, and fight\non that which is a lawful and just issue. No Protestant can claim a\nright which does not belong equally to a Catholic. No Protestant, be he\nindividual or government, can say to a Catholic: You must not believe\nthis doctrine or that; you must not take the Pope for an infallible\nguide in religion, but yourself; you must not educate your children in\nyour religion, and so on. This is the language, open or secret, of the\nday which is addressed to Catholics. It must be met with no hesitation,\nbut with the response: Our freedom is your freedom; our rights are your\nrights; our interest is your interest; nay, after all, our God is your\nGod. Let us fight our battles of opinion civilly. But when you issue\npaper constitutions every day, and tell us that we must obey such and\nsuch an iniquitous law--a law revolting to our conscience, our reason,\nand every aspiration of freedom--we throw your paper constitution to\nthe winds, and refuse to obey it. _It is necessary to obey God rather\nthan man!_ We conclude by wishing to all our readers a happy New Year,\nto our Holy Father a speedy triumph, and to ourselves the pleasure of\nrecording, at the end of 1874, the history of the confusion and rout of\nthe enemies of the church.\n\nOf events accidentally omitted in the preceding record of the year,\nwere the ravages of the yellow fever in the South, particularly at\nMemphis and Shreveport, where many Catholic priests and religious\nsacrificed their lives in the service of the sick. To the list of\ndisasters at sea resulting from carelessness must be added the recent\nwreck of the _Ville du Havre_, with a loss of upwards of 200 lives. The\nfestival of the Catholic Union at Boston also deserved mention, as it\nevoked a demonstration of Catholic strength and Catholic feeling that\nwas an honest source of pride. Among names omitted in the death-roll\nwere those of Dr. H. S. Hewit, a noble man who sacrificed much for his\ncountry and his faith; Hiram Powers, the sculptor; Laura Keene, the\nactress, an estimable woman and a good Catholic; Sir Henry Holland,\nHenry W. Wilberforce, brother of the Anglican bishop, and for a long\ntime editor of the London _Weekly Register_ (Catholic); General Hardee,\nand a name once very famous, Abdel-Kader. A new Atlantic cable was this\nyear laid by the _Great Eastern_ between Valentia and Heart's Content,\nN. F.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[176] \"Church and State in Germany,\" _Catholic World_, July, 1872.\n\n[177] See the response of the German Emperor to the Pope, in the\ncorrespondence recently published.\n\n[178] The New York _Tablet_, July 19, 1873--\"A Truly Liberal\nGovernment.\"\n\n[179] The London _Times_, January, 1873.\n\n[180] Possibly the spelling of the name is incorrect; but there is such\na variety to choose from that the correct form is a nice question.\n\n\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\n  THE ARK OF THE PEOPLE. By Plato Punchinello. Translated from the\n    French by a Friend of Christian Civilization. Philadelphia: P. F.\n    Cunningham. 1873.\n\nA very timely book, whose publication is very welcome. It is one of a\nclass very numerous at present in France, which we hope to see becoming\ncommon in our own country. That is to say, it treats of the horrible\nconsequences in the social order flowing from the prevalent infidel,\nheretical, anti-Catholic theories, maxims, errors, and illusions of the\nage, vamped up by sophists and charlatans, and palmed off upon their\ndupes and victims as philosophy, science, advanced ideas, principles of\nprogress and improvement in civilization. It treats also of Catholic\nprinciples as the principles of true social and political order and\nwell-being. It is lively and brilliant, and we recommend it most\nearnestly as a book most useful and entertaining, specially fitted\nto counteract the false notions which are but too current even among\nCatholics.\n\n  LASCINE. By an Oxford Man. New York: Appletons. 1873.\n\n  SEVEN STORIES. By Lady Georgiana Fullerton. London: Burns & Oates.\n    1873. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\n  MARIE AND PAUL. By \"Our Little Woman.\" Same publishers.\n\n  THE BARON OF HERTZ. A Tale of the Anabaptists. From the French of\n    Albert De Labadye. New York: O'Shea. 1873.\n\n  GORDON LODGE. By Miss M. Agnes White. Baltimore: Kelly & Piet. 1873.\n\nHere is quite a supply of works of fiction by Catholic writers to\nhelp while away the dreary winter months. _Lascine_ is a story whose\nincidents are taken from the experience of an Oxford convert. A\nnumber of very good stories of this kind have appeared since the\ngreat movement began; and the movement itself, besides its serious\nimportance, is certainly very fertile in romantic incidents, and\nfurnishes abundant stuff for a skilful novelist. _Lascine_ is a book\nwhich can be read with great interest, and is by no means lacking in\ncleverness. Its principal fault is an excess of sentimentality. We\nthink it promises a great deal for the future success of its young\nauthor.\n\nAnything written by Lady Georgiana Fullerton must of course be\nexcellent. The first and last of these stories are particularly good,\nand the last one ought to be read by all our young people, especially\nyoung ladies who aspire to become literary stars.\n\n_Marie and Paul_ is a very pretty and pathetic tale.\n\n_The Baron of Hertz_ has a great deal of historical instruction about\nthe crimes and horrors of the German Reformation, couched in the form\nof a stirring and most tragic story.\n\nMiss White's _d\u00e9but_ is very creditable to her. She has originality of\nconception and power of delineation and description. There are certain\ninaccuracies in respect to the English titles of nobility, and some\nother minor faults of style which indicate the need of a more careful\nattention to details and a more accurate revision. As a whole, the\nstory is a very successful effort.\n\n  THE REAL PRESENCE. By Rev. P. Tissot, S.J. New York: P. O'Shea.\n    1873.\n\nAn excellent little book, solid, simple, and pious, good alike for\nold and young. The doctrinal gravity of the treatise is relieved in\nan agreeable and edifying manner by some interesting narrations of\nmiraculous events relating to the Blessed Eucharist. F. Tissot has\nchosen these incidents with great judgment, selecting those which are\nboth extremely wonderful and at the same time very well authenticated,\nand taking care to give the proof as well as the history. There\ncannot be anything more stupid or more provoking than the ignorant,\nsupercilious, and flippant manner in which the writers for the secular\nand _soi-disant_ religious press, sneer at these Catholic miracles,\nwithout pretending to reason about the evidence on which the truth\nrests. There are some who think it the best policy to keep silent about\nthem; but it is our opinion that we ought to bring them constantly\nbefore the face and eyes of the unbelieving world, although the light\nwhich flashes from them may be disagreeable to many who do not wish to\nbe disturbed in their fatal slumber.\n\n  SAXE HOLM'S STORIES. New York: Scribner. 1874.\n\nA most peculiar school of fiction, which we may call the\n\"transcendental,\" has grown up among the New Englanders and their\n_semblables_ within our own remembrance. Some of its productions are of\nfine quality, and it oscillates in morality between the two extremes of\nCatholicity and pantheism. Nevertheless, as a dear friend, who lived\nand died a Unitarian minister, once remarked to us, the prevailing\ntendency of this entire transcendental movement is a very circuitous\nreturn to the religion of our Catholic forefathers. The stories of this\nvolume, written, we conjecture, by a lady, are a sample of the kind of\nliterature referred to. The first story, \"Draxy Miller,\" is a _chef\nd'\u0153uvre_. It may seem odd that we should perceive a Catholic undertone\nin a story the heroine of which, after marrying a minister in a wild\ncountry hamlet of New Hampshire, takes charge of the preaching for a\nyear after her husband's death. Female preaching, and the whole set\nof strong-minded female notions, we abominate, of course. But Draxy\nMiller's last epoch of life, as the passing _umbra_ of her husband,\nis so described that the repulsive aspect of the pastoral office in\npetticoats is hidden. And as an ideal character Draxy is exquisite.\n\"Reuben Miller's Daughter\" wins the heart of the reader, as she did the\nhearts of the old captain, the stage-driver, the elder, and the elder's\nparishioners.\n\n\"The One-Legged Dancers\" is capital also, and the other stories are\nwritten with skill and effect. There is rather too strong an infusion\nof transcendental notions about love, yet the moral tone is much higher\nthan is usually found in novels, and the author appears to recognize\nthe stringent obligation of wedlock. We rank this volume of stories\ndecidedly in the first class.\n\nIn the advertisements at the end of the volume we perceive the\nannouncement of a translation of Jules Verne's _De la Terre \u00e0 la Lune_,\ntogether with another similar book, describing a journey to the centre\nof the earth. The first of these extraordinary _jeux d'esprit_ has\ngiven us so much pleasure in the original, overflowing, as it is, with\nhumor, poetry, and scientific knowledge, that we call the attention of\nour readers, in a spirit of purely disinterested philanthropy, to the\nfact that they can get this book and its fellow in English. They will\nhelp very materially the effort to pass a merry Christmas.\n\n  THE ARENA AND THE THRONE. By L. T. Townsend, D.D., author of\n    _Credo_, etc. Boston: Lee & Shepard. 1873.\n\nThe principal object of this book is one in which we heartily\nsympathize, being the refutation of the ordinary shallow arguments\nwhich some persons consider as conclusive in favor of what is known as\nthe \"plurality of worlds\" and the maintenance of the dignity of man\nas a worthy possessor of the universe of God. The material universe\nis insignificant compared with a single soul. We need not take so\nmuch pains to try to utilize it. The convenience of one man would be a\nsufficient reason for its existence. The physical arguments, drawn from\nactual observation, in favor of the uninhabitability of the worlds with\nwhich we have become in any degree acquainted, are well put.\n\n  RHODA THORNTON'S GIRLHOOD. By Mary E. Pratt. Boston: Lee & Shepard.\n    1873.\n\nA pretty, simple story of New England life; a good book for a school\nprize. The usual hearty country pleasures--husking and quilting\nparties, Thanksgiving, etc., are well and truly described; a healthy\ntone runs through the story, which is a natural and probable one. The\nlittle heroine, Rhoda, a thoughtful, womanly child, begins her life in\nan alms-house, and then spends a few years on an old-fashioned farm.\nShe turns out to be the great-granddaughter of a lost member of an old\nfamily, whose heirs and representatives she and her brother become.\nThe incidents are not violently improbable, and the disintegration\nnaturally arising in such a family through imprudent marriages and\nremovals to distant and unreclaimed territories very adequately\naccounts for the mystery. The style is free and simple; studied\nornament or any silly rhetorical flourish is avoided.\n\n  RITUALE ROMANUM PAULI V. PONTIFICIS MAXIMI JUSSU EDITUM ET A\n    BENEDICTO XIV. AUCTUM ET CASTIGATUM: CUI NOVISSIMA ACCEDIT\n    BENEDICTIONUM ET INSTRUCTIONUM APPENDIX. Baltimori: Excudebat\n    Joannes Murphy. 1873. 12mo, pp. 546.\n\nThis is the first entire edition of the _Rituale_ published in this\ncountry, and we take pleasure in commending it as one very creditable\nto the publisher. The type is large, the paper white and clear, and\nvery excellent register is observed in printing the rubrics. If there\nis any suggestion we would offer, it is that the next edition be\nprinted on thinner paper, so that the volume may be reduced to a more\nportable size without any diminution in legibility. The _imprimatur_ of\nthe archbishop of Baltimore obviates any necessity for comment on the\ntext.\n\n  THE ACTS OF THE EARLY MARTYRS. By J. A. M. Fastr\u00e9, S.J. Third\n    series. Philadelphia: P. Cunningham & Son. 1873.\n\nThe first and second series of this valuable and suggestive work have\nreceived due notice in these pages at the time of their publication. We\nhave before us now the third series, chiefly treating of the martyrs\nof the IVth century, under the tenth general persecution--that of\nDiocletian. The contents are most interesting, the more so as some of\nthe saints here mentioned are less known than those whose acts filled\nthe first two volumes. The great and foremost reason why we rejoice\nto see the sufferings and constancy of the early martyrs brought\nbefore the remembrance of our people is that these sufferings have\nsome analogy with the present condition of the church in many lands.\nAlthough the physical tortures of early days are out of fashion, the\nmoral persecution is not less ingeniously spread over the whole life\nof a Catholic than it was in former times. The same kind of constancy\nis required to conquer the latter as was needed by the martyrs to\novercome bodily pain. In those early times social ostracism, exile from\nhonorable professions, and confiscation of property, were as frequently\nas now the guerdon of him who embraced the unpopular religion, as we\nsee in the case of S. Tarachus and his companions. In every instance\nthe bribe held out by Satan to the confessors of the faith was the\nfavor of the emperor, the honors and emoluments of the magistracy,\ngreat riches, and high position, as we see specially in the case of S.\nClement of Ancyra. His is the most wonderful life recounted in this\nlittle book. Eighteen years of incessant martyrdom; the most heroic\nconstancy and patience; the most singular and miraculous Providence\nwatching over him; the powers of persuasion which converted his\njailers, his executioners, and thousands of pagans in the various\nplaces where he was tortured and confined; the manner in which it\npleased God to make him whole no less than six times after the devil\nhad done his best to render his body unrecognizable--all contribute to\nmake of his life a tissue of a more wonderful and awful romance than\nany imaginary tale of medi\u00e6val marvel. To S. Blasius of Sebaste we\nwould also call attention, as having forestalled S. Francis of Assisi\nin his god-given power over the lower creation. In the story of S.\nPolyeuctus the reader will recognize the foundation of Corneille's\nsublime Christian drama of _Polyeucte_, written at the instance of\nMme. de Maintenon. The style of this book is flowing and correct;\nsimple, as befits the subject, which cannot be raised higher by any\nflight of human fancy or adornment of human fashion; is accessible to\nthe understanding of the unlearned, and cannot fail involuntarily to\ntouch the hearts of all. Is it not a strange thought to dwell upon,\nthat, among all the conversions wrought on the spot by the supernatural\ncourage of the martyrs, there should be hardly one instance on record\nof it having converted their judge? The sudden judgment executed on\nsome governors and pr\u00e6tors is indeed mentioned in a few cases. Are we\nto suppose that they were really beyond persuasion, being possessed by\na devil who had complete control over their faculties? It is a very\nawful thing whereon to meditate, but these stories of our forerunners\nin the good fight certainly strongly suggest the idea.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nANNOUNCEMENT.--We shall begin in our next number the publication of a\nnew story by Mrs. Craven, author of _A Sister's Story_, _Fleurange_,\netc. The work will be issued simultaneously with its appearance in _Le\nCorrespondant_, the translation being made from the original MS. with\nthe special sanction of the author from whom the exclusive right of\npublication in this country has been purchased.\n\nThe continuation of _Grapes and Thorns_, which has been delayed by the\ndeparture of the author on an European tour, will be resumed in the\nFebruary number.\n\n\n\n\nTHE\n\nCATHOLIC WORLD.\n\nVOL. XVIII., No. 107.--FEBRUARY, 1874.[181]\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRINCIPLES OF REAL BEING.\n\n\nII.\n\nEXTRINSIC PRINCIPLES OF BEING.\n\nAs in chemistry, so also in metaphysics, the labor and difficulty\nattending the analysis of complex things is proportional to the degree\nof their complexity. Hence in the search after the principles of real\nbeing, which we are about to make, we judge it expedient, for the\ngreater convenience and satisfaction of our philosophical readers, to\nstart from the principles of the most simple among the subjects of\nmetaphysical analysis--that is, from the principles of primitive beings.\n\nBy \"primitive\" being we mean a being not made up of other beings, but\n\"strictly one in its entity\"--_unum per se in ratione entis_--and\ntherefore having nothing of which it can be deprived without ceasing to\nbe altogether.\n\nIt is to be observed that a primitive being may be conceived to exist\neither contingently or through the necessity of its own nature. Of\ncourse, a being which exists through the necessity of its own nature is\nperfectly independent of all extrinsic things, as it contains in its\nown nature the adequate reason of its being, and therefore admits of no\nextrinsic principles of any kind. But a being which exists contingently\nis a being which has not within itself the adequate reason of its\nexistence; whence it follows that its existence cannot be accounted\nfor but by recourse to some extrinsic principle or principles. As the\nknowledge of extrinsic principles is calculated to throw much light\nalso on the intrinsic constitution of primitive contingent beings, let\nus make such principles the subject of our first investigation.\n\nWe affirm that the extrinsic principles of every primitive contingent\nbeing are three; for to the question, \"Whence any such being proceeds,\"\nthree different answers can be given, and three only.\n\nFirst, we can assign the reason why, or the end _for the sake of\nwhich_, a being has been made to exist.\n\nSecondly, we can point out the agency _through which_ a being has been\nmade to exist.\n\nThirdly, and lastly, we can mention the term _out of which_ a being has\nbeen brought into existence.\n\nThese three principles virtually contain the whole theory of creation.\nIf we were now writing for unbelievers, we would be obliged to commence\nby establishing some preliminary truths, such as God's existence,\nthe contingency of the world, and the philosophical impossibility of\naccounting for its origin without recourse to the dogma of creation.\nBut as our habitual readers are presumed to be sufficiently instructed\nabout these fundamental truths, we think we may here dispense with a\ndirect demonstration of the same, and avoid a digression which would\nlead us too far from the subject now under examination. As, however,\nthis article may possibly fall into the hands of some dupe of modern\ninfidelity, we propose to make a few incidental remarks on their usual\nobjections, and to lay down, before we conclude, some of the arguments\nby which unbelievers can be convinced of the absolute truth of what we\nnow assume as the ground of our explanations.\n\nWe assume, then, that there is a Creator, a God, a being infinitely\nintelligent and infinitely powerful, eternal, and independent. Such a\nbeing, as infinitely perfect, is infinitely happy, and experiences no\nneed whatever of anything outside of himself. He therefore does not\ncreate anything, unless he freely wills; nor wills he anything, unless\nit is for some good which he freely intends; for nothing but good\ncan be the object of volition. Now, the only good which God in his\ninfinite wisdom can freely intend is the exterior manifestation of his\ndivine perfections. It is, therefore, for this end that creatures were\nbrought into existence.\n\nOur first answer to the question above proposed points out this _final\nprinciple_ of creation--that is, the manifestation of God's perfections\nin such a degree and manner as he himself was pleased freely to\ndetermine. To attain this end, it is obvious that God was obliged to\nbestow upon his creatures such a degree of reality as would enable\nthem to show in themselves and in their finite perfections a finite\nimage, and, so to say, a reflex of the perfections of their Creator.\nHence the final principle, on which the existence of contingent beings\noriginally depends, comprises not only the manifestation of God's\nperfections in a determinate degree, but also, and more immediately,\nthe bestowal of a proportionate degree of entity upon creatures, that\nthey may carry on such a manifestation according to the design of their\nCreator. Thus the _ultimate_ end of creation is indeed God's glory,\nor the manifestation of his perfections; but the _proximate_ end of\ncreation, and that which is immediately obtained in the very act of\ncreation, is the existence of the created things with that degree of\nreality and with those endowments which make them fit instruments for\nthe aforesaid manifestation. Accordingly, when asked whence a primitive\ncontingent being proceeds, our first answer must be that it proceeds\nfrom God's design of showing his existence and infinite perfection by\ncommunicating contingent existence and finite perfections outside of\nhimself.\n\nLet us here take notice that \"modern thought\" ignores final principles\naltogether, and pretends that arguments from design have no value in\nscience. In this pretension we unmistakably recognize the materialistic\npropensities and the lack of philosophical reasoning by which our age\nis afflicted. When our modern sages will prove that creation does not\nproceed from a will, or that a will can act without an object, then\nthey will be entitled to the honor of a serious refutation. As it is,\ntheir negative position is sufficiently refuted by a simple appeal to\ncommon sense.\n\nTo those who, without denying final causes, maintain that we cannot\nascertain them, nor make them an object of science, we reply that,\nalthough we do not know _all_ the particular ends which each creature\nmay be destined to fulfil, we nevertheless know perfectly well the\ngeneral end of creation. Now, nothing more is needed for establishing\nthe reality of the first extrinsic principle on which the existence of\nevery contingent being depends.\n\nOur second answer points out the _efficient principle_ of\ncreation--that is, God's omnipotent power. Rationalists and\nmaterialists have tried to do away with this most necessary principle.\nBesides the old pagan assumption of self-existent matter, which many\nof them adopted in order to supersede the necessity of a creator, they\nhave tried to popularize other inventions of more recent thinkers,\nwho for the God of the Bible have substituted what they style the\n_Absolute_, and pretend that what we call \"contingent beings\" are mere\napparitions of the _Absolute_--that is, the _Absolute_ manifesting\nitself. Without stopping here to refute such a strange theory, we shall\ncontent ourselves with observing that what is altogether _absolute_ is\nintrinsically _unmodifiable_--a truth which needs no demonstration, as\nit immediately results from the comparison of the two terms; whence it\nfollows that, if the _Absolute_ wishes to manifest itself, it cannot do\nso by assuming any new form, but only by means of something extraneous\nto its own nature, and consequently through the instrumentality of\nsome being _produced_ by it, perfectly _distinct_ from it, and which\nmay admit of such modifications as we witness everywhere around us,\nand as we know to be irreconcilable with the nature of the _Absolute_.\nThis suffices to show that no apparition or manifestation of the\n_Absolute_ can be conceived without implying an exertion of efficient\npower.[182] We say, then, in our second answer, that it is through\ndivine omnipotence that contingent beings were actually brought into\nexistence by such a communication of reality as was proportionate to\nthe design of their Creator. In other terms, God's omnipotent power is\nthe _efficient_ principle of all primitive contingent being.\n\nOur third answer points out the _terminus ex quo_ of creation--that\nis, the term out of which every contingent being is primarily educed.\nSuch a term is mere nothingness; for whatever primarily begins to\nexist must come out of absolute non-existence. It is against this that\nour modern pseudo-philosophers most loudly protest, as they stoutly\nproclaim that \"nothing comes out of nothing\"--_ex nihilo nihil fit_.\nWe may well smile at their useless protestation; for the fact is that\nnothing is ever brought into existence but from its contrary--that\nis, from its non-existence. It would be vain to object that, to build\na house or a ship, materials are needed. Of course they are needed,\nbut a house is a compound, not a primitive, being; and to build a\nhouse is not _to produce_ the house, but only to effect _the artistic\narrangement_ of its materials. Now, undoubtedly, before the house is\nbuilt, such an arrangement has no existence. The only thing, therefore,\nthat the builder efficiently produces springs out of non-existence.\nWe fully admit that a physical compound cannot be made up without\nmaterials--viz., without pre-existent components--but, to be sure, the\nfirst components do not themselves depend on other components, because\nthe first components are _primitive_ beings, and, as such, cannot\nbe made of any pre-existing material. Yet they must have been made,\nsince they exist and are contingent; and, if made of no pre-existing\nmaterial, certainly brought out of nothing.\n\nBut as our readers need none of our arguments to be convinced of a\ntruth of which they are already in possession, we will set aside all\nfurther discussion on this subject, and conclude, from the preceding\nremarks, that when we are asked whence a contingent being originally\ncomes, our last answer must be that it comes out of nothing as the\n_term_ of its eduction. Nothingness, in this case, holds the place of\nthe _material_ principle, which is wanting.\n\nIt is clear, then, that all primitive contingent beings can, and\nmust, be traced to three extrinsic principles. This doctrine contains\nnothing difficult, far-fetched, or mysterious, and its great simplicity\nproves that metaphysics, after all, may be less frightfully abstruse\nthan some people are apt to believe. This same doctrine is also the\nuniversal doctrine of all philosophers who did not lose themselves in\nthe dreams of visionary systems. It is true that they do not always\nmention, as formally as we do, the final object of creation as a\ndistinct principle; but they do not deny it. In treating of the origin\nof things, they usually consider the final and the efficient principle\nof creation as a single adequate principle, on the ground that finality\nand efficiency, viewed absolutely as they are in God, are but one and\nthe same thing. They also omit very frequently the mention of the term\nout of which things are educed, not because they do not acknowledge it,\nbut because they know that it has no positive causality. Nevertheless,\na little reflection will show that such a course is not the best\ncalculated to give a distinct idea of the principiation of things; on\nthe contrary, the very nature of the metaphysical process demands that\neach of the three extrinsic principles be kept in view very distinctly\nand explicitly.\n\nWe admit, of course, that the final and the efficient principle\nof creation, viewed absolutely as they are in God, are really and\nentitatively the same thing; but we consider that the intention, or\nvolition of the end, has its connection with created beings, not on\naccount of its absolute entity, which is necessary, but on account\nof its extrinsic termination, which is contingent; for, evidently,\nno act can be conceived as the principle of a being, except inasmuch\nas it is connected with the same being. Accordingly, God's volition\nis the principle of things, not inasmuch as it is an absolute act,\nentitatively necessary, but inasmuch as it is an act having a\ncontingent termination. On the other hand, God's infinite power must\nindeed be conceived as connoting an infinity of beings that _can_\nbe created, but is not conceivable as connoting determinate beings\nthat _will_ be created, unless something be found that connects it\nespecially with the same determinate beings. Now, what is it that\nconnects God's omnipotence with any determinate being which is to be\ncreated but his volition of a contingent determinate object--that\nis, his volition as having a contingent termination? Omnipotence,\ntherefore, acquires a special connection with a determinate contingent\nbeing only on account of the extrinsic termination of divine volition;\nand thus divine omnipotence and divine volition have, under this\nconsideration, a kind of relative opposition, on account of which the\none that induces the special connection is to be distinguished from the\nother that acquires it.\n\nMoreover, in the investigation of first principles we must continue our\nanalysis as far as we can--that is, until we reach the ultimate terms\ninto which the subject of our investigation can be resolved. Now, it is\nevident that omnipotence, as freely connected with the production of\na determinate being, is not the ultimate term of analysis; for we can\ngo further, and assign the reason of that free connection--viz., the\nactual volition of an end. Hence the final and the efficient principle\nof creation, though not really distinct in God, afford a real ground\nfor two distinct concepts, and are to be considered as two distinct\nextrinsic principles with respect to all created things.\n\nThe third extrinsic principle--that is, the term out of which\ncontingent beings are originally educed--is very frequently overlooked\nas irrelevant, because it has no reality. We are of opinion that it\nshould be kept in view by all means, and prominently too, for many\nreasons which will be hereafter explained, and especially for the\neasier refutation of pantheism. Such a term has, indeed, no reality;\nbut it is not necessary that all the extrinsic principles of being\nshould be realities. Common sense teaches, on the contrary, that when\na thing is to be first brought into existence, it is necessary that it\nshould pass from its non-being into being; whence it is manifest that\n_its non-being_ is the proper term out of which it has to be educed.\nNow, the non-being of a thing is its nothingness; and, therefore, its\nnothingness is the proper term out of which it must be educed. For\nthe same reason, the schoolmen uniformly taught with Aristotle that\n_privation_ also was to be ranked among the principles of things,\nalthough privations are not positive beings;[183] and therefore the\nnothingness of the term from which creatures are educed is no objection\nto its being placed among the extrinsic principles of contingent beings.\n\nAs, however, that which is looked upon as a principle is always\nconceived to connote the thing principiated, and, on the other hand,\n_absolute_ nothingness has no such connotation (for connotation is\nvirtual relativity, and cannot spring from nothing), it follows that\n_nothingness_, when conceived as a term out of which a being is educed,\nis to be looked upon, not as an absolute negation of being, but as _a\nnegation out of which divine omnipotence, by the production of an act,\nbrings the creature into being_. In other terms, nothingness is to be\nconsidered, under God's hand, as _a negative potency of something\nreal_, which can be actuated; and, with regard to any individual\nreality, as the potency of that individual reality. When viewed in\nthis manner, nothingness assumes a relative aspect, in opposition\nto that reality of which it is the potency, and thus becomes apt to\nconnote that same reality, in the same way as silence connotes talk,\ndarkness light, absence presence, informity form. Hence we took care\nto say that a thing is brought into being out of _its_ non-being;\nbecause, as the fool only by divesting himself of _his_ foolishness\ncan grow wise, so a reality which is to come out of nothing--say, a\npoint of matter--cannot be educed out of the non-being of an angel or\nof any other thing, but only out of _its own_ non-being. Consequently,\nnon-being, or nothingness, as the term out of which a point of matter\nis to be educed, means nothing but _the potency of that real point_;\nand thus nothingness, under the hand of the Omnipotent, acquires, in\nregard to that which is educed out of it, that relativity which is\nsufficient to make it a principle, according to the nature and manner\nof its principiation.\n\nSome may ask why, among the extrinsic principles of things, we did\nnot mention God's _archetypal ideas_; for it seems that, when we are\nasked whence a contingent being primarily proceeds, we might answer\nby pointing out God's ideas as the patterns to which creatures must\nconform, and by saying that things primarily proceed _from the divine\nideas_ as from their archetypal principle; and if this answer--which is\nby no means absurd--be admitted, the extrinsic principles of contingent\nbeings will be four, and not three.\n\nBut it is to be observed that God's ideas precede all decrees\nconcerning creation, and are the archetypes not only of all the\nthings that are created, but of all the things also which will never\nbe created; and, therefore, God's ideas have, of themselves, no\nconnection with the _existence_ of contingent beings, but only with\ntheir _intelligibility_. Hence we may argue in the following manner:\nThe extrinsic principiation of a contingent being cannot be traced\nback to any _special_ principle prior to that which is the first\nreason of their creation. But God's ideas are prior to God's volition,\nwhich is the first reason of creation; therefore, the principiation of\ncontingent beings cannot be traced back to divine ideas as a _special_\nextrinsic principle.\n\nNevertheless, since God cannot intend to create anything but according\nto his own idea of it, we must own that the divine ideas share in the\ncausality of things, inasmuch as such ideas are implied in the volition\nof producing the objects they represent; and though, of themselves,\nthey are not a distinct and special principle of creation, yet, as\nincluded in the Creator's volition, they make up the whole plan of\ncreation, and thus they have a bearing on the nature, number, and order\nof all created things.\n\nSuch is the doctrine which we find in S. Thomas' _Theological Summa_,\nwhere he explains how God's ideas are the cause of things. \"God's\nideas,\" says he, \"are to all created things what the artist's ideas\nare to the works of art. The artist's ideas are the cause of a work\nof art, inasmuch as the artist acts through his understanding; hence\nthe form or idea which is in his understanding must be the principle\nof his operation, in the same manner as heat is the principle of the\nheating. But it must be remarked that a natural form is a principle of\noperation, not inasmuch as it is the permanent form of the thing to\nwhich it gives existence, but inasmuch as it has a leaning towards an\neffect. And in a similar manner the form which is in the understanding\nis a principle of action, not inasmuch as it is in the understanding\nsimply, but inasmuch as it acquires, through the will, a leaning\ntowards an effect; for an intellectual form is not more connected with\nthe existence than with the non-existence of the thing of which it is\nthe form (since one and the same is the science of contraries); and,\ntherefore, such a form cannot produce a determinate effect, unless it\nbe brought into connection with one of the two contraries; which is\ndone by the will. Now, God, as we know, causes all things through his\nunderstanding, for his understanding is his being; and, therefore,\nhis science, _as united with his will_, must be the cause of all\nthings.\"[184]\n\nIt might be here objected that if, for the reason just alleged,\narchetypal ideas are not to be considered a distinct principle of\ncreation, then neither can omnipotence be considered as a distinct\nprinciple; for as archetypal ideas do not principiate anything unless\nthrough free volition, so, also, omnipotence principiates nothing but\nin consequence of the same volition; and, therefore, if archetypal\nideas on this account are not a distinct principle of things, on the\nsame account omnipotence cannot be taken as a distinct principle.\n\nTo this we answer that the assumed parity has no legs to stand on.\nThat archetypal ideas are not a distinct principle of creation was\nproved above, not simply by arguing that they cannot principiate\nanything independently of free volition, but by showing that it is not\nfrom them, but from the volition alone, that the real principiation\nof things begins. Now, this proof applies to ideas, but not to\nomnipotence. In fact, ideas, even in God, must be conceived as having\na certain priority with respect to volitions; for it is true, even in\nGod, that nothing is willed which is not foreknown--_nihil est volitum,\nquin pr\u00e6cognitum_. If, therefore, God's ideas were a _distinct_\nprinciple of creation, there would be something in God, prior to\nhis will, which would entail the existence of created beings; which\nis impossible to admit so long as we maintain that God's will must\nremain free in its extrinsic operations. We cannot, therefore, admit,\nwithout absurdity, that the archetypal ideas constitute a _distinct_\nprinciple of things. But, as to divine omnipotence, no such absurdity\nis to be feared; for God's omnipotence has no priority with respect to\nGod's will; and thus the above argument cannot be used to prove that\nomnipotence is not a distinct principle of creation.\n\nWe conclude that the extrinsic principles, to which the first origin\nof contingent beings is to be traced, are not fewer, and not more,\nthan three. Our Catholic readers will be satisfied, we hope, that\nthis conclusion has been fairly established on what they know to be\nsecure foundations. Infidels, of course, will object; for they will\nthink that the whole of our discussion has been based on hypothetical\ngrounds. In fact, we have supposed that there are \"primitive\" beings,\nthat they are \"contingent,\" that they need \"a creator,\" and that\nthe creator must be an \"infinite being,\" a god. If a Comtist or a\nmaterialist happens to read the preceding pages, he will surely say\nthat we have built nothing but a cob-house. But we do not care much\nwhat may be objected by such a class of frivolous and unreasonable\nphilosophers. We know that their favorite theories have been a hundred\ntimes exploded, and their futile objections a hundred times answered.\nWhen a foe is defeated, what is the use of prolonging the contest?\nAnd when noonday light is dazzling the world, what need is there of\nlighting candles? Let them, therefore, only open their eyes, if they\nreally want light. There is no scarcity of good philosophical works,\nwhich, if consulted by them in a spirit of candor, will afford them all\nthe light that a man can reasonably desire for the full attainment of\ntruth.\n\nYet the solidity of the ground on which we have taken our stand may be\nestablished in a very few words.\n\nThat there are _contingent_ beings is quite certain; for nothing\nwhich necessarily exists is liable to change or modification. But all\nthat surrounds us in this world is liable to change and modification;\ntherefore, nothing that surrounds us in this world necessarily exists.\nAccordingly, all that we see in this world exists contingently.\n\nThat contingent beings are either _primitive_ or made up of _primitive_\nbeings is, again, a well-known fact; for all being which is not\nprimitive is a compound, and can be traced to its first physical\ncomponents--that is, to the first elements of its composition. But\nthe _first_ elements of composition cannot possibly be made up of\nother elements, and accordingly must be primitive beings. Therefore,\nprimitive beings exist everywhere, at least (if nowhere else) in all\nthe compounds of which they are the first physical components.\n\nThat every primitive contingent being must have had its _origin from\nwithout_ is a plain truth; for that which has no origin from without\nmust have the adequate reason of its existence from within; and,\ntherefore, it carries in its essence the necessity of its existence.\nBut evidently contingent and changeable beings do not carry within\ntheir essence the necessity of their existence; therefore, contingent\nbeings must have had their origin from without.\n\nThat every such being must have come _out of nothing_ is not less\nevident; for a primitive being cannot possibly come out of pre-existent\nbeings as its material principles. It must, therefore, be _produced_\neither out of God's substance or out of nothing. But not out of God's\nsubstance, for divine substance is not susceptible of contingent forms;\ntherefore, out of nothing--that is, by creation properly.\n\nLastly, that the Creator is _an eternal, infinite being_ can be easily\nproved, independently of many other arguments, by the following\ngeneral theorem, to which modern philosophers are invited to pay close\nattention. The theorem is this: _All efficient cause is infinitely more\nperfect, and of an infinitely better nature, than any of its effects_.\nIf this proposition be true, it immediately follows that the Creator of\nthe universe is infinitely more perfect than the whole universe, and\nhas a nature infinitely better, nobler, and higher than that of any\ncontingent being, and therefore is a necessary and independent being,\nthe supreme being--God. Let us, then, demonstrate our theorem.\n\nIt is a known and incontrovertible truth that every efficient cause\neminently contains in itself (that is, possesses in an eminent degree)\nall the perfection which it can efficiently communicate to any number\nof effects; and it can be proved, moreover, that the efficiency of a\ncause is never exhausted, and not even weakened, by its exertions,\nhowever long continued and indefinitely multiplied. The earth, after\nhaving for centuries exerted its attractive power and caused the fall\nof innumerable bodies, has preserved to this day the same power whole\nand undiminished, and is still acting, with its primitive energy, on\nany number of bodies, just as it did at the time of its creation.\nOur soul is not exhausted or weakened by its operations; but, after\nhaving made any number of judgments, reasonings, or any other mental\nactions, still retains the whole energy and perfection of its faculties\nwithout waste, effeteness, or decay. A molecule of oxygen, after having\nfor ages, either free in the air or confined in water or in other\ncompounds, produced such a number of effects as bewilders and beats all\npower of imagination, retains yet its efficient causality as entire and\nunimpaired as if it were of quite recent creation. These facts show\nthat the efficient cause suffers no loss whatever by the exertion of\nits power, and therefore is fully equal to the production of an endless\nmultitude of effects.\n\nSome may say that this conclusion cannot be universal, as we see that\nnatural forces are very often exhausted by exertion. We answer that,\nwhen _natural forces_ are said to be exhausted, the _efficient powers_\nfrom which those forces result remain as intact and as active as\nbefore. We say, indeed, that a man or a horse is exhausted by fatigue;\nthat our brain, after hours of mental work, needs rest to recover its\nlost energy, and many other such things; but, in all such cases, what\nwe call _exhaustion_ is not a diminution of efficient power in the\nagents from the concurrence of which the natural forces result, but\neither the actual disappearance (by respiration, perspiration, etc.)\nof a number of those agents, or a perturbance of the arrangements\nand conditions necessary for their united conspiration towards the\nproduction of a determinate effect. _Natural force_, in the sense of\nthe objection, is a combination of agents and of efficient powers,\nwhich produce their effect by many concurrent actions giving a\ndifferent resultant under different conditions; and as any given effect\nproximately depends on the resultant of such actions, the same powers,\nthough unaltered in themselves, must, under different conditions, give\nrise to different effects. Take a car and four horses. If the horses\nact all in the same direction, the car will move easily enough; but\nif two of the horses act in one direction, and two in the other, the\nresult will be very different. Yet the powers applied to the car are in\nboth cases the same. Again, take an army of fifty thousand men facing\nthe enemy. If the men are well arranged so as to present a good line\nof battle, the action of the army will be strong; but if the men are\ndisorderly scattered, the action will be weak, though the men are the\nsame and their powers and exertions undiminished. Now, all bodies and\nall complex causes are in the same case; which is evident from the\nfact that with all of them a favorable change of conditions, all other\nthings remaining the same, is always attended by an increase of the\neffect. Therefore, the so-called _exhaustion_ of natural forces is not\na diminution of the efficient powers of which they are the result, but\na state of things in which _the same_ active powers are exerted in a\ndifferent manner, or have to perform a different work, according to the\ndifferent conditions to which they are actually subjected. We therefore\nrepeat that efficient causes suffer no loss whatever by the exertion\nof their efficient powers, and that consequently they are fully equal\nto the production of an infinite multitude of effects; and since every\nefficient cause, as we have premised, must contain within itself, in an\neminent manner, the whole perfection which it can communicate to its\neffects, we are forced to conclude that the nature of every efficient\ncause _infinitely transcends_ in perfection the nature of its effects.\n\nThe theorem could be further confirmed by considering that all the acts\nproduced by efficient causes of the natural order, either spiritual\nor material, are mere accidents, whereas the causes themselves are\nsubstances; and it is manifest that the nature of substance infinitely\ntranscends the nature of accident.\n\nIt might be confirmed, again, by another very simple consideration.\nThe efficient cause does not communicate any portion of itself to\nits effect.[185] In fact, efficient causation is production; and\nproduction is not a transfusion, translocation, or emanation of a\npre-existing thing, but the origination of a _new_ entity which had no\nprevious formal existence. It follows that the efficient cause, while\nproducing an effect, retains its _entire_ entity, and therefore is\nnever exhausted. Thus a syllogism is not a portion of the mind that\nmakes it; and the making of it leaves intact the substance and the\nfaculty from which it proceeds. Thus, also, the actual momentum of a\nfalling body is not a portion of the terrestrial power by which it is\nproduced; the power remains whole and undiminished in the substance of\nthe earth, as already remarked, always ready to produce any number of\nchanges, and always unchanged in itself. This is the reason why every\nefficient cause infinitely transcends the nature of its effects.\n\nOur theorem is, then, demonstrated both by facts and by intrinsic\nreasons. We are confident that all honest philosophers, no matter\nhow much their intellectual vision may have been distorted by false\ndoctrines, will see their way to the right conclusion, and confess the\nabsolute necessity of an independent, self-existent, infinite Creator,\nfrom whom all beauty, goodness, and perfection proceed, and to whom all\ncreatures--philosophers not excepted--owe allegiance, honor, and glory.\n\n\n                            TO BE CONTINUED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[181] Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by\nRev. I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at\nWashington, D. C.\n\n[182] This argument could be employed against all other forms of\npantheism; but we must abstain at present from the discussion of\nparticular systems, as we cannot deal fairly with them within the\nnarrow compass of a single article.\n\nAs for _self-existent_ matter, we need only say that nothing which\ncan receive new determinations is self-existent; and since matter\nreceives new determinations, therefore matter is not self-existent.\nHence the conception of eternal and uncreated matter cannot be styled a\nphilosophical opinion, but only a dream of unreflecting or uneducated\nminds.\n\n[183] The Aristotelic meaning of the word _privation_ will be easily\nunderstood from the following example: If a cylindrical piece of wax\nbe made to assume a spherical form, the sphericity will be educed,\nas the schools say, from the cylindrical wax, not inasmuch as it is\ncylindrical, but inasmuch as it is non-spherical. Such a non-sphericity\nis a _privation_, which is more than a _negation_, as it implies\nnot only the absence of sphericity, but also the presence of its\ncontrary--that is, of the cylindrical form. Privation is usually\ndefined _carentia form\u00e6 in subjecto apto_. It is a principle _per\naccidens_.\n\n[184] We give the original text: _Sic enim scientia Dei se habet ad\nomnes res creatas, sicut scientia artificis se habet ad artificiata.\nScientia autem artificis est causa artificiatorum, eo quod artifex\noperatur per suum intellectum. Unde oportet quod forma intellectus sit\nprincipium operationis, sicut calor est principium calefactionis. Sed\nconsiderandum est, quod forma naturalis, in quantum est forma manens\nin eo cui dat esse, non nominat principium actionis, sed secundum quod\nhabet inclinationem ad effectum. Et similiter forma intelligibilis non\nnominat principium actionis secundum quod est tantum in intelligente,\nnisi adjungatur ei inclinatio ad effectum, qu\u00e6 est per voluntatem.\nQuum enim forma intelligibilis ad opposita se habeat (quum eadem\nsit scientia oppositorum) non produceret determinatum effectum,\nnisi determinaretur ad unum per appetitum, ut dicitur in 9. Metaph.\nManifestum est autem quod Deus per intellectum suum causat res, quum\nsuum esse sit suum intelligere; unde necesse est quod sua scientia sit\ncausa rerum secundum quod habet voluntatem conjunctam_ (p. 1, q. 14, a.\n8).\n\n[185] Parents, however, communicate a portion of their substance\nto their offspring. The reason is that parents are not only the\n_efficient_, but also the _material_, cause of their offspring. As\nmaterial causes, they supply the matter of which the f\u0153tus will\nbe formed; but, as efficient causes, they only put the conditions\nrequired by nature for the organization of this matter. The position\nof such conditions is an accidental action as well as the subsequent\norganization. Therefore, parents, as efficient causes, produce nothing\nbut accidental acts. The matter of which the f\u0153tus is formed is, of\ncourse, all pre-existing.\n\n\n\n\nDANTE'S PURGATORIO.\n\nCANTO TWELFTH.\n\n\n      Paired, like two oxen treading under yoke,\n    That burdened soul and I as far had gone\n      As the loved Tutor let. But when he spoke\n    These words: \"Now leave him! We must travel on,\n      For here 'tis good with spread of sail and stroke\n    Of oar, to push his boat as each best may;\"\n      I made myself, as walking needs, erect,\n    But only in body; just it is to say\n      My thoughts were bowed, my spirit was deject.\n    Still I was moving, and with willing feet\n      Followed my Master; both began to show\n    How light we were, when thus he said: \"'Tis meet\n      That, walking here, thou bend thine eyes below,\n    So to observe, and make the moments fleet,\n      Over what kind of bed thy footsteps go.\"\n\n    Even as, that so their memory may survive,\n      Our earthly tombs, above the buried, bear\n    The graven form of what they were alive;\n      Whence oft one weeps afresh the image there,\n    Pricked by remembrance,--which doth only give\n      To souls compassionate a sting of pain--\n    So I saw figured o'er, but with more skill\n      In the resemblance, all the narrow plain\n    Which formed our pathway, jutting from the hill.\n\n      Him[186] there I marked, on one side, noblest made\n    Of all God's creatures, stricken down from heaven\n      Like lightning! Opposite, there was displayed\n    Briareus, cast from where he late had striven,\n      Smit by celestial thunderbolts, and laid\n    Heavy on earth and in the frost of death.\n      I saw Thymbr\u00e6us, Pallas too, and Mars,\n    Still armed, around their sire, with bated breath\n      Viewing the giants, their torn limbs and scars!\n    Nimrod I saw, at foot of his great tower,\n      As if bewildered, gazing on the tribes\n    That showed with him such haughtiness of power\n      In Shinar's plain, as Genesis describes.\n\n    O Niobe! with what eyes, full of woe,\n      Mid thy slain children, upon each hand seven,\n    I saw thee carved upon the road! And, O\n      Saul! in Gilboa, that no more from heaven\n    Felt rain or dew, how dead on thine own sword\n      Didst thou appear! Thee, mad Arachne, there\n    I saw, half spider! fumbling the deplored\n      Shreds of that work which wrought for thee despair\n    O Rehoboam! there no more in threat\n      Stands thy fierce figure; smit with fear he flies,\n    Whirled in a chariot, none pursuing yet:\n      Showed also that hard pavement to mine eyes\n    How young Alcm\u00e6on made his mother sell\n      With life the luckless ornament she wore\n    How, in the temple, on Sennacherib fell\n      The sons, and left his corpse there on the floor.\n    The cruel carnage and the wreck it showed\n      Which Tomyris made, when she to Cyrus cried:\n    _Blood thou didst thirst for! now I give thee blood_;\n      And showed th' Assyrians flying far and wide\n    In utter rout, with Holofernes dead,\n      And all the slaughter that befell beside,\n    And the grim carcase by the bloody bed.\n      Troy next I saw, an ashy, caverned waste:\n    O Ilion! how vile the work showed thee\n      Which there is graven,--how utterly abased!\n    What master of pencil or of stile[187] was he\n      Who so those traits and figures could have traced\n    That subtlest wit had been amazed thereby?\n      Alive the living seemed, and dead the dead!\n    Who saw the truth no better saw than I,\n      While bowed I went, all underneath my tread.\n\n    Now swell with pride, and on with lofty stalk,\n      Children of Eve! nor bend your visage aught\n    So to behold the sinful way ye walk.\n      More of the mountain than my busied thought\n    Had been aware of we had rounded now,\n      And much more of his course the sun had spent;\n    When he, who still went first with watchful brow,\n      Exclaimed: \"Look up!--to accomplish our ascent\n    Time no more suffers to proceed so slow.\n      See yonder angel hastening on his way\n    To come towards us! and from her service, lo!\n      The sixth returning handmaid of the day.\n    Give to thy mien the grace of reverence, then,\n      That he may joy to marshal us above.\n    Think thus: _this day will never dawn again_.\"\n      I had so often felt his words reprove\n    My slowness, warning me to lose no time,\n      That on this point I read his dark words right.\n    With sparkling face, as glows at rosy prime\n      The tremulous morning star, and robed in white,\n    That being of beauty moved towards us, and said,\n      Opening his arms and then his pinions wide,\n    \"Come, here the steps are!--easy to the tread\n      And close at hand: now upward ye may glide.\"\n    But very few obey this Angel's call:\n      O human race! born high on wings to soar,\n    Why at a little breath do ye so fall?\n      He brought us where the rock a pass revealed\n    Hewn out, his pinions on my forehead beat\n      And with his promise my safe-going sealed.\n\n    As, to the right, in climbing to the seat\n      Of the fair church[188] that looketh lordly down\n    Over the bridge that bears the name this day\n      Of Rubaconte, on the well-ruled town,[189]\n    The sharp ascent is broken by a way\n      Of stairs constructed in the old time, ere\n    Fraud was in measure and in ledger found;\n      Thus the steep bank is graduated there\n    Which falls abruptly from the other round:\n      On either side the tall rock grazes though.\n    As we turned thitherward, were voices heard,\n      _Beati pauperes spiritu!_ singing so\n    As might not be exprest by any word.\n      Ah! these approaches--how unlike to Hell's!\n    With chant of anthems one makes entrance here;\n      Down there with agony's ferocious yells.\n\n    Now, as we climb, the sacred stairs appear\n      More easy than the plain had seemed before:\n    Wherefore I thus began: \"O Master! say,\n     What heavy load is tak'n from me? No more\n    I feel that weariness upon my way.\"\n      \"When every P, upon thy temples traced,\n    Almost obliterate now,\" he answered me,\n      \"Shall be, like this one, totally erased,\n    So by right will thy feet shall vanquished be,\n      That they not only no fatigue shall know,\n    But ev'n with pleasure shall be forward sped.\"\n      Then did I like as men do when they go\n    Unweeting what they carry on their head,\n      Till signs from some one their suspicion waking,\n    The assistant hand its own assurance tries,\n      And seeks and findeth, such discovery making\n    As may not be afforded by the eyes.\n      Spreading my right-hand fingers, I could find\n    Six[190] letters only of the seven which he\n      Who bore the keys had on my forehead signed:\n    Observing which, my Master smiled on me.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[186] Lucifer.\n\n[187] _Stile_ here means a sculptor's tool, and not a writer's _style_.\n\n[188] This is the well-known church of S. Miniato, which every boy who\nhas been to Florence must well remember.\n\n[189] Florence, in irony.\n\n[190] The Angel, sitting at the gate of Purgatory, had described (as\nthe readers of the Ninth Canto may remember, v. 112) the letter P seven\ntimes with the point of his sword on the forehead of Dante, in sign of\nthe seven deadly sins,--Peccata--one of which, and Dante's worst, the\nsin of pride, now vanishes from his soul as the letter fades from his\nforehead.\n\n\n\n\nTHE EPIPHANY.\n\n\nLet us, then, also follow the Magi; let us separate ourselves from\nour barbarian customs, and make our distance therefrom great, that we\nmay see Christ, since they too, had they not been far from their own\ncountry, would have missed seeing him. Let us depart from the things\nof earth. For so the wise men, while they were in Persia, saw but the\nstar; but after they had departed from Persia, they beheld the Sun of\nRighteousness. Or rather, they would not have seen so much as the star,\nunless they had readily risen up from thence. Let us, then, also rise\nup; though all men be troubled, let us run to the house of the young\nChild; though kings, though nations, though tyrants, interrupt this our\npath, let not our desire pass away; for so shall we thoroughly repel\nall the dangers that beset us; since these too, except they had seen\nthe young Child, would not have escaped their danger from the king.\nBefore seeing the young Child, fears and dangers and troubles pressed\nupon them from every side; but after the adoration, it is calm and\nsecurity; and no longer a star, but an angel, receives them, having\nbecome priests from the act of adoration; for we see that they offered\ngifts also.\n\nDo thou, therefore, likewise leave the Jewish people, the troubled\ncity, the blood-thirsty tyrant, the pomps of the world, and hasten to\nBethlehem, where is the house of the Spiritual Bread;[191] for though\nthou be a shepherd, and come hither, thou wilt behold the young Child\nin an inn; though thou be a king, and approach not here, thy purple\nrobe will profit thee nothing; though thou be one of the wise men,\nthis will be no hindrance to thee; only let thy coming be to honor and\nadore, not to spurn, the Son of God; only do this with trembling and\nwith joy, for it is possible for both of these to concur in one.\n\nBut take heed that thou be not like Herod, and say, _That I may come\nand worship him_, and, when thou art come, be minded to slay him.\nFor him do they resemble who partake of the mysteries unworthily; it\nbeing said that such an one _shall be guilty of the Body and Blood of\nthe Lord_. Yes; for they have in themselves the tyrant who is grieved\nat Christ's Kingdom--him that is more wicked than Herod of old--even\nMammon. For he would fain have the dominion, and sends them that are\nhis own to worship in appearance, but slaying while they worship.\nLet us fear, then, lest at any time, while we have the appearance\nof suppliants and worshippers, we should indeed show forth the\ncontrary.--_S. John Chrysostom._\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[191] Bethlehem signifies in Hebrew \"the house of bread.\"\n\n\n\n\nGRAPES AND THORNS.\n\n\n                BY THE AUTHOR OF \"THE HOUSE OF YORKE.\"\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nSUMMER FRIENDS.\n\nF. Chevreuse did not allow himself a long indulgence in his own\nsorrows. Before half an hour had elapsed, he was stepping through the\nportal of the city jail, all private grief set aside and lost sight of\nin the errand that had brought him.\n\nSensitive as he was, the gloom and dampness inseparable from a prison\nwould have chilled him, but that pity for him who was suffering from\nthem so unjustly, as he believed, startled his heart into intenser\naction, and sent an antagonistic glow through his frame, as though by\nforce of love alone he would have warmed the stones and chased away\nthose depressing shadows.\n\nA few swift steps along the stone corridor brought him to the cell\nassigned to Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger. Looking with eagerness, yet shrinkingly\ntoo, through the grating, while the jailer unlocked the door, he saw\nthe prisoner standing there with folded arms and head erect, regarding\nhim coldly and without the faintest sign of recognition. The place was\nnot so dim but he must have seen perfectly who his visitor was; yet a\nman of stone could not have stood more unmoved.\n\nThe jailer was not long unlocking the door, yet, brief as the time was,\nit sufficed to work a change in the priest. It was with him as with\nthe fountain which tosses its warm waters into a chilly atmosphere:\nthe spray retains its form, but not its temperature. \"I am shocked at\nthis, Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger!\" he exclaimed, hastening into the cell. \"I will\ndo anything to relieve you! Only tell me what to do.\"\n\nThe words, the gesture, the emphasis, all were as he had meant; but a\nsomething in the whole manner, which tells when the heart outleaps the\nword and the gesture, was lost. It was possible to think the cordiality\nof his address affected.\n\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger bowed lowly, without unfolding his arms or softening the\nexpression of his face. \"I thank you for your offers of service,\" he\nsaid; \"but they are unnecessary. I have employed counsel, and what the\nlaw can do for me will be done. Meantime, it is not for you and me to\nclasp hands.\"\n\nHis look conveyed not only pride, but disdain. He seemed less the\naccused than the accuser.\n\n\"Whose hand, then, will you clasp?\" the priest exclaimed, impatient at\nwhat seemed to him an unreasonable scruple. \"You are a stranger here,\nand can be sure of no one. I am the very person whose good-will will be\nmost valuable to you.\"\n\nIt was only the embarrassment resulting from an unexpected rebuff which\ncould have made F. Chevreuse appeal to the motive of self-interest. To\ntell a proud and bitter, perhaps a guilty, man that he stands in his\nown light, is only to make him blacken yet more his immovable shadow.\nBut as a man sometimes relaxes the severity of his manner at the same\ntime that he increases the firmness of his resolution, Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger\nunbent so far as to offer his visitor a seat.\n\n\"Please excuse the roughness,\" he said, indicating a rude bench. \"The\nfurniture is not of my choosing.\" And seated himself on the bed, there\nbeing no other place.\n\nF. Chevreuse remained standing. The mocking courtesy was more chilling\nthan coldness.\n\n\"I followed an impulse of kindness in coming to you,\" he said, looking\ndown to hide how much he was hurt. \"I did not stop to ask myself what\nwas conventional, or wise, or politic. My heart prompted me to fly to\nthe rescue, and I took no other counsel.\"\n\nThere was no reply. Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger's eyes were fixed with an intent\nand searching gaze on the priest, and a faint color began to creep up\nover his cold face. As F. Chevreuse raised his eyes and met that gaze,\nthe faint color deepened to a sudden red; for the priest's glance was\ndimmed by tears of wounded feeling he had striven to hide.\n\n\"You distrust me!\" he said reproachfully; \"and I do not deserve it. I\nwould serve you, if I could. I would be your friend, if you would let\nme.\"\n\nIt was Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger's turn to drop his eyes. To look in that face\nunmoved was impossible. The reproach, the pain, the tenderness of it\nhad shot like an arrow through his heart, steeled as it was. But his\nhabit of self-control was proof against surprise. After the blush had\nleft his face, there was no sign visible of the struggle that was going\non within. He seemed to be merely considering a question. After a\nmoment, he looked up.\n\n\"You seem to think me innocent of this charge?\" he remarked calmly.\n\nF. Chevreuse was silent with astonishment.\n\n\"You probably do think so,\" Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger went on, in the same\ntone. \"But whatever your opinion may be, you do not know. Crimes are\ncommitted from various motives and under various circumstances. Some\nare almost accidental. Neither is crime committed by the low and\nrude alone, nor by the bad alone. There is nothing in the character\nor circumstances of any man which would render it impossible that\nhe should ever be guilty of a crime. I repeat, then, that you\ncannot be sure of my innocence; and, till it is proved, there can\nbe no intercourse between us. I am willing to give you credit for a\ncharitable impulse; but I do not want charity. I want justice!\" His\neyes flashed out, and his face began to redden again. Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger\nhad not become cool by spending a night in jail.\n\nF. Chevreuse did not stir, though he was in fact dismissed. Mr.\nSch\u00f6ninger, seeing that his visitor did not sit, rose, and stood\nwaiting to bow him out.\n\n\"I cannot go away and leave you so, in such a place!\" the priest\nexclaimed after a moment, during which he seemed to have made an inner\neffort to go. \"It is monstrous! Cannot you see that it is so? Why, last\nnight we were like friends; and I insist that there is no reason why we\nshould not be friends to-day.\"\n\n\"What! Even if I should be guilty?\" asked the prisoner in a low voice.\n\nF. Chevreuse made a gesture of impatience, and was about to utter\na still more impatient protest, when he met a look so cold, yet so\nthrilling with a significance he could not interpret, that he drew back\ninvoluntarily.\n\nThe Jew's face darkened. \"Your convictions are, apparently, not so deep\nas you had supposed, sir,\" he said freezingly. \"I am afraid you would\nfind yourself disappointed as to the extent of confidence you would be\nable to repose in me. The sober second thought is best. Our paths are\nseparate.\"\n\nFor the first time something like anger showed momentarily in the\npriest's face, and gave a certain sternness to the first words he\nspoke; but it was over in an instant. \"You are quite right, sir!\"\nhe said. \"It is impossible for me to go with you, unless I am met\nwith entire frankness and confidence. If you choose that our paths\nshall be separate, I will not force myself on you; but we need not be\nantagonistic. Farewell!\"\n\nHe turned and groped in the door-way for the passage-step, his own\nshadow being added to those which already wrapped the place in an\nobscurity almost like night. He saw the jailer in the long corridor\nbefore him, waiting to lock the door, and he had just found where to\nset his foot, when he felt a warm touch on his hand that still held by\nthe stone door-way inside the cell. The touch was slight, but it was\na caress, either a kiss or the quick pressure of a soft palm. He had\nhardly time to be fully aware of it before he stood in the corridor,\nand the jailer was locking the door behind him.\n\nHe stopped, and looked through the grating, but could not see the\nprisoner. Only a narrow line of black, like the sleeve of a coat,\nseemed to show that Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger had thrown himself on to his bed.\nThe priest put his face close to the bars, and whispered, \"God bless\nyou!\"\n\nThe line of black moved quickly with a start, but there was no reply.\n\nPale and dispirited, F. Chevreuse left the prison, and took his way\nslowly to Mrs. Gerald's. He would rather not have gone then, but he\nhad promised. He wondered a little within himself, indeed, why he\nfelt such reluctance to see persons who had always been faithful and\nsympathizing friends to him, and why he would rather, were the choice\nleft to him, have gone to Mrs. Ferrier, or, still better, to Annette.\n\nAs soon as the true reason occurred to him, he put it aside, and\nrefused to think on the subject.\n\nMrs. Gerald was evidently on the watch for him; for as soon as he\napproached the house, she came to the door to meet him. The color was\nwavering in her face, her blue eyes were suffused with tears, and\nlooked the sympathy her lips did not speak. But the sympathy was all\nfor him--for the terrible wound torn open again, for the new wound\nadded, perhaps, of a misplaced confidence. No look seemed to glance\npast him and inquire for the one he had left behind.\n\nHonora sat by a fire in the sitting-room, leaning close to the blaze,\nwith a shawl drawn about her shoulders, and seemed to shiver even\nthen. There was a frosty paleness in her face as she rose to meet\ntheir visitor, as though the blood had all flowed back to her heart,\nand stopped there, and the hand she gave him was cold. But an eager,\nquestioning glance slipped from her eyes, swift and shrinking, that\nwent beyond him and asked for news of the prisoner.\n\n\"Well,\" said F. Chevreuse, glancing from one to the other, \"there is\nnothing to tell.\"\n\nHonora sank into her chair again, and waited mutely, looking into the\nfire.\n\n\"Nothing of any consequence, that is,\" he continued, folding his hands\ntogether on the back of a chair, and looking down at them. \"I went to\nthe jail; but Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger has so quixotic a sense of propriety that\nhe will not allow me to do anything for him. It was in vain for me to\nurge the matter; he absolutely sent me away.\"\n\n\"He was quite right in that,\" Mrs. Gerald remarked coldly.\n\nHonora's eyes were again eagerly searching the priest's face, but Mrs.\nGerald was in turn looking away from him.\n\n\"And why was he right, madam?\" demanded F. Chevreuse.\n\nShe did not look up to answer, and her expression was of that stubborn\nreserve which some good people assume when they cannot say anything\nfriendly, and are determined not to be uncharitable. \"I may be wrong,\"\nshe said, carefully choosing her words, \"but it does not seem to me\nthat you are the person of whom he should take advice now. Pardon me,\nF. Chevreuse! I do not mean to criticise you nor dictate to you, of\ncourse. But I am glad that you are to have nothing to do with this. You\nshould be spared the pain.\"\n\nHe was too sore-hearted to argue the point; and he knew, moreover, that\nargument would be thrown away. He was well aware that the most of his\nfriends thought his generosity sometimes exaggerated, and were more\nlikely to check than to encourage him. When he went out of the beaten\ntrack, he had never found sympathy anywhere but with the one whose\nloss he felt more and more every day, unless it might be with Annette\nFerrier and her mother.\n\n\"It seems that I am not to have anything to do with it,\" he said;\n\"though I fail to see why I should not. Let that pass, however. I pity\nthe poor fellow from my heart, though his detention will be a short\none, since the trial, they tell me, is to come on immediately. It is\na miserable condition, being shut up in that place, and loaded with\nsuch an outrageous accusation. I do not wonder it made him bitter and\ndistrustful of me.\"\n\nMrs. Gerald lifted her eyes quickly, and gave F. Chevreuse a glance\nthat recalled to his mind that look from which he had shrunk in the\nprison. He could not understand it, but it made him shiver. Not that\nit expressed any suspicion or accusation; it seemed only to ask\nsearchingly if there were no suspicion in his own mind.\n\n\"Well, good-by!\" he said hastily. \"Let us all beware of\nuncharitableness in thought, word, and deed.\"\n\nWhen he had reached the street-door he heard Miss Pembroke's step\nfollowing him.\n\n\"You have really nothing to tell me?\" she asked, trembling as she\nheld her shawl about her. \"Recollect that I and this man have spoken\ntogether as friends. Am I still to believe in him?\"\n\n\"Oh! fie, Honora Pembroke!\" the priest exclaimed sorrowfully. \"Is that\nthe kind of friendship you give, that you doubt a person at the first\nwild charge made against him?\"\n\n\"It is not so much that I doubt, father,\" she said faintly. \"But\nnothing so terrible has ever come near me before, and it is\nconfounding. I want to be reassured.\"\n\n\"Cast all doubt out of your mind, then,\" he said emphatically. \"And\nif you should send some little message to Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger by a proper\nmessenger, saying that you hope he will soon be delivered from his\ntrouble, it would be a kind and Christian act.\"\n\nShe drew back a little, and made no reply.\n\n\"You are not willing to do it?\" he asked.\n\n\"I would rather not, father,\" she answered deprecatingly. \"I really\nhope and pray that he may soon be delivered, and I am willing he\nshould know it--he must be sure of it, if he gives the subject a\nthought--but I would not like to send him a message. There will be men\nto go and speak kindly to him; he has many friends. If Lawrence were\nhere, he would go. I would not like to take any step in the matter.\"\n\nF. Chevreuse sighed. \"You must be guided by your own feeling and sense\nof right in this,\" he said. \"I did not mean to advise, but only to\nsuggest.\"\n\nHe knew, as he went away, that she lingered in the door, looking after\nhim in painful uncertainty, and he almost expected to hear himself\ncalled back and begged to be her messenger. But no call came; and\nhe went away from his second visit, as from the first, chilled and\ndisappointed.\n\nFor one moment the thought which he had thrust aside on coming started\nout again, and made itself felt. It seemed to him, in that brief glance\nat it, that there is nothing on earth which can be more cruel than a\nstrict and scrupulous respectability. Then instantly he began to make\nexcuses, and to find reasons why people, women especially, should be\nless demonstrative than he might have wished.\n\n\"What! you will not recognize me?\" said a voice at his elbow.\n\nIt was a voice to arrest attention--deep, musical, and penetrating;\nand the speaker was not one to be passed with only a glance. He was of\nmedium height, broad-shouldered, and had an exceedingly handsome face,\nwith brilliant blue eyes, and wavy, dark hair just beginning to be\nthreaded with white. This was F. O'Donovan, whose parish, a small one,\nlay two miles, or more, from that of F. Chevreuse. Besides these two,\nthere was no other priest resident within a radius of forty miles.\n\n\"Brother!\" exclaimed F. Chevreuse, and grasped the hand the other\nextended to him, and for a moment seemed to be on the point of yielding\nto an emotion natural to one who, having long borne without human help\nhis own burdens and the burdens of others, sees at length a friend on\nwhom he can lean in turn, and to whom he can venture to confess his\nhuman weakness. \"I thought you were at home, swathed in flannels,\" he\nadded, recovering himself.\n\nF. O'Donovan shrugged his shoulders. He had been a good deal in France,\nand had, moreover, as all graceful and vivacious persons have, a\nnatural inclination to use a good deal of gesture. \"Rheumatism, my\nfriend, is not invincible. Yesterday I was helpless; this morning at\nseven o'clock I was helpless. At ten minutes past seven I heard news\nwhich made me wish to see you; and here I am--sound, too. It was only\nto say, Get thee behind me, Satan! and I could walk as well as you.\nFrom which I conclude that my rheumatism, if it had existence outside\nmy own imagination, was Satan in disguise.\"\n\nF. Chevreuse pressed the arm he had taken, and they walked on together\na little way in silence. The news his brother priest had heard need not\nbe spoken of. His silent sympathy and companionship were enough.\n\n\"Has it ever occurred to you that the saints must have been considered\nin their day rather disreputable people?\" the elder priest asked\npresently. \"Leaving violent persecution out of the question, what\na raising of eyebrows, and shrugging of shoulders, and how many\nindulgent smiles, and looks of mild surprise, and cold surprise, and\ngentle dismay, and polite disapprobation, and all that they must have\noccasioned!\"\n\n\"By which I understand,\" remarked the other, \"that somebody has refused\nto fly in the face of society at your request.\"\n\n\"Taken with the usual allowance required by your interpretations of me,\nthat is true,\" F. Chevreuse admitted.\n\nHis friend smiled. There was always this little pretence of feud\nbetween them, and each admired the other heartily, though the Frenchman\nwas unconventional to a fault, and the Irishman scrupulously polished.\nA fastidious taste and a cautious self-control, learned in a large and\nvaried experience of life, stood in constant ward over F. O'Donovan's\nwarm heart and high spirit. F. Chevreuse, in his trustful ardor, was\nconstantly bruising himself on the rocks; his friend looked out for and\nsteered clear of them, yet not with a selfish nor ungenerous caution.\n\n\"Brother Chevreuse,\" he said in a voice to which he could impart an\nalmost irresistible persuasiveness, \"you are older and wiser than I am,\nand I only remind you of what you know when I say that conventionality\nis not to be reprobated. It is on the side of law and order. It is the\nfriend of propriety and decency. It is the rule, to which, indeed,\nexceptions are allowed, but not too readily. You speak of the saints\nas though they were all persons who have lived before the world\npeculiar and exceptional lives. Of course, even while I speak, you\nremember that the church does not pretend to have canonized all her\nholy children, and that she has appointed a day to commemorate those\nwho have won the heavenly crown without drawing upon themselves the\nattention of mankind. I do not believe that any breath of slander or\nof injurious criticism ever touched Our Blessed Lady. She used every\ncare to preserve herself from them. Why should not women be as careful\nnow, even at the risk of seeming to be selfishly cautious? Is the high\nreputation which they have labored to acquire to be lightly perilled,\neven for an apparently good end? Besides, in performing that one good\nact, they may, by drawing criticism on themselves, have lost the power\nto perform another effectually. You defend an accused person, never\nhaving done so before, and you may save him. Do it a second time, and\npeople will say, 'Oh! he is always defending criminals'; and your power\nis gone.\"\n\n\"It is hard to see a person wrongly accused, and not protest against\nthe wrong,\" F. Chevreuse said gravely.\n\n\"It is more than hard, it is wicked,\" the other replied with\nearnestness. \"But first be sure that the person is innocent; and\nthen, having ascertained that, try to recollect, my dear friend, that\nyou alone are not to right all the wrongs of earth. Some must be\nendured, some must be rectified by others than you. And, after all,\nI am inclined to believe that, as a rule, no innocent person falls\ninto serious difficulty without having been faulty in some way, as\nregards prudence, at least. Now, how is such a person to learn wisdom\nby experience, if there is always somebody at his elbow to save him\nfrom the consequences of his own act. It is not pleasant to be obliged\nto check a generous impulse in ourselves or in others; and it is not\npleasant, when we are in trouble, to be left to fight our way out of\nit alone. But if we are always performing works of supererogation, we\nmay unfit ourselves for performing duties. And as to finding our track,\nunassisted, through difficult ways, and learning by sharp experience\nhow to avoid them, it develops our inward resources, and is good for\nus, though bitter.\"\n\nThe last words were delivered with an incisive emphasis so delicate\nas to be observable only in one who seldom spoke with emphasis, and\nit touched the listener deeply. F. O'Donovan never complained, and he\nhad never made any special revelations to his friend; but one who knew\nhis life could not doubt that he had learned to take his very sleep in\narmor. He had risen from poverty and obscurity, as the sparks rise; had\nborne the jealousy of those whom he left behind, and of those he had\neclipsed in his higher estate; had been obliged to control in himself\na haughty spirit and a tender heart; yet had never made a misstep of\nany consequence, nor given his most jealous detractor an angry word to\nremember.\n\nHis place was in a metropolitan church; but, at his own request, he\nhad been sent for a time to a quiet country parish, that he might have\nleisure to complete a literary work for which city life and the demands\nof a host of admirers were too distracting.\n\nHe had followed F. Chevreuse from his own house to the prison, and from\nthe prison to Mrs. Gerald's, and he understood perfectly what he would\nwish to do and where he had been disappointed. Honora had, indeed, told\nhim, half weeping, of the request she had refused, and had proposed to\nmake him the bearer of her retraction.\n\n\"To think I should have set up my sense of right against his!\" she\nexclaimed. \"To think that I should have refused him anything!\"\n\nAnd yet, though she was sincere in her regret, she was greatly\nrelieved when F. O'Donovan declined to carry her message, assuring\nher that F. Chevreuse would doubtless, on second thought, approve of\nher refusal. To have sent a direct message to a man who stood before\nthe world charged with a horrible crime, and, perhaps, to have\nreceived a message in return from him--to have placed herself thus in\ncommunication with one of the most darkly accused inmates of that jail\nwhich she had passed frequently during her whole life without ever\ndreaming of crossing the threshold, even for a work of mercy--the very\npossibility plunged Miss Pembroke into confusion and distress. The\nregions of crime were as far removed from her experience as the regions\nthat lie outside of human life; and, of herself, she would as soon have\nthought of following any one to purgatory as to prison.\n\nThat scrupulous correctness and propriety which we admire in these\nfair women, whose whole lives are passed in the delicately screened\ncloisters of the world, shows sometimes a reverse not so admirable.\nThey are seldom the friends in need; and when a fearless heroism is\nwanted, they do not come forward. They draw back instinctively those\ngarments they have been at pains to preserve so white from contact with\nthe blood-stained, dusty One who goes staggering by with the thorns on\nhis head and the cross on his shoulders. A look of pity and horror may\nfollow him from the safe place where they stand; but it is not they who\npierce their way through the rabble, with Veronica, to take the imprint\nof his misery on to their stainlessness, nor they who weep around\nhis tomb through dews and darkness, careless of the world in their\nunspeakable sorrow, and floating above the world in the unspeakable\necstasy to which that sorrow gives place. No, the charity of the human\nangel is limited. Only the angels of God, and those generous souls\nwhose anguish of pity for the suffering is a constantly purifying fire,\ncan go down into the darker paths of life and receive no stain.\n\n\"I am glad F. O'Donovan came,\" Mrs. Gerald remarked when their second\nvisitor left them. \"I feel better for being reassured by him. Of\ncourse, we all know that we cannot throw ourselves away for everybody,\nas dear F. Chevreuse's impulse is; yet he is so good, so much better\nthan any one else, one feels almost guilty in not following him every\nstep he wishes. His utter unselfishness and generosity are very\ndisturbing to one sometimes; for we must think of ourselves.\"\n\n\"It is well for the world that there are those who see no such\nnecessity,\" Miss Pembroke replied briefly.\n\nHer companion said nothing more for a moment. She had been conscious\nthat Honora was not satisfied, but had preferred to take no notice of\nit, and to quiet her without seeming aware that she needed quieting.\n\n\"Poor Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger!\" she said presently. \"I pity him with all my\nheart. It is, of course, impossible to believe that this arrest is\nanything but a mistake which will soon be corrected. Still, the affair\nmust be very painful to him. How indignant Lawrence will be! I wish\nhe might hear nothing of it till he comes home, for I really think he\nwould come sooner if he knew what has happened. He thought a good deal\nof Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger.\"\n\n\"Yes, it must soon be corrected,\" repeated Honora, passing over the\nrest. \"I cannot imagine on what grounds the arrest was made; but some\nare ready to believe of a stranger what they would never listen to\nif said of one they knew. One might parody that proverb about the\nabsent, and say that the foreigner is always wrong. Only imagine what\nit must be, Mrs. Gerald\"--Honora's brown eyes dilated with a sort of\nterror,--\"imagine what it must be to find one's self in trouble and\ndisgrace alone in a foreign land. No person has any special interest\nin the stranger; no one knows him well enough to defend him; his\nreputation is a bubble that the first breath may break; and if he is\nwrong, no one understands what excuses may be made for him. Fancy\nLawrence alone in some European country, and arrested for a great\ncrime.\"\n\nMrs. Gerald had listened at first with sympathy; but at the name of\nLawrence her face changed.\n\n\"My dear Honora,\" she said with decision, \"I cannot possibly imagine my\nson, no matter how far away, nor how friendless he might be--I cannot\nimagine him being arrested on a charge of robbery and murder! It is too\ngreat a flight of fancy, and too unjust. But that does not prevent my\npitying Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger.\"\n\nMrs. Gerald would not have shown such asperity, probably, had her son\nnever given people anything to forgive in him. Tremblingly alive to his\nfaults, she gladly seized on any charge which it was possible to cast\nindignantly aside.\n\nHonora perceived too well her feelings and the mistake that she herself\nhad made to be in the least annoyed at the reply. It may be that she\nunderstood better than ever before what might be the pain of one whose\naffections are engaged by an object which has not her entire approval.\nNot that she loved Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger, or for a moment fancied that she\ndid; it was only that he had come near enough to excite her imagination\non the subject of love.\n\n\"Fortunately,\" she said, after a thoughtful pause, \"the people of\nCrichton are liberal.\"\n\nIt was such an opinion as might have been expected from her character\nand experience. Life had shown her but little of those deeper causes\nwhich underlie so much of the apparent inconsistency of mankind. She\nhad not learned to distinguish between that firm liberality which is\nfounded on principle, and is but another name for justice, and its\nunstable namesake, which floats on the surface of a soul that has no\nconvictions. The former can be relied on; the latter may at any time\ngive place to a violent bigotry. It has an immense vanity beneath, and\nfiercely resents on others its own mistakes.\n\nThe gradations of the change might have been precisely calculated\nbeforehand. At first, an astonishment which was unanimous; followed,\nafter the natural pause, by individual voices in various tones, the\nloud ones harmless, the whispering ones poisonous. Crichton was a\ncity where there could be but one sensation at a time. Whatever of\nmoment happened there, everybody knew it and everybody talked about\nit. The loud voices grew lower, the whispers increased. We have heard\norchestra music like that, where, after the first crash and pause,\nthe instruments start their several ways, and one scarcely hears the\nwhisper of violins that runs through the heavy brass, till presently\nthat whisper becomes an audible hiss, then a sharp cry, and finally its\nshrieks overtop trumpet and organ.\n\nPeople could not imagine on what grounds Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger had been\naccused, but considered it a matter of course that there must have\nbeen some proof against him; and they immediately set themselves to\nrecollecting everything they had observed in him, to magnifying every\npeculiarity and perverting every circumstance connected with his\nlife. Some had always said that strangers whom nobody knew anything\nabout were received altogether too readily in Crichton. It was only\nnecessary that a man should be good-looking, or clever, or have a\nromantic appearance, or be enveloped in a mystery, for him to be made\nthe hero of the hour. And here the men bethought themselves, like\ntrue sons of Adam, to lay the blame on the women. Another class, made\nup of both Catholics and Protestants, reminded the public that they\nhad from the first protested against Christians mingling in friendly\nintercourse with Jews. It was a treason against their Lord to do so,\nthese Christians said, and he had shown his displeasure by allowing\nthis wolf, whom they had admitted into the fold, to destroy one of the\nchosen ones. Others there were, microscopic critics, who had always\nfound something peculiarly sinister in certain expressions of the Jew's\nface, and who recollected perfectly having shivered with fear when they\nhad encountered these peculiar glances.\n\nThe sound grew up and gathered, and at the end of a fortnight public\nopinion in Crichton had half condemned the man without having heard a\nword of testimony against him.\n\nDoubtless his own scornful silence had not predisposed any one in his\nfavor; and, besides, he was reported to have spoken slightingly of an\ninstitution which it is not safe to attack. Rumor accused him of having\nsaid that a jury hinder more than they help the cause of justice;\nand that if public sentiment is not high enough to educate and elect\na proper judge, it is folly to call in from the street to his aid\ntwelve men who are probably still more incompetent, and certainly less\nresponsible.\n\nThe judges may have been not ill-pleased at this; but few others heard\nthe story without indignation.\n\nThe newspapers also soon became either cold or unfriendly; for though\nthey had all expressed the most courteous surprise and regret at his\narrest, he had not allowed one of their reporters so much as a glimpse\nof him.\n\nOne after another the friendly voices grew faint or fell into silence,\ntill only three or four were left. F. Chevreuse had written Mr.\nSch\u00f6ninger a line, \"Whenever you want me, I shall be ready to come,\"\nand had refrained from all other approach. But he did not cease to\ninsist on his belief in the prisoner's innocence. Mrs. Ferrier, also,\nwas loud and warm in her championship. She visited Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger in\nprison, and stood at the grate, the jailer by her side, with tears\nrunning down her cheeks, while she poured forth her incoherent but most\nsincere indignation and grief; and she scraped the skin from her fat\nhand pushing it through the bars to take that of the prisoner.\n\nShe also made arrangements for a larger and lighter cell to be given\nhim, and had begun to furnish it most luxuriously, when he found out\nwhat she was doing, and absolutely refused to move.\n\n\"My dear Mrs. Ferrier,\" he said, \"it is not the bare stones and the\nhard bench that makes the place intolerable; and I will not consent to\nany change. I should be no more at ease locked up in a palace. Let me\nremain as I am while I stay here.\"\n\n\"But look at that bed!\" she cried; and the diamond glittering on the\nindignant finger she pointed through the bars was outshone by the tear\nthat welled up and hung on her eyelashes. \"The idea of a man like you\nsleeping on that sack of straw with a gray blanket over it! It's a sin\nand a shame!\"\n\n\"But, my friend, it is good enough for a criminal,\" he answered, with\nsomething like a faint smile on his face.\n\n\"A criminal!\" And we hope the reader will pardon the next two words\nuttered by this dear, good soul in the heat of her generous trust and\npity. She said, \"Shut up!\"\n\n\"I know what nonsense you talked to F. Chevreuse,\" she went on; \"but\nI won't listen to it. You ought to be ashamed of yourself for driving\nthat man away. You can't serve me so. I shall come here, and I shall\ntake up for you; and--now, Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger, don't be silly, but let\nme fix up that other room for you. The sun shines into it all the\nafternoon; and I've got a nice carpet on the floor, and two arm-chairs,\nand some wax candles, and a red curtain to draw over the grating, and\nI'll make it as comfortable as if my own son was going to be in it. Do\ngive your consent, now!\"\n\nStill he was inflexible, though he softened his refusal with every\nexpression of gratitude. \"There are reasons why it would be very\npainful and embarrassing for me to consent,\" he said; \"and since your\nwish is to give me pleasure, I am sure you will not urge this when I\ntell you that I should be more uncomfortable there than here. Your\nkindness does me good; but I cannot receive your bounty.\"\n\nMrs. Ferrier was not to be so thwarted, however. She had to relinquish\nher project of furnishing a room for him, but she made amends to\nherself by supplying his table extravagantly. It was in vain for him\nto protest. The waiter gravely assured him that the dishes were sent\nin from the prison kitchen; the jailer as gravely added that his wife\noverlooked that part of the establishment, and he knew nothing about\nit; and Mrs. Ferrier, when the prisoner questioned her, declared, with\nan air of the utmost innocence, that she did not send in his food,\nand did not know what he had. The truth was that she had ordered the\nkeeper of a restaurant near by to send Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger the best that\nhe could supply; and she flattered herself that the waiter could with\ntruth obey her order to say that the dishes came from the jail kitchen.\n\"You're not obliged to tell him that they come in at one door of the\nkitchen and out at another,\" she said.\n\nFlowers lined the cell, fruit arrived there in profusion, and\nillustrated papers and books, the text of which betrayed the simple\ntaste that had selected them, piled the one table and filled the\nwindow-ledges--all sent anonymously. Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger found himself\nobliged to capitulate to this persistent and most transparent incognita.\n\nIn a few weeks another friend, quite as decided, though less\ndemonstrative, was added. Lawrence Gerald, returning with his wife to\nCrichton, went immediately to see Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger and offer any service\nin his power to render him.\n\n\"It is folly to waste breath in abusing the detectives or whoever has\nmade this miserable blunder,\" he said calmly. \"Of course, nobody is\nsafe from suspicion. I'm rather surprised they hadn't hit upon me, for\nI was hard up at that time. The point is, however, can I do anything\nfor you? You will be out of this soon, of course; but, in the meantime,\nI should be very glad if I can serve you in any way.\"\n\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger assured his visitor that he needed no services; but his\nmanner of declining the assistance offered him was far more natural\nand cheerful than it had been when F. Chevreuse or Mrs. Ferrier came.\nLawrence Gerald's friendship was, indeed, of more value to him in\nthis matter than theirs could have been; for as Lawrence was a man of\nthe world, and not too likely to have much faith in any one, men of\nthe world would respect his opinion, white they might laugh at the\nchampionship of a woman and look upon the ideal charity of a priest as\na feeling which they could not be expected to sympathize with nor be\ninfluenced by.\n\nThis friendly act of Lawrence's greatly pleased his mother-in-law; and,\nsince Annette looked quite contented and happy, she was still more\ndisposed to be complacent toward the young man.\n\n\"I wouldn't have believed he thought so much of Annette,\" she said\nconfidentially to F. Chevreuse. \"But he follows her about like her\nshadow. It's all the time, 'Ask Annette,' or, 'What does Annette say?'\nor, 'How will Annette like it?' and he will hardly go down-town unless\nshe goes with him. I only hope it may last,\" sighed the mother, fearful\nof being too sanguine.\n\nIt was quite true that Lawrence Gerald showed far more affection for\nhis wife after than he ever had before their marriage, and Mrs. Ferrier\nscarcely exaggerated in saying that he followed her about like her\nshadow. He perceived more and more every day how strong and reliable\nshe was, and how full of resources for every emergency. Besides, he\nhad a cause for gratitude toward her of which her mother was not\naware. During that time when they had been alone, undisturbed by\ndiscordant interruptions, undisturbed also by any excessive happiness\nin each other's society, she had perceived that something more than\nindifference to herself preyed upon his spirits, and had at length\nsucceeded in drawing from him a confession of his difficulties. He\nowned that the story her mother had heard of his debts was true, and\nthat he had been able to silence his persecutors only for a short\ntime. On the very day of his marriage one of them had demanded payment,\nand a second letter had followed him to their bridal retreat.\n\n\"My dear Lawrence, why did you not tell me at once?\" his wife\ninterrupted as soon as she caught the purport of his stammering\nexplanation. \"It was not treating me with confidence; and surely I\ndeserve your confidence.\"\n\n\"It isn't pleasant for a man to own that he has been a fool, and a liar\nbesides,\" he replied bitterly. \"You know I denied it to your mother. I\ncouldn't very well tell her that it was none of her business, though I\nwanted to.\"\n\n\"It isn't pleasant for any one to own that he has failed to live quite\nup to his own idea of what is right,\" she said quickly. \"I often blush\nat the recollection of some mistake or folly in my life. But where one\nunderstands you, Lawrence, and is bound to you for life, for better or\nfor worse, you should not be too reserved. All that I have is yours. My\nfirst wish is to spare you pain, and I could have no greater pleasure\nthan to have you confide in me. Do not be afraid of hearing any\nlectures or of seeing me assume the right to criticise you. I only ask\nto help you when I can.\"\n\nThis had been said with a haste that gave him no time to interpose or\nreply; and before the last words were well spoken she had left his\nside, and was opening a little writing-desk in another part of the\nroom. Her husband leaned on the window-ledge and looked out, appearing\nto regard intently the mist that hung over the unseen cataract before\nhim, and to listen to the soft thunder of its fall; but the color\nof his face, burning with a mortification inseparable from such an\navowal as he had made, and the faint lines of a frown that seemed\nto be graven between his brows, showed that his mind was far from\nbeing occupied with the beauties of nature. The only thought Niagara\nsuggested to him at that moment escaped his lips in a whisper as he\nleaned out into the air: \"If my foot had but slipped a little further\nto-day!\"\n\nAnnette came back and leaned out beside him. \"How soft and sunny the\nair is for September!\" she said. \"It is more like June.\"\n\nHe felt her small hand slip under his arm, and push a roll of paper\ninto his breast-pocket while she spoke.\n\n\"Do you not think, husband,\" she went on, \"that we might like to go to\nMontreal instead of South? It would be pleasanter to go to Washington\nduring the season.\"\n\nAnd that was all that was said about the matter, except that, the day\nafter their return to Crichton, Lawrence told his wife that the debt\nwas paid.\n\n\"Oh! yes,\" she said lightly, as if such a debt were quite a matter of\ncourse. \"I'm glad that is off your mind.\" And would have changed the\nsubject.\n\nBut he, looking at her very gravely, knew well that the lightness was\nassumed to spare him, and that the affair was only less painful to her\nthan to himself.\n\nThey were in their own sitting-room, and Annette was filling a vase\nwith late flowers that she had just brought in from the garden, while\nhe sat near the table by which she stood. He stretched his hand and\ndrew her to him, holding her slender fingers that held a cluster of\nheart's-ease she had just taken from the basket.\n\n\"Let me speak of it once more, Ninon,\" he said. \"You did not exact any\npromise from me, dear; but I have one to make you. If my word or my\nwill are good for anything, I will never again play a game for pleasure\neven, still less for money. I have no temptation to now; and if I had,\nthe recollection of what play has cost me would be enough to save me\nfrom yielding.\"\n\nHis face and voice said more than the words, and the regret, the shame,\nand the gratitude they expressed were almost more than she could bear.\nIt hurt her cruelly to see him whom she had exalted as an idol so\nhumbled and sorrowful before her. He looked weary; she had thought that\nfor some time; and though the outlines of his beautiful face were too\ndelicate to show readily a loss of flesh, she could see that he had\ngrown perceptibly thinner.\n\n\"I was sure of you, without needing any promise,\" she said, and tried\nto smile on him, but with tremulous lips. \"And now, do not let it\ntrouble your mind any longer. I'm going to give you a charm.\" She\nsmiled brightly this time, for he had kissed her hand. \"With this\nmagical flower I bar all unrest from you, and assure you peace for the\nfuture.\"\n\nShe fastened the cluster of heart's-ease in his button-hole, then\nreturned to her flowers.\n\nHer husband could not but remember the time when a tender word or act\nof his would bring the blush to her face and set her in a tremor of\ndelight. He would sometimes have been a little more demonstrative and\naffectionate, if the effect had not been so annoyingly great on her.\nBut now, without the slightest appearance of coldness or anger, in\nsimple unconsciousness, it seemed, of having changed her manner, she\nwas altogether changed. She received him kindly, there was no sign of\nan estranged heart, but she only received; she did not invite, nor\nfollow, nor linger about him. Quite naturally and calmly she attended\nto whatever employment she might have in hand when he was present;\nand though she undeniably liked to have him near her, it was possible\nfor her to forget his presence for a moment. Looking at her now, as\nshe began quietly arranging her flowers again, the thought glimmered\ndimly in his mind that Honora Pembroke herself could not have behaved\nwith a sweeter or more dignified tranquillity. But the moment of this\nconsciousness was brief. Honora's image had too long been enthroned\nby him as queen in all things womanly to be disturbed by this slight\nfigure with her glow-worm lamp.\n\nStill, the development of his wife's character made its impression on\nhim; and, half needing her, and half curious about her, he felt himself\nconstantly attracted to her society.\n\nThey passed a good deal of time alone together, sometimes walking or\ndriving in the pleasant autumn days, sometimes shut up in their own\nroom, where Annette read, sang to, and otherwise amused her husband.\nHe was going into business; but the two or three months of necessary\npreparation and delay were to him very much leisure time, and hung\nrather heavily on his hands.\n\n\"I shall be glad to get to work,\" he said to her. \"Idleness is\ntolerable only in a pleasant atmosphere; and the atmosphere of Crichton\nis anything but pleasant now. Sometimes I've half a mind to run away\ntill this ridiculous trial is over and people can talk of something\nelse.\"\n\n\"The same thought has occurred to me,\" his wife replied. \"I am growing\nnervous and low-spirited with these horrible images constantly before\nmy mind. I have begged mamma not to mention the subject again at the\ntable, nor anywhere else without necessity. Some people--I don't mean\nmamma, of course--but some people seem to enjoy tragedies, and to be\nquite angry if one doesn't put the most terrible construction on every\ncircumstance. I have no patience with them.\"\n\nShe looked, indeed, quite pale and irritated. Like all persons of a\nlively imagination, she was nearly as much affected by the description\nof a scene as she would have been on witnessing it; and the frequent\nrepetitions and amplifications with which others of duller natures\nhad found it necessary to revive their own impressions had been both\npainful and annoying to her. Besides, she had a source of disquiet\nwhich she confided to no one, not even to F. Chevreuse, since she\nnever alluded to his mother's death when in conversation with him.\nWhile wondering, in spite of herself, what proof sufficient to\njustify an indictment could have been found against Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger,\nshe had recollected the shawl he left in her garden the night Mother\nChevreuse was killed. It did not seem an important circumstance; yet\nit constantly recurred to her in connection with other points not\nso trivial. She did not for a moment believe him guilty; but her\nimagination, seizing on this one fact, held it up suggestively, so\nthat it cast on her mind various and troublesome shadows that were out\nof all proportion to itself. Why had he appeared startled when she\nmentioned the shawl to him? And could it be possible he was sincere\nin saying that he came for it in the morning, when she had plainly\nseen some one remove it at night? She combated these disagreeable\nthoughts with all her strength, and sought to atone to Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger\nfor the wrong she believed they did him by entering heartily into all\nher mother's plans for his comfort; but she could not banish them so\nentirely but they tormented her into wishing to fly to some place where\nshe might at least hope to forget the whole subject.\n\n\"If every one were like Mrs. Gerald and Honora,\" she said to her\nmother, \"how much smoother and deeper life would be! I am sure they\nthink of dear Mother Chevreuse very often, and always with bleeding\nhearts; yet they never speak of her, except, in a pleasant way, to\nrecall some saying or some kind act of hers; and one would not know,\nfrom what they say, that she had not been assumed bodily into heaven,\nor, at least, died tranquilly and beautifully of old age. I have no\nsympathy, mamma, with these noisy people who come here wringing their\nhands and uttering maledictions on Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger.\"\n\nMrs. Ferrier felt a little touched at that part of the speech which\nreferred to the wringing of hands, for that was her most frequent\nmanner of expressing distress of mind, and she was not sure that her\ndaughter did not mean to give her an indirect reproof or warning. Her\nreply, therefore, was a dissenting one; and the comparison she used,\nthough not elegant, was somewhat strong.\n\n\"It's all the same difference as there is between a wild horse and a\nhorse that's broke,\" she said. \"And you can't deny that the creature\nloses half its spirit before it bears the bit and the rein. And so I\nbelieve that your fine, quiet people kill some of the life out of their\ngrief when they teach it to be so polite, and that they forget the\nfriend they have lost while they are thinking how they shall behave\nthemselves and cry in a genteel manner. When I die, Annette, may the\nLord give me just such mourners as Mother Chevreuse has in those poor\npeople!\"\n\n\"Oh! don't, mamma!\" the daughter said coaxingly; for Mrs. Ferrier had\nended by bursting into tears. \"I didn't mean to vex you, only I am\nnervous and distressed by all this excitement. There! don't cry any\nmore, and I will own that you are at least half right.\"\n\n\"Not but that they do provoke me when they talk about Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger,\"\nMrs. Ferrier admitted, wiping her eyes. \"But then, the poor things!\nit's a relief to their sorrow to be mad with somebody about it.\"\n\nIt was undeniable that whatever relief could be found in lamentation\nfor their dear lost friend, and in invoking retribution on her\ndestroyer, very few hesitated to avail themselves of. Besides what the\nlaw could do, it needed all the influence that F. Chevreuse had, both\nwith his own flock and with non-Catholics, to prevent the people who\nwere constantly gathering outside the jail from throwing missiles into\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger's cell.\n\n\"How strong is accusation!\" he exclaimed. \"People appear to think\nthat man condemned already, though he is sure to be triumphantly\nacquitted. It is astonishing how entirely a grave charge, no matter how\nunproved, removes those we have loved and respected beyond the pale of\nour sympathy. It is as though we had never heard of innocence being\naccused, and believed it impossible that we could ever be calumniated\nourselves.\"\n\nHe was speaking to Mr. Sales, the editor of _The Aurora_, who received\nhis remarks rather uneasily. _The Aurora_ had of late been interesting\nitself very much in the history of the Jews, both ancient and modern,\nthe items it scattered through its columns with apparent carelessness\nnot being always calculated to inspire the reader with an increased\naffection for that ancient race; and \"Fleur de Lis\" had every week,\nfrom her corner on the first page, bewailed in facile and dolorous\nlines the sorrows and sufferings of that Mother and Son to whom, in the\nprose of everyday life, she was far from conspicuous for devotion.\n\n\"I have observed, sir,\" Mr. Sales said, feeling obliged to say\nsomething, \"that people who have the reputation of being the most\ncorrect and irreproachable are often the most unmerciful toward\nwrong-doers. It gives one an unpleasant impression of religion.\"\n\n\"Not justly,\" the priest replied. \"What you say of some good people is\nquite true--they are moral skeletons since, after all, good principles\nare only the vertebr\u00e6 of a character. But there are many charitable\nChristians in the world. I find fault with their imaginations chiefly;\nthey cannot fancy themselves accused without being guilty.\"\n\nAnd thus, in the midst of an increasing excitement, Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger's\ntrial came on.\n\n\n\n\nSPIRITUALISM.\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nThe spiritualists who protest against the attribution of spiritualistic\nphenomena to the devil may be divided into two classes: 1st, Those who\nbelieve there is no such being as the devil; 2d, Those who, believing\nhim to exist, think it unreasonable to attribute such phenomena as\nthose under consideration to such a being.\n\nTo these first I can but admit that there is no demonstrating the\ndevil; but, on the other hand, I would remind them that, in denying his\nexistence, they are opposing themselves, 1st, to the religious instinct\nof the great mass of mankind, who are persuaded that life is a warfare,\nthat there is an enemy. 2d, To the unwavering, explicit tradition of\nthe Christian church. It is impossible to read the Gospels and the\nother records of the early church without having the idea of a battle,\nand an enemy against whom it is waged, brought prominently before you.\nOur Lord came to break the power of Satan, and to take away \"the armor\nin which he trusted\"; and the church was instituted for his detailed\ndiscomfiture. Every soul that is saved is regarded as a spoil snatched\nfrom the hand of the enemy; every one who is cast out of the church is\ndelivered over to Satan.\n\nSome of the earliest words of the church's ritual are words of defiance\nand adjuration of the enemy upon whom it was her mission to trample.\nHer exorcisms, for instance, in the baptism service testify to a\nconsciousness of the devil's presence which is simply startling in its\nrealism. He is never forgotten from the moment when, gently breathing\non the child's face, she charges the unclean spirit to give place to\nthe Holy Ghost, to the moment when he is cast out headlong, followed by\nthe renunciations of his rescued victim.\n\nThe extreme antiquity of these exorcisms is sufficiently vindicated by\nthe poetic paraphrase of Prudentius in the IVth century:\n\n    Intonat antistes Domini: fuge callide serpens\n    Mancipium Christi, fur corruptissime vexas\n    Desine, Christus adest humani corporis ultor\n    Non licet ut spolium rapias cui Christus inh\u0153sit\n    Pulsus abi ventose liquor Christus jubet, exi.[192]\n\nMoreover, though the devil is expelled in baptism, the church never\nlets her children lose sight of him. She is ever warning them in the\nwords of S. Augustine: \"Take care, afflicted mortals, take care that\nthe evil one defile not ever this house of the body; that, introduced\nby the senses, he debauch not the soul's sanctity, nor cloud the\nintellectual light. This evil thing winds through all the inlets of\nthe senses, moulds itself in forms, blends with colors, weds with\nsounds, lurks in anger and guileful speech, clothes itself in scents,\ntransfuses itself in savors, and by a flood of troublous movement\nobscures the mind with evil desires, and fills with vapor the channels\nof the understanding, through which the soul's ray might shed the light\nof reason.\"[193] Voltaire was quite in the right when he set down a\npriest who would fain compromise with infidelity by throwing up the\ndevil, in this wise: \"Belief in the devil is an essential point of\nChristianity: no Satan, no Saviour.\"\n\nThose who, admitting the devil to exist, deny that spiritualistic\nphenomena are diabolical, urge various pleas which I purpose to examine\nin detail. They insist upon, 1st, the innocent and friendly character\nof the phenomena. 2d, The difficulty of believing that the devil\nwould be allowed to take so great a liberty with respectable persons\nwithout some sort of understanding on their parts. 3d, The fact that\nspiritualism is a great and most efficient exponent of the immortality\nof the soul and the existence of God in a materialistic generation.\n\nNow, as regards the first plea, I simply deny the fact of the\ninnocence. I submit that pantheism and the non-existence of eternal\npunishment are immoral doctrines, the spread of which is calculated to\nmake the world worse; and that these are pre-eminently the doctrines\nof spiritualism, taught always indirectly, and standing out more and\nmore clearly in proportion as the pious twaddle in which they are\nincorporated for the sake of weak brethren is laid aside, and the\nspiritualistic element can give itself free way.\n\nDemoralizing, also, is the distaste which spiritualism creates for\nall religion, inasmuch as religion lives by faith. An example of\nthis is given in _Experiences with D. D. Home_, p. 60. The party of\nspiritualists had been conversing, as they imagined, with the spirit of\nthe child of one of them, lately dead, the body, in its coffin, being\nin the room in which they were sitting. After the burial, we are told,\n\"On our way home, every one remarked that the burial-service, which\nis, in general, so impressive, had that day, while in church, sounded\nstrangely flat and unprofitable. Mrs. Cox asked how it was that the\nclergyman had not used the words, 'dust to dust, ashes to ashes, earth\nto earth.' We assured her that he had; but she declared she had not\nheard them, although standing as near to him as any of us.\"\n\nIn other respects spiritualism is by no means innocent. It is\nimpossible to set aside the strong testimony, not merely of medical\nmen, who might be supposed prejudiced, but of so many who have either\npractised spiritualism themselves, or had spiritualist friends, as\nto the gradual exhaustion of the vital powers which it produces\nwhen persevered in to any extent. And, again, it is by far the most\nefficacious destructive of the barriers of propriety, particularly\nbetween the sexes. No one can read much even of the most respectable\ns\u00e9ances without feeling that the worthy persons who take part in them,\nwhilst securing, may be, the perfect propriety of the particular\ns\u00e9ance in which they are engaged, are lending the cloak of their\nrespectability to an institution especially marked out for the\ndissemination of corruption. My contention is that the devil has in\nspiritualism the prospect of an excellent harvest of evil, of which he\nhas received a very sufficient earnest.\n\nWith regard to the gentle behavior, which is supposed to be\ninconsistent with the character of one who is spoken of as \"a roaring\nlion,\" I would observe that this gentleness on the part of the spirits\nis by no means invariable; see the violent scene (_Experiences_, p.\n154) in which Home is tormented and screams; or, again, where the\ncompany is struck by the \"disagreeable and fearful glowing\" of his\neyes (_Rep._, p. 208). However, it must be confessed that the general\ncharacter of the manifestations is gentleness itself; but of this sort\nof gentleness there are plenty of examples in accounts of medi\u00e6val\nmagic, when spirits have persevered for a considerable time in gentle,\nnot to say pious, behavior, and, indeed, only came out as devils when\nworried by the church. The following is taken from the _Gloria Posthuma\nS. Ignatii_.[194]\n\nA little girl of nine, the daughter of an artilleryman at Malta,\nwas made quite a pet of by spirits, who were always bringing her\nlittle presents of jewelry and fruit, at one time giving her fresh\nfigs in January. She was frightened just at first; but they talked\nso charmingly of their being creatures of the good God as well as\nshe, and seemed to know so much about the inside of churches, that\nthe child could not but think well of them. They did her a wonderful\nnumber of kind services of various sorts. For a long time the child's\nparents, who never saw the spirits, but only the effects they produced,\nacquiesced, and seemed to think it rather a good joke. There was only\none thing that troubled them, and which ultimately made them call\nin the priest, and this was that the spirits, who showed themselves\namiably enough disposed towards the family in general, had an\nexceptional spite against one little boy. They never saw him come into\nthe room without showing disgust and saying all sorts of unpleasant\nthings about him to their little _prot\u00e9g\u00e9e_. There was nothing peculiar\nabout the boy, except that he served Mass every morning. When the\npriest was sent for, and the house exorcised, the amiable spirits, as\nis invariably the case under these circumstances, lost their temper,\nand went off in ugly shapes, vomiting fire; in fact, to borrow the\nspiritualist expression, showing themselves very unformed spirits\nindeed.\n\nWith this account we may compare Mr. Fusedale's extraordinary letter\n(_Rep._, p. 255), in which he says that the spirits habitually play\nwith his children and amuse them by showing them pretty scenes in a\npolished globe. He tells us that he has himself seen one of these\nscenes--a ship hemmed in by ice in an Arctic sea--and that he has\noften witnessed his little boy shoved across the room in a chair, his\nlegs being too short to reach the ground, and \"no human agency near.\"\nThe two accounts are not unlike, except that in the second story the\nmaterials for playing out the last scene are wanting.\n\nAs regards the second plea, no doubt there is something odd, at first\nsight, in so many respectable persons having got into such intimate\nrelations with the devil without knowing anything about it; and\nthough there are not wanting individual instances in the history of\n_diablerie_, I must confess that I have met with nothing of the sort\non so large a scale. But then, we must remember that there never has\nbeen a time when respectables as a body were so irreligious, and it is\nreligion that is the great obstacle to such unconscious intercourse\nwith Satan. No Christian who knows anything of the way in which the\nancient world was exorcised need be surprised at the devil's being able\nconsiderably to enlarge his sphere, as the church has been compelled to\nnarrow hers.\n\nAt first, indeed, it seemed as if this was not to be the case. The\nphilosophy of the last century boasted, with some plausibility, that it\nhad done what the church, with all her exorcisms, had never succeeded\nin doing--that it had swept away Satan altogether, along with his\ngreat adversary. Church and devil had gone down together; and for a\ntime people persuaded themselves that the devil, anyhow, had gone. In\nthe solemn obsequies of the whole caste of superstition, as the world\nfondly thought it, the devil was carried out first, dead, hopelessly\ndead, free-thinking priests, such as Voltaire rebuked, bearing up the\npall. Though many a mocking _requiescat_ has been chanted over his\ngrave, like that of the church, it has proved to be a cenotaph; and now\nthat he appears again, we can hardly wonder if he finds himself more at\nhome than ever since Christianity came into the world.\n\nSatan has ever been, as the schoolmen called him, God's ape (_simius\nDei_), reproducing in the mysteries of the \"Sabbath\" the rites, and\neven the organization, of the church; but now, after the world's\nreiterated rejection of Christ, it would seem that the enemy has been\npermitted to carry the parody a step further. Not only wherever two\nor three are gathered together in his name is he in their midst, but,\ngood shepherd-wise, he is allowed to seek the sheep that had been lost.\nUninvited he seeks them in the unromantic circle of XIXth-century life,\nentrenched as this is amongst elements the least promising, one should\nthink, for mysticism of any sort. In bright, cheerful, modern rooms,\namongst the rustle of innocent commonplaces, he finds his opportunity\nand his profit, and gently and genially weans his victims from what\nfragments of dogmatic religion they may still retain to the liberty of\nhis children. At least, there is nothing unnatural in this view.\n\nThe third plea is, in the spiritualist's mind, irresistible, and it has\nhad, doubtless, considerable influence in preventing various religious\npersons from condemning spiritualism. The great evil of the day is\nmaterialism; now, then, it is asked, is it conceivable that the devil\nshould appear as the advocate of the two great spiritual doctrines\nof the immortality of the soul and the existence of God; nay, should\nactually convert numbers to a belief in these doctrines? I answer,\n1st, that when the devil first came forward as the champion of human\nliberty, he certainly did preach both the immortality of the soul\nand the existence of God. \"Ye shall not die.\" \"Ye shall be as gods.\"\nTrue, he was denying in one breath the death of the body and the death\nof the soul; but this is quite in the fashion of spiritualism, which\ninvariably denounces any use of the word \"death.\" 2d, That the doctrine\nof the immortality of the soul loses all disciplinary force when\nconverted into that of endless, inevitable progression. The possibility\nof a miserable finality has been accepted by the noblest philosophers\nas a necessary phase in that melody of a future life which, to use the\nexpression of Socrates (_Ph\u00e6do_, cap. 63), it is \"so necessary for each\nman to sing to himself.\" There are some, he had said (cap. 62), whom \"a\nbefitting fate casts into Tartarus, whence they never come out.\" And in\nthe last book of the _Republic_, where human life is described as going\non in an indefinite series of metempsychosis, we are shown, as the\ngenerations sweep round, a pit into which the very bad fall out of the\ncircle, never to join it again. Nor is the doctrine of the existence\nof God when converted into pantheism of more avail. A deity who is the\nmere _terminus ad quem_ of necessary evolution can neither be feared as\njudge nor worshipped as God.\n\nLong experience has taught the evil one that man cannot do without\nreligious sentiment; so he aims at getting its circulation into his\nown hands by coming forward boldly as the advocate of its cardinal\npoints. He is determined to risk no more disappointing losses, by\nstriving to feed men on the dry husks of materialism, which are\ninsufficient to support life, and are sure, sooner or later, to provoke\nnausea and repulsion. As to those who have been really converted from\nscepticism by the spirits, nay, have been landed, as has sometimes been\nthe case, in the bosom of the Catholic Church, I can only say, Blessed\nbe God! who has ever exercised seignorial rights upon the devil's\nfishing.\n\nSo much for the spiritualist amendment. I shall now proceed to consider\nthe positive arguments and evidence tending to show that spiritualism\nis diabolic.\n\n1st. I notice its shrinking and disgust for all active Catholicism\nwhich extends to the use of fragments of Catholic truth in the hands\nof zealous sectarians. This antipathy, I contend, is invariable; but I\nmust guard against being misunderstood. I admit that the spirits have\nindulged from time to time in a considerable amount of Catholic, or, I\nshould rather say Ritualist, talk. Several instances may be found in\nMr. Home's s\u00e9ances in which holy-water and crucifixes are spoken of\nwith a certain amount of unction. I admit, too, that though sometimes\nthe spirits are discomfited by the mere presence of a religious\nobject--a medal, relic, etc.--this is by no means ordinarily the case.\nIt is quite possible for religious objects to be so presented as in\nno way to embarrass the spirits, who have been sometimes permitted to\ncarry them about with apparent tenderness, even as Satan was allowed\nto carry our Lord and set him on a pinnacle of the temple. A sword\nrequires to be handled with a certain amount of vigor and intention if\nit is to avail as a weapon. If holy objects are brought out simply\nas so many Catholic testimonials and orders of merit for the spirits,\nI know nothing in the nature of things or in the promises of God to\nprevent the devil wearing them in his button-hole. On the other hand, a\nman uncertain of the spirits' character, but with an honest and lively\nintention of rejecting them so far as they are God's enemies, \"fugite\npartes advers\u00e6,\" if he adjures them in his name, will either reduce\nthem to silence and impotence, or extort the confession that they are\ndevils.\n\nIt would be easy to produce numbers of instances of the extraordinarily\nhostile sensitiveness of the spirits in regard to the use in their\npresence of Catholic prayers, medals, relics, etc. In fact, in order\nto avoid being a non-conductor, if not an obstructive, a certain\nundogmatic attitude of mind is required. We need not, indeed, reject\nChrist, but we must be prepared to look for another beside him,\nif not in his place. Mr. Home (_Rep._, p. 188) says that, for the\nmedium's success, \"the only thing necessary is that the people about\nshould be harmonious.\" He explains that \"the 'harmonious' feeling is\nsimply that which you get on going into a room and finding all the\npeople present such as you feel at home with at once.... Scepticism\nis not a hindrance; an unsympathetic person is.\" I have no doubt that\nthis account is perfectly accurate so far as it goes. A Christian's\nhatred of what he suspects to be the devil, and Professor Tyndall's\ncontemptuous disgust for what he considers a piece of cheating, are\nboth no doubt _natural_ impediments to spiritualistic manifestations;\nalthough, in the former case, it may well be that it is something more.\n\nThe following scene from Prudentius (_Apoth._, 460-502) illustrates\nwhat I have said as to Christian rite and formulary availing against\nsorcery, not as a charm, but as a weapon of faith. It must be\nremembered that Julian had been baptized, but his baptism had no effect\nin breaking the magic rites. We venture thus to render it:\n\n    \"To give great Hecat\u00e8 her glut of blood,\n    Whole troops of cows and lowing heifers stood\n    About her altar, every frontlet crowned\n    With shadowy cypress twisted round and round.\n    And now the priestly butcher drives his brand\n    Into the victims, and with bloody hand\n    Gropes keenly in the entrails chilling fast,\n    To count each fluttering life-pulse to the last.\n    When suddenly he cries, dead-white with fear,\n    'Alas! great prince, some greater god is here\n    Than may suffice these foaming bowls of milk,\n    The blood of victims, flowers, and twisted silk.\n    Yon summoned shades are scattering in dismay,\n    And scared Persephon\u00e8 glides fast away,\n    With torch averted and with trailing scourge,\n    Thessalian charms are powerless to urge\n    The troubled gods to face the hostile thing.\n    In vain our spells and mystic muttering;\n    The flame has withered in yon censer's core,\n    The blinking embers shrink in ashes hoar.\n    The server with the plate can scarcely stand,\n    The rich balm dripping from his trembling hand.\n    The flamen feels his laurel chaplet go,\n    The victim leaps, and shuns the fatal blow.\n    Assuredly some Christian youth has dared\n    To enter here, and, as their wont, has scared\n    The assembled gods, and of their rites despoiled.\n    Avaunt! avaunt! thou that art washed and oiled!\n    That so anew fair Proserpine may rise.'\n    He shrieked, and swooning fell, as though his eyes\n    Had seen Christ angry and in act to slay.\n    In a like fear the prince now thrusts away\n    His royal crown, and gazes all about;\n    For the fond youth had dared his spells to flout\n    By bearing on his brow the Christian sign.\n    Lo! one, dragged forward from the brilliant line\n    Of royal pages, flaxen-haired and bright,\n    Resigns his arms, and owns that they are right:\n    That he is Christian, that his forehead bears\n    The wondrous sign that every witchcraft scares.\n    The startled monarch, leaping from his seat,\n    Upsets the pontiff in his swift retreat,\n    And flees the chapel, while the rest atone\n    Their impious deed, seeing their master gone,\n    And bowing low their heads in awe and shame,\n    In faltering accents call on Jesu's name.\"\n\nThe fathers have the completest confidence in the efficacy of Christian\nweapons in Christian hands, and even, when used honestly, in hands not\nyet Christian, to defeat sorcery.\n\nTertullian (_Apol._, c. 23) throws out this bold challenge: \"Let any\none, known to have a devil, come before your tribunal. That spirit, if\nbidden speak by a Christian, shall as truly confess himself a devil\nas he has elsewhere falsely declared himself a god. Or bring forward\nsome one of those who are thought to be divine patients, who, sniffing\nup the altar's deity, conceive of the steam, violent retchers with\npanting utterance; the heavenly Virgin herself, the promiser of rain,\n\u00c6sculapius too; ... if they do not all confess themselves devils,\nnot daring to lie to a Christian, then and there shed that insolent\nChristian's blood.\"\n\nNor is it only the passionate Tertullian who can speak thus. S.\nAthanasius (_De Incarn._, num. 48) is hardly less energetic: \"Let any\none come who wishes to test what we have said; and let him, in the\nmidst of the manifestations of demons, and the guiles of oracles, and\nthe marvels of magic, use the sign of the cross, which these mock\nat, or merely name Christ, he shall soon see how quickly the demons\nare routed, the oracles silenced, the whole magic art and its charms\nutterly wiped out.\"\n\nThe instances of modern spiritualist manifestations being stopped by\nreligious adjuration are very frequent.\n\nMr. Glover (_Rep._, p. 205) had been asking the spirits about the time\nof our Lord's coming; they had answered glibly enough, and had pointed\nout several texts in the Bible, when, apparently on a sudden impulse,\n\"he made a cross in a circle, and asked, in the name of the Father,\nSon, and Holy Ghost, if the communications were of God, and the answer\nwas 'No.' He then asked if they were of the devil, and the answer was\n'Yes.'\"\n\nMr. Chevalier (_Rep._, p. 218) says that, after having received several\ncommunications purporting to come from his recently-lost child, \"One\nday the table turned at right angles, and went into a corner of the\nroom. I asked, 'Are you my child?' but obtained no answer. I then said,\n'Are you from God?' but the table was silent. I then said, 'In the name\nof the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, I command you to answer; are you\nfrom God?' One loud rap--a negative--was then given. 'Do you believe,'\nsaid I, 'that Christ died to save us from sin?' The answer was, 'No.'\n'Accursed spirit!' said I, 'leave the room.' The table then walked\nacross the room, entered the adjoining one, and quickened its steps. It\nwas a small, tripod table. It walked with a sidelong walk. It went to\nthe door, shook the handle, and I opened it. The table then walked into\nthe passage, and I repeated the adjuration, receiving the same answer.\nFully convinced that I was dealing with an accursed spirit, I opened\nthe street-door, and the table was immediately silent; no movement or\nrap was heard. I returned alone to the drawing-room, and asked if there\nwere any spirits present. Immediately I heard steps, like those of a\nlittle child, outside the door. I opened it, and the small table went\ninto the corner as before, just as my child did when reproved for a\nfault. These manifestations continued until I used the adjuration, and\nI always found that they changed or ceased when the name of God was\nused.\"\n\nMiss Anna Blackwell (_Rep._, p. 220) gives her evidence immediately\nafter Mr. Chevalier's. Whilst admitting the fact that the spirits often\ncall themselves devils, she suggests a twofold explanation: 1st. That\nthey are coarse, undeveloped spirits. 2d. That they are vexed at the\nrude treatment they have received. She is speaking of her sister's\nmediumship: \"The spirit would use her hand to write what communication\nhad to be made. The spirits wrote what was good and bad. One wanted\nto sign himself Satan and Beelzebub; but,\" continues Miss Blackwell,\n\"my sister did not believe in the existence of any such a spirit, and\nshe said, 'No; if you are permitted to come to me, it is not to tell\nsuch outrageous lies. If you persist in trying to impose upon me, you\nsha'n't write.' I have been present at many such little fights. She\nwould resist the spirit, and, when she saw the capital S of Satan being\nwritten, would twist her hand. The spirit has then written, 'I hate\nyou, because I cannot deceive you.' ... We never begin without prayer.\nWe say to the spirits that wish to deceive us, 'Dear spirits, we are\nall imperfect; we will endeavor to benefit you by our lights, in so far\nas they are superior to yours.' Sometimes they would overturn and break\nthe table; yet they were rendered better by our kindness. We would\nnever dream of addressing one as an 'accursed spirit.' From one who was\nvery violent, and by whom I have been myself struck, we have received\nprogressive messages, saying, 'We are going up higher now; we have,\nthrough your help, broken the chains of earth, and we leave you.' When\nmy sister found the S being written, or the capital B for Beelzebub,\nshe would say with kindness, but firmness, 'Dear spirit, you must not\ndeceive; it is not for such tricks, but for a good end, that you are\npermitted to come.'\"\n\nIt is often said that the education question is the question of\nthe day; but I was hardly prepared to find that it embraced the\nspirit-world. I know not which to pity most, those to whom the\nresponsibility has been brought home of having to educate a vast number\nof imperfect spirits, who are, as Miss Blackwell admits, \"all in a\nmanner devils,\" or the wretched spirits who have thus to begin all over\nagain as day-scholars at a dame's school.\n\nAccording to Miss Blackwell's theory, the church is evidently\nresponsible for the existence of the devil. So far as he can be said to\nexist at all, he is the church's creation; for, instead of doing her\nbest to instruct and humanize the rude but well-meaning spirit Arab\nthrown upon her hands, she has goaded him to desperation by addressing\nhim as \"_Maledicte damnate_.\" Oh! if she had only called him \"dear\nspirit,\" with Miss Blackwell, he might ere now have comported himself\nconformably, instead of masquerading under such uncomfortable names as\nSatan and Beelzebub and doing a world of mischief.\n\nMy second argument is the similarity between spiritualism and medi\u00e6val\nwitchcraft. I have already noticed incidentally several points of\nresemblance, and would now draw attention to what is, perhaps, the most\nimportant point of all. Of course, such similarity has no argumentative\nforce if Miss Blackwell's theory be admitted.\n\nAs I have before remarked, one of the most prominent characteristics\nof medi\u00e6val magic was its being a parody of the church. The principal\nceremony of the \"Sabbath\" was a diabolical burlesque of the Mass, in\nwhich the devil preached, and the celebrant stood on his head, and\nthe servers genuflected backwards. Now, amongst modern spiritualists\nI have discovered no such violation of decency; the parody is not so\ncomplete, and, on the whole, it is a decorous one; but it unmistakably\nexists, and is on the increase. It is by no means uncommon to assemble\nthe spirit circle before an altar with crucifix and candles. In\n_Experiences with D. D. Home_ we find that that gentleman has quite\na craving in this direction. He baptizes with sand, he stretches\nhimself in the form of a cross, imitates the phenomena of Pentecost,\nthe rushing wind, the dove, the tongues of fire, and is perpetually\nanointing his friends with some mysterious substance, which apparently\nemanates from his hands.\n\nAgainst what has been said on behalf of the devil hypothesis the\nspiritualist can urge nothing, except the by no means unwavering\ntestimony of the spirits themselves, and the spiritualist's own\nrecognition of the identity of his departed friends. As to the\nspirits' testimony, it is worth just nothing. Evil spirits have always\npersonated the dead, as philosophers, fathers, schoolmen with one\naccord testify. As to the recognition of friends, I should wish to\ntreat with all due consideration the natural craving of friends to\nobtain some intelligence of their departed friends; but, on the one\nhand, minute imitations of manner are certainly not beyond the devil's\npower; on the other, affection is anything but keen-sighted, and the\nrapture of a communication at all, when once the idea is admitted, is\napt to throw all minor details into the shade. Was not Lady Tichbourne\nable to trace the features of her drowned boy in the Claimant's\nphotograph?\n\nWherever the spirits have represented persons of known character and\nability--men, for instance, who have left a gauge of their mental\nqualities in their writings, like Shakespeare or Bacon--the personation\nhas been invariably a lamentable and most palpable failure. That the\nspirits of clever men do not at all talk up to the mark is notorious\nand generally admitted by candid spiritualists. Mr. Simkiss (_Rep._,\np. 133) says, \"Beyond solving the important question, 'If a man die,\nshall he live again?' by the very fact of spirits communicating and\nproving their identity, there is to me little that is consistent or\nreliable in what is revealed through different mediums.\" Mr. Varley\n(p. 168) endeavors to explain the feebleness of spirit-talk by want\nof education and development on the part of the mediums by which\ntheir communications are conditioned. I do not say that there is not\nsomething in this; but surely the communications of genius would, under\nthe most adverse circumstances, take the form rather of broken sense\nthan fluent twaddle.\n\nThe extreme irritation invariably manifested by the spirits towards\nanything like suspicion, particularly if it take the form of trying to\nsubject them to a religious test, is surely grotesquely unnatural in\nthe case of spirits who have shuffled off the coil of mortality, with\nwhom life's fitful fever has passed. We have at least some right to\nexpect that persons who in their lifetime had a reasonable amount of\ndignity and patience should have increased rather than diminished their\nstock of virtue with their enlarged experience, unless, indeed, they\nhave so lost God as to have lost themselves.\n\nIt is difficult to conceive a justification for the spiritualist who,\nbelieving that he is dealing with spirits, refuses to entertain the\nidea that these may be devils, and makes no attempt to bring them to a\ntest. His best excuse, perhaps, would be that the world has to such an\nextent lost its standard of faith and morals wherewith to test anything.\n\nSpiritualists may object that some thing, at least, of what I have\nurged against them avails as much, or even more, against the devil\nhypothesis. Thus, if the spirit of Bacon is too nonsensical for Bacon,\n_\u00e0 fortiori_ he is too nonsensical for Lucifer, who must needs be\nthe cleverer spirit of the two. Upon this I observe that the retort\nshows a complete ignorance of the devil's character and position.\n\"The character of a myth,\" some one interposes. Well, I am not now\ndiscussing his existence. Even a myth must be in keeping. You have no\nright to give Cerberus four heads, or make him mew instead of bark,\nfor all he is a myth. I suppose people have been seduced by Milton's\ngrand conception of the \"archangel fallen\" and the splendid melancholy\nof his solemn rhetoric; but the devil of theology never says anything\nwise or fine. He is, indeed, understood to retain the natural powers\nwith which he was created; but he is wholly averse from the God whom\nall wise and fine utterances do, in their measure, praise. Wherefore\nall such are in the highest degree repugnant to Satan. Neither are such\ncostly and uncongenial deceits necessary to beguile man. Selfinterest\nand curiosity may be gratified at a cheaper rate.\n\nThe concessions of spiritualists themselves in reality reduce the\ndifference between us very considerably. I have gained all that I care\nfor, if it be conceded that these spirits may be the spirits of the\ndamned, who are equivalently devils; and Miss Blackwell admits that\nthese spirits are \"in a manner devils,\" and Mr. Home (_Experiences_, p.\n167) says of some of them: \"I tell you you do not know the danger, they\nare so fearfully low--the very lowest and most material of all. You\nmight almost call them 'accursed.' They will get a power over you that\nyou cannot break through.\" The one great difference between us is that\nconsistent spiritualists hold that there is no finality; that these\nirrepressible devils--for they are always obtruding themselves amongst\nthe respectable spirit guests--may be reformed. But even so, would it\nnot be well to consider whether the chances are not in favor of our\nbeing ruined before they are restored? Once and again it may be that a\nspirit speaks to them who is from God, even as God spake sometimes in\nthe high places of Baal.[195] But God is not wont to reward imprudence,\nand, on their own showing, spiritualists stand convicted of the most\nextraordinary rashness in thus exposing themselves to the whirlwind of\nspirit influence without having a spiritual constitution, so to speak,\nor any canons or habits of spiritual life wherewith the influence can\nbe tested.\n\nMan, as Alvernus finely says, is a being created \"upon the horizon\nof two worlds\"--the world of sense and the world of spirit. But in\nthe sensible world only is he at home, wherein his material nature\nis sufficiently developed for him to hold his own; whereas, in the\nspirit-world, with which he is also in contact, the God of both\nworlds must be his guide, or, horsed upon his excited imagination,\nhe may easily be lost in the wilderness, and fall a prey to lawless\nspirits. Nothing can be more striking than the contrast between the\nsobriety of the Catholic Church in her dealings with the spirit-world\nand the rashness of spiritualists. The church has always recognized\nas a reality spirit communications of various kinds, good and bad;\nbut she has always tested most rigidly the character of the spirits;\nand even when these have satisfied every test, she has only allowed\ntheir sanctity to be highly probable; she has never, so to speak,\ngranted them her _testamur_. They are ever on their trial, inasmuch\nas she insists that the lessons they communicate shall be in strict\nsubordination to the rule of faith and morals; in other words, to the\nordinary duties of life. The church has ever shown herself keenly alive\nto the dangers of supernatural intercourse. She has been jealously on\nher guard against overwrought sentimentalism, vanity, or any strained\nor undue development of one part of the patient's moral nature at the\nexpense of the rest.\n\nWhilst she prizes amongst the choicest of her devotional treasures the\nprivate revelations of her saints, such as those of S. Bridget, S.\nGertrude, S. Catharine of Sienna, and many more, yet if one consults\nthe great masters of Christian spiritualism, if I may so speak--such\nas S. John of the Cross, for example--who have themselves experienced\nthe favors of which they treat--the ecstasy, the vision, and the\nprophecy--one is more struck than by anything else by the stern common\nsense of their precautions against deception, and the sad sobriety of\ntheir confession that, after all, you can hardly ever be quite sure\nthat you are not the victim of an illusion.\n\nThat a certain moral discipline is necessary in order not to be\ndeceived, even when you are dealing with one who has a true spirit of\nprophecy, is implied in the words of Ezechiel, cap. xiv.: \"For every\nman of the house of Israel, and every stranger among the proselytes\nin Israel, if he separate himself from me, and place his idols in his\nheart, and set the stumbling-block of his iniquity before his face and\ncome to the prophet to inquire of me by him: I the Lord will answer him\nby myself.... And when the prophet shall err and speak a word, I the\nLord have deceived that prophet.... According to the iniquity of him\nthat inquireth, so shall the iniquity of the prophet be.\"\n\nS. Augustine (_De Gen. ad Lit._, lib. xii. c. 13, 14) might be warning\nthose spiritualists who place their security in the peacefulness and\ntruthfulness of their communications: \"The discernment of spirits\nis very difficult. When the evil spirit plays the peaceful (_quasi\ntranquillus agit_), and, having possessed himself of a man's spirit\nwithout harassing his body, says what he is able, enunciates true\ndoctrine, and gives useful information, transfiguring himself into\nan angel of light, to the end that, when persons have trusted him in\nwhat is clearly good, he may afterwards win them to himself. I do not\nthink he can be discerned except by means of that gift of which the\napostle saith when speaking of the diverse gifts of God: 'To another\ndiscernment of spirits.' It is no great thing to discover him when he\nhas gone so far as to do anything against good morals or the rule of\nfaith, for then he is discovered by many; but by the aforesaid gift, in\nthe very beginning, whilst to many he still appears good, his badness\nis found out forthwith.\"\n\nAgain (_Confess._, lib. x. c. 35), he speaks of the danger of seeking\nsupernatural communications: \"In the religious life itself, men tempt\nGod when they demand signs and marvels, not for any one's healing,\nbut simply for the sake of the experience. In this vast wood, full of\nsnares and dangers, what have I not had to drive away from my heart!\nWhat suggestions and machinations does not the enemy bring to bear upon\nme, that I may ask for a sign! But I beseech thee that even as all\nconsent thereto is far from me, so it may be ever further and further.\"\n\nAmort, _De Rev. Priv._, p. 20, from Gravina, says: \"It is often easier\nto establish the certainty of the deceitfulness of an apparition than\nof its truthfulness, because bad angels have their own characteristics,\nwhich good angels never imitate; on the other hand, the bad often\nimitate the appearance and manner of the good.\"\n\nAmort, _ibid._, p. 104, from S. John of the Cross, says: \"All\napparitions, visions, revelations, consolations, sweetnesses,\nsensations, etc., which are received by the external senses, should\never and always be refused by the soul as much as in it lies.... In\nmost cases they are diabolical.... When they are from God, they are\nsent in order that they may be despised, and that the soul, by means\nof the victory wherewith it overcomes these pleasures of the senses,\ndivine though they be, may be led to the things of the understanding.\"\n\n_Ibid._, p. 115: \"When the words in any supposed revelation take the\nform of a process of reasoning after the application of the soul in\ncontemplation, God, the natural reason, and the devil may all three\nconcur in the same process.\"\n\nNo test of the holiness of a manifestation is considered quite\nsatisfactory save that of a continued increase in virtue, especially in\nhumility, in degrees corresponding to the increase of the favor; for\nthe devil will not consent to be a master of virtue. When S. Teresa\nhad scruples as to the source of her favors, it was thus her director\nconsoled her.\n\nSo cautious is Catholic mysticism; whilst spiritualists are not afraid\nto keep a sort of spirit-ordinary, where\n\n    \"White spirits and black, red spirits and gray,\n    Mingle, mingle, mingle; those that mingle may.\"\n\nI repeat it, spiritualists who think they are communicating with\nspirits, and take no pains to test their character, as though the\nhypothesis of a devil were absurd, are inexcusably silly.\n\nI must now consider some objections in the mouth of persons who,\nwithout pretending that they have found any satisfactory solution of\nthe question in the theories of unconscious cerebration or psychic\nforce, are nevertheless exceedingly impressed by the strong psychic\nelement in the phenomena of spiritualism--the apparent necessity for\nthe presence of one or more persons of a peculiar nervous organization,\nfor a certain harmonious mixture, or rather melodious articulation, of\nthe company, in order to produce the desired effect. \"Surely,\" they\nsay, \"such law, _i.e._, such regular alternation of cause and effect,\nas can be discovered is psychic. So far as we can subject the phenomena\nto ordinary scientific tests, everything points to their being the\nproduct of the psychic force of a certain peculiarly constituted\ncompany.\" This is the tone of Mr. Cox's recent letter to the _Times_,\nand Mr. Edwin Arnold's letter in the _Report_ is quite in the same key.\n\nMy answer is that I admit all that they say. Of course, so much of\nlaw as is detected is psychic. There is no other law at work within\nthe sphere of our discovery. The question is whether there are not\nindications of an influence at work which is irreducible to psychic\nlaws, whilst using, in a partially abnormal manner, psychic force.\n\nMr. Lewes will urge (letter, _Rep._, p. 264): \"I might propose as an\nhypothesis that the chair leaped because a kobold tilted it up; ... but\nyou would not believe in the presence of a kobold, because his presence\nwould enable you to explain the phenomena.\" Most indubitably I should,\nif no less an hypothesis would explain the phenomena; particularly if\nI had otherwise reason to believe in the existence and operation of\nkobolds. I should hold the likelihood of the hypothesis of his action\nin the particular case as steadily increasing in proportion as the\nother hypotheses tended to break down.\n\n\"No guess,\" Mr. Lewes insists, \"need be rejected, if it admits of\nverification; _no guess that cannot be verified is worth a moment's\nattention_.\" The last part of this trenchant dictum _is_ worth a\nmoment's attention. If it simply mean that it is not worth a scientific\nman's while to attempt a direct scientific examination of what clearly\nadmits of no such treatment, I can only say that, however much the\nscientific man may sometimes need the lesson, it is neither more nor\nless than a truism. If it mean that no hypothesis is to be regarded\nby any one as \"worth a moment's attention\" which science can never\nhope directly to verify, it is conspicuously untrue. Even a _terra\nincognita_ is not without scientific interest as marking a boundary;\nnay, it may be scientifically proved to contain a place known to exist\nand proved not to exist in any known lands.\n\nOf course, the devil, or kobold, if Mr. Lewes prefers it, cannot be\nverified in the sense of caught and handed over to scientific men as a\nspecimen of spiritualistic fauna. Neither do I suppose he can be really\ndetected, except by the standard of Catholic truth, by Catholic tests,\nand Catholic weapons; and even then, in the eyes of unbelievers, he\nwill be no further identified than as an adverse intelligence in a very\nbad temper. But surely this is enough, where men's minds have not been\nreduced to mere machines for registering rigid scientific results, to\nsecure the devil hypothesis something more than \"a moment's attention.\"\n\nWhat law we detect in spiritualistic phenomena I conceive to be the\nworking of the conditions in subordination to which the devil is able\nto communicate with man. This subordination is probably owing, in part,\nto the nature of things which compels certain things to accost certain\nother things in one way and not another, in part to the merciful\nreservation of God. It would seem as if the spirits were, on the\nwhole, prevented from being more irreligious than the prevailing tone\nof the company, or at least of the most irreligious portion of it. It\nmay very well be that the conditions limiting diabolical intercourse\nare more complex and imperious, where the spirit \"_quasi tranquillus\nagit_, without harassing the body.\" In medi\u00e6val _diablerie_, the\ndemon is often represented as hindered or assisted by instruments of\na purely physical character; thus Coleridge makes Christabel lift the\nenchantress over the threshold. A crowd, by neutralizing individual\nresistance, may present fewer obstacles to the devil--nay, may supply\na medium of its own; just as frightened cattle huddled-together in a\nthunder-storm are said, by the steam-column arising from their tightly\ncompacted bodies, to furnish a conductor for the lightning.\n\nI have indicated in several places of these essays what I conceive\nto be the objects the devil has in view in lending himself to\nspiritualism. His main object, I can hardly doubt, is to do with\nreligious sentiment what we are told Mr. Fisk tried to do with the\ngold currency of America--\"corner it,\" get its circulation into his\nown hands. In the numberless cases where religion is nothing more\nthan sentiment, he is only too likely to succeed; second-sight is\nso much more satisfying to the imagination, and at the same time so\nfar more modest in its demands upon the will, than faith. The spread\nof spiritualism in the last few years is notorious, and there is\nevery prospect of its continuing. Whether it will ever enter upon a\nnew phase of existence, and become a fact publicly acknowledged by\nscientific men, is a question. It has never been so recognized amongst\ncivilized nations. Whatever miracles, divine or diabolical, were meant\nto effect, it was not to overbalance the general sway of purely human\npower, of which this world is the appointed stage. As a general rule,\nthe brilliant series of miracles by which the Christian martyr has\nbaffled death in the presence of admiring crowds has ended in quiet\ndecapitation at a convenient mile-stone. Many a time, doubtless, has\nthe Roman headsman flattered himself that his good straight-down blow\neffectually upset that fine story made up out of a drugged lion and\na fagot of green wood, which had somehow imposed upon so many stupid\npeople. Not, of course, that I am denying that there have been miracles\nwhich imperiously asserted themselves over all obstacles, like the\nseries which ended in Pharao's drowning; but, as a general rule, God\nhas spoken once and again, and then prosaic obstinacy has been given\nits way. On these occasions, God has no doubt submitted himself to a\ngeneral law which he has made for all direct spiritual interference,\nand which he mercifully enforces with especial strictness in the case\nof the devil.\n\nAny civilized nation engaged in active pursuits will always be likely\nto contain, one should think, a majority among its scientific men who\nwill be unfitted to experience, and indisposed to believe in, and\nstill more to acknowledge, the phenomena of spiritualism. But it is\nimpossible to say; the spiritualistic system as developed by Allan\nKardec (see Miss Blackwell's communication, _Rep._, p 284) seems\nto lend itself in a remarkable way to some of the most prominent\nscientific tendencies of the day. If ever Darwinists should stand in\nneed of the consolations of religious enthusiasm, they might find a\ncongenial home in spiritualism. In the vast system of metempsychosis\nto which Miss Blackwell introduces us, we have all the Darwinian\nstages and to spare. First in order comes the \"primordial fluid,\"\n\"containing all the elements of derived existence,\" \"the first\nsubstantiation of creative thought.\" \"There are three orders or modes\nof substantiality\"--\"psychic substance,\" and \"corporeal substance,\" and\n\"dynamic substance, or force,\" which last is stated to partake of the\nnature of the two other modes, and to be the intermediary between them.\n\n(P. 300) \"Every state of the psychic element determines corresponding\nvibrations of the dynamic element, which, effecting corresponding\naggregations of the atoms of the material element, produce the\nsubstance or body which is the material expression of that state.\" The\nsoul's magnetic envelope, \"perisprit,\" is at once its first garment and\nthe instrument by which it aggregates to itself the elements of its\nbody.\n\nThis system embraces a twofold metempsychosis--that of formation and\nthat of reformation. The first is the process by which the impersonal\npsychic element is gradually prepared for individualization or the\nattainment of conscious personality by being transfused progressively\nthrough the mineral, vegetable, and animal worlds--the same process,\nbut with a different final cause, it would seem, as that described by\nthe poet:\n\n    \"Spiritus intus alit, totamque infusa per artus,\n    Mens agitat molem et magno se corpore miscet.\"\n\nThe psychic element is presented, not as feeding, but as feeding\non successive worlds, like a silk-worm on mulberry-leaves, leaving\ngeological strata behind it, for instance, as the refuse of its mineral\nsojourn.\n\nSouls are first individualized in the fluidic or atmospheric world;\nand if they are docile to the instruction of that world, they never\n\"incur the penalty of incarceration in bodies of planetary matter, and\nconsequently never become men,\" but remain in this or that fluidic\nworld until ripe for the highest or \"sidereal order.\" On the other\nhand, the spirits who are indocile enter upon the second series of\nmetempsychosis, \"having brought upon themselves the penalty of exile in\na planet corresponding, in the compactness or comparative fluidity of\nits material constituents, to the degree of their culpability.\"\n\n(P. 309) \"The moral and intellectual state of the soul decides the\ncorresponding magnetic action of the perisprit, and thereby decides the\nnature of the body which is formed by that action.\"\n\n(319) \"While accomplishing the new series of incorporations in\nprogressively nobler forms, in higher and higher planets, the spirit\ngoes back, at each disaggregation of its material envelope, into the\nfluidic sphere of the planet in which its last material embodiment has\nbeen accomplished.\"\n\n(322) \"The fluidic world being the normal world of souls, we remain\nin intimate (though usually unconscious) connection with the fluidic\nsphere of the planet, while incarnated on its surface. We return to\nit during sleep, when, through the elasticity of the perisprit (which\nhas been seen by clairvoyants elongated into a sort of luminous cord\nconnecting the soul with the sleeping body), we are enabled to visit\nour friends in the other life.\"\n\n(326) \"The more extended vision of the fluidic sphere shows (its\ninhabitants) a wide range of human actions and intentions, and thus\nenables them to forecast with more or less correctness, and, when\npermitted to do so, to predict the same with more or less exactness,\naccording to the flexibility of the medium.\"\n\nS. Augustine has a fine passage in his _De Divinatione D\u00e6monum_, cap.\niii., comparing the keenness and swiftness (_acrimonia sens\u00fbs et\nceleritas mot\u00fbs_) which the devils possess in virtue of their fluidic\nstate (_aerium corpus_) to the vulture's knowledge, who, \"when the\ncarcase is thrown out, flies up from an unseen distance; and to the\nosprey's, who, floating aloft, is said at that vast height to see the\nfish swimming beneath the waves, and fiercely smiting the water with\noutstretched legs and talons, to ravish it.\"\n\nI can conceive the attractions of such a system, combining, as it\ndoes, the ingenuity and fulness of Platonism with something of the\ncolor and rhythm of modern science. If any concordat is to be made\nbetween religious enthusiasm unattached and science, I do not think the\nchances of spiritualism are to be despised. Just at present, however,\nalthough some scientific men have taken up spiritualism, there can be\nno doubt that, on the whole, spiritualism and science are at daggers\ndrawn. There is no mistaking the utter loathing expressed in Professor\nHuxley's letter (_Rep._, p. 229), in which he declines to take any part\nin the committee's investigation, on the ground that, \"supposing the\nphenomena to be true, they do not interest me.\" He has a perfect right\nto compare spiritualistic talk to \"the chatter of old women and curates\nin a cathedral town\"; but his anger has made him quite miss the logical\npoint of the position. The privilege he declines as worthless is the\nopportunity, not of listening to such conversation, but of examining\nand testing the hitherto ignored faculty; and this no man can seriously\nreject as uninteresting.\n\nThere is no difficulty in understanding the bitterness with which\nmodern science regards spiritualism. It had been for so long carrying\neverything before it; it had weighed so many things on earth and in\nthe heavens; it had reduced so many apparently eccentric phenomena\nto law; its discoveries had been so brilliant, and its still more\nbrilliant projections were so plausible, that it flattered itself that\nall idea of the supernatural was fairly relegated to the obscure past\nor to the obscurer future. The philosophy of the XIXth century was\nbeing fast reduced to a bare statement of the contents of sensation,\nand the philosophers of the day were looking for an easy victory over\nthe most respectable of dogmatic traditions, when, lo! full in the\ncalm scientific light, the singularly grotesque form of spiritualism\nlifts its head, and the warrior who had so loudly challenged the king\nto mortal combat finds himself set upon by the court fool. When earth,\naccording to the poet's dream, should be \"lapped in universal law,\" up\nstarts a mass of phenomena not merely inexplicable by any known law,\nbut, in popular estimation at least, incompatible with any hypothesis\nbut that of supernatural agency. It has been the more intolerable that\nspiritualism had affected an imposing vocabulary of scientific terms,\nrecommending itself to its audience by an appeal to partially known\nlaws, such as magnetism and electricity, whilst really indulging in the\nmost unblushing necromancy. Thus the scientific formul\u00e6 have been given\nsomewhat the _r\u00f4le_ of captives in the triumph of superstition. No\nwonder scientific men are angry. But whilst they \"do well to be angry,\"\nI think they do by no means well to refuse to investigate the subject\nbecause on various accounts it is offensive to them.\n\nScientific men frequently complain that spiritualists will not submit\ntheir s\u00e9ances to the test of a public examination in broad daylight.\nNow, this is really not a fair statement of the case. Spiritualists say\nthat they have found by experience that a certain class of phenomena\nrequire dark or twilight; but a vast number of independent physical\nmanifestations do take place in broad daylight. On the other hand,\nwhen the scientific investigator insists upon interfering with the\nconstituents of the s\u00e9ance, the arrangement of the circle, etc.,\nthe spiritualist answers, fairly enough, that, since under the most\nfavorable conditions the success of the s\u00e9ance cannot be reckoned on,\nit would be absurd to allow the abandonment of what experience has\nshown to be a necessary condition of success. \"With the phenomena of\nmagic we can experimentalize but little; neither can we evoke the\nleast of them at our good pleasure. We can but observe them where they\npresent themselves, gather them into corresponding groups, and discover\namong them common features and common laws.\" (Perty, _Mystisch.\nErscheinungen--Vorrede_, p. xi.) This being understood, spiritualists\ninvite the representatives of science to make what observations they\nplease in broad daylight, when, at least, they will be able to discount\nsuch disturbing conditions as they may not eliminate. It is an _onus_,\ncertainly, for the investigator to have to form a part of what is going\non; but this is no more than the detective undergoes when he plays\nthe accomplice in order to discover the thief. Say that spiritualism\nis a folly, a disease, what you will, it is at least of the highest\nscientific interest and practical importance that we should understand\nits conditions and action as thoroughly as possible. If scientific men\nhave no more serious scruple to keep them aloof than the dignity of\ntheir order--for, after all, this is what Mr. Huxley's excuses come\nto--the exigencies of the case require that it should be put aside. If\nthe mountain will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain.\n\nNothing is more calculated to bring out the inherent diversities of\nthe human mind than the investigation of spiritualism; for it not\nonly involves an examination of some of the most difficult problems\nrelating to evidence, but, indirectly at least, an examination of the\nwhole process by which each individual concerned rejects or assimilates\nhis mental pabulum. Hence the extraordinary difficulty of conducting\nsuch an inquiry without incessant wrangling. The Committee of the\nDialectical Society, to whose _Report_ I have so often referred, is\nquite a case in point. Its _Report_ is the record of a schism, of an\nirreconcilable clash of opinions. If the committee had waited until\nthese had been reduced to harmony, the _Report_ would never have been\npublished. One of the principal members--Dr. Edmunds--was, I think,\nexceptionally tried. His own opinion was and is that spiritualism is\na mixture of trickery and delusion; but his own dining-room table\nhabitually took sides against him, and this in the most treacherous\nmanner. It used to wait until he had left the room, and then, in the\npresence of the other investigators, run around with nobody touching it.\n\nYou might almost as well meddle with a man's digestion as with his\nbelief. Prove that his convictions are groundless, and he feels as\noutraged as though you had affixed a register to his waistcoat which\nshowed the world that his favorite dish had disagreed with him. Dr.\nGarth Wilkinson (_Rep._, p. 234) is by no means singular in his\nexperience \"that nearly all truth is temperamental to us, or given in\nthe affections or intuitions, and that discussion and inquiry do little\nmore than feed the temperament.\" And what a variety of temperaments\nwill inevitably be found in any committee of investigation--men who,\nlike Mr. Lewes, consider the possibility of an hypothesis which cannot\nbe rigidly tested unworthy of consideration, or like Mr. Grattan\nGeary (_Rep._, p. 95), who, on finding that many eminent men are\nspiritualists, is simply impressed by the number of eminent men who are\nenjoying an unmerited reputation for sanity. After all, men make more\naccount, as a general rule, of one little bit of experience, the real\nforce of which is incommunicable, and which, when put into words for\nanother's benefit, is often to the last degree trivial, than of all\nthe arguments in the world. A charming example of this is given by Dr.\nH. More in a letter to Glanville, published at the beginning of the\nlatter's _Sadducismus Triumphatus_: \"I remember an old gentleman in the\ncountry of my acquaintance, an excellent justice of the peace, and a\npiece of a mathematician; but what sort of a philosopher he was you may\nunderstand from a rhime of his own making, which he commended to me on\nmy taking horse in his yard, which rhime is this:\n\n    An _ens_ is nothing till sense find out,\n    Sense ends in nothing, so naught goes about;\n\nwhich rhime of his was so rapturous to himself that, at the reciting\nof the second verse, the old man turned himself about upon his toe as\nnimbly as one may see a dry leaf whisk'd round in the corner of an\norchard-walk by some little whirlwind. With this philosopher I have\nhad many discourses concerning the immortality of the soul and its\ndistinction. When I have run him quite down by reason, he would laugh\nand say, 'That is logick, H.,' calling me by my Christian name. To\nwhich I replied, 'This is reason, Fr. L. (for so I and some others\nused to call him), but it seems you are for the new light and direct\ninspiration,' which, I confess, he was as little for as for the other;\nbut I said so only by way of drollery to him in those times. But truth\nis, nothing but palpable experience could move him; and being a bold\nman, and fearing nothing, he told me he had tried all the ceremonies\nof conjuration he could to raise the devil or a spirit, and had a most\nearnest desire to meet with one, but never could do it. But this he\ntold me: when he did not so much as think of it, while his servant was\npulling off his boots in the hall, some invisible hand gave him such\na clap on the back that it made all ring again. So, thought he, now I\nam invited to the converse of my spirit; and therefore, so soon as his\nboots were off and his shoes on, out he went into the yard and next\nfield to find out the spirit that had given him this familiar clap on\nthe back, but found none neither in the yard nor field next to it. But\nthough he did not feel the stroke, albeit he thought it afterwards\n(finding nothing come of it) a mere delusion, yet, not long before his\ndeath, it had more force with him than all the philosophical arguments\nI could use to him, though I could wind him and nonplus as I pleased;\nbut yet all my arguments, how solid soever, made no impression upon\nhim. Wherefore, after several reasonings of this nature, whereby I\nwould prove the soul's distinction from the body, and its immortality,\nwhen nothing of such subtile considerations did any more execution on\nhis mind than some lightning is said to do, though it melts the sword,\nupon the fuzzy consistency of the scabbard, well, said I, Fr. L.,\nthough none of these things move you, I have something still behind,\nand what you yourself acknowledged to me, that may do the business. Do\nyou remember that clap on the back when your servant was pulling off\nyour boots in the hall? Assure yourself, said I, Fr. L., that goblin\nwill be the first that will bid you welcome into the other world. Upon\nthat his countenance changed most sensibly, and he was more confounded\nwith this rubbing up of his memory than with all the rational and\nphilosophical arguments I could produce.\"\n\nWhilst admitting that the _Report_ of the Dialectical Society indicates\na very considerable initial success, I cannot but feel the undiminished\nimportance of W. M. Wilkinson's rather caustic warning (_Rep._, p.\n231): \"The first thing in such an investigation is to assume nothing,\nnot even that a committee of the Dialectical Society can 'obtain a\nsatisfactory elucidation of the phenomena.' No committee has ever done\nso yet. A committee of professors of Harvard University, amongst whom\nwas Agassiz, after they had made an examination, did not think proper\nto publish their report, though they had published their intention\nto do so, and were frequently and publicly asked for it.\" The London\nSociety has, at least improved upon the example.\n\nI have maintained throughout that neither the hypothesis of trickery\nnor of delusion can be sustained for a moment as an adequate\nexplanation of the phenomena of spiritualism, on grounds which may\nbe thus summarized: 1. Many of these phenomena outdo all conjuring.\n2. They take place where the possibility of trickery has been\neliminated. 3. The exhibition of imaginative excitement is, on the\nwhole, inconsiderable, and there is no appreciable proportion between\nthe degrees of excitement and the phenomena. But, at the same time, I\nam far from maintaining that there is no trickery amongst the mediums,\nand no predisposition in the company tending more or less to disqualify\nthem from detecting it. I am inclined to think that more or less\ntrickery forms part of the stock in trade of most mediums, but that its\nshare in the production of phenomena is comparatively slight.\n\nMr. Browning's marvellous conception of _Sludge the Medium_ is based,\nI admit, upon a real, existing unscrupulosity on the one side, and on\na real, existing gullibility on the other; but these are magnified\ninto colossal and perfectly unreal proportions so far as Sludge is\nto be taken as a representative of his class. In many cases a single\nfraud may fairly be taken to vitiate the whole projection. If in a\nchemical demonstration, for instance, we were to discover the secret\nsubstitution, by the operator, of an ingredient not in the programme,\nwe might fairly conclude that the whole thing was a pretence; that\nthere was nothing in it. But this is not necessarily so in the case of\nspiritualism; the lie or trick does not always imply the total absence\nof other force, but may be an initial ceremony, preparing the company\nby quickening their expectations, and propitiating the evil influence\nby an acceptable sacrifice of human honor.\n\nIt must be confessed that there is something very suggestive of\ntrickery, and of silly trickery, in the attempts made from time to\ntime by the spirits to flatter into good-humor the anti-spiritualistic\ncritic of the company; as when Professor Tyndall was dubbed \"Poet\nof Science,\"[196] and when Dr. Edmunds' portrait was given in such\nglowing colors that, except in the character of a sceptic, he would\nhave been ashamed to reproduce it (_Report_). Again, that something\nlike systematic trickery has sometimes been attempted would seem to be\nestablished by the very remarkable evidence of Mr. W. Faulkener Surgeon\n(_Rep._, p. 125): \"He said that for years he had been in the habit of\nsupplying magnets for the production of rapping sounds at spiritual\ns\u00e9ances.... Some of these magnets--as, for instance, the one he had\nbrought with him--were made for concealment about the person; while\nothers were constructed with a view to their attachment to various\narticles of furniture.... He had never himself fitted up a house with\nthese magnets, and he only knew of one house, Mr. Addison's, that is so\nfitted up. He also stated that he had not supplied any of these magnets\nfor two or three years.\"\n\nAs regards the company's predisposition to believe in spiritualism, I\nadmit that a sufficient predisposing reaction against materialism has\ntaken place, giving room for a man to constitute what \"Sludge\" calls\n\n    \"Your peacock perch, pet post\n    To strut, and spread the tail, and squawk upon,\n    Just as you thought, much as you might expect,\n    There be more things in heaven and earth, Horatio.\"\n\nNay, I admit that the following fiercely graphic catalogue of the\nmedium's patrons only sins by omission:\n\n    1.  \"Fools who are smitten by imaginary antecedent probabilities.\n\n    2.  ... \"their opposites\n        Who never did at bottom of their hearts\n        Believe for a moment--men emasculate,\n        Blank of belief, who played, as eunuchs use,\n        With superstition safely.\n\n    3.  \"The other picker-up of pearl\n        From dung-heaps, ay, your literary man,\n        Who draws on his kid gloves to play with Sludge\n        Daintily and discreetly; shakes a dust\n        Of the doctrine, flavors thence he well knows how\n        The narrative or the novel--half believes\n        All for the book's sake, and the public stare,\n        And the cash that's God's sole solid in this world.\n\n    4.  \"There's a more hateful kind of foolery--\n        The social sage's Solomon of saloons\n        And philosophic diner-out, the fribble\n        Who wants a doctrine for a chopping-block\n        To try the edge of his faculty upon;\n        Prove how much common sense he'll hack and hew\n        In the critical minute 'twixt the soup and fish:\n        These were my patrons....\"\n\nAnd far stronger than any such predispositions is the intense and\nwidespread feeling, so pathetic even in its uncouthest manifestations,\nto which Dr. Edmunds refers (_Rep._, p. 57): \"Prior to the experience\ngained in this inquiry, I never realized the vast hold which the\nsupernatural has upon mankind. Minds which have broken away from the\ncommonplace lines of faith, and thrown overboard their belief in\nrevealed religion, have not cast out the longing after immortality.\"\nAnd I may add, that when all religious assurance of what the soul must\nneeds desire is absent, the longing for some visible, palpable witness\nbecomes proportionably intenser. And so just now, from the very lack of\nfaith, there is an exceptionally vehement desire that some one should\ncome with unmistakable credentials from beyond the grave, and make\nus see, and feel, and know what we cannot help longing for; and it\nis difficult to say to what extent the wish may not be father to the\nthought.\n\nI admit that all this constitutes an adverse momentum of antecedent\nprobability. But, after all, spiritualists, as a whole, are not\npersons who have given any indications that this yearning has so\nwholly overbalanced their critical faculty as to make them incompetent\nwitnesses. Moreover, we have, as witnesses to spiritualistic phenomena,\nnot merely the spiritualists proper, but persons who, as regards the\npredominance of this sentiment, are their extremest opposites--viz.,\nthe advocates of psychic force. It must be admitted that these persons\nare either without the yearning for evidence of a future life, or at\nleast hold it in complete subordination to the critical faculty.\n\nIt may easily be contended that I have been overrating the progress and\nprospects of spiritualism, for that the public prints as a rule make\nfun of it. I may be reminded that Mr. Browning has exposed it, in the\nregion of poetry, in his _Sludge the Medium_; Professor Tyndall in that\nof prose, in his delicious account of a s\u00e9ance, in which he discomfits\nthe medium and plays spirits himself, to the great edification of the\ncompany, who rebuke him solemnly for his want of faith in his own\nmake-believe; that the keen critics of the _Saturday_ and the _Pall\nMall_ invariably treat spiritualism as unmitigated humbug.\n\nIn reply, I point to the _Report_; to the testimony of an antagonist\nlike Mr. Geary, as to the number of eminent men who believe in\nspiritualism; to the notorious fact that scientific men, as a whole,\nin Germany and America have ceased to regard spiritualism as a mere\ndelusion; to the recent correspondence in the _Times_, and particularly\nto the article of December 26, 1872, wherein the writer, after\nreviewing the _Report_, exclaims that \"it is high time competent hands\nundertook the unravelling of this gordian knot. It must be fairly and\npatiently unravelled, and not cut through. The slash of the Alexandrian\nblade has been tried often enough, and has never sufficed. Scientific\nmen forget that, in the matter of spiritualism, they must make\nthemselves fools in order that they may become wise.\" The writer then\nproceeds to relate how he went off to examine for himself. He tells us\nthat he and his friend enter a room, the furniture of which consisted\nof a table and a few cane-bottomed chairs, which he previously\nexamines; that in an inner room, during a dark s\u00e9ance, in which the\nmedium's hands and feet have been carefully secured, a chair is lifted\nup and thrown upon the table; that afterwards, in the outer room, \"the\nfurniture became quite lively, and this in broad daylight; a chair\njumped three or four yards across the carpet, our hat fell to our feet,\nand numerous other phenomena occurred\"; but the mediums are free, and\nhe is nervous about them. In another s\u00e9ance, the same writer, whilst\nthe medium's hands and feet are in custody, has various things thrust\ninto his hand, and once \"felt distinctly the touch of a large finger\nand thumb.\" Several times during the s\u00e9ance he takes the opportunity,\nfreely accorded, of carefully searching under the table with a lamp.\nHe confesses there was nothing during the whole evening, except the\nphenomena themselves, to suggest imposture. \"We tried our best to\ndetect it, but found no trace of it.\" And then he ends with \"a slash of\nthe Alexandrian blade,\" after all, and suggests that still trickery it\nmust be.\n\nSpiritualism indubitably affords, and in all probability will continue\nto afford, an abundant and legitimate field for the satirist of human\nfolly, even when its substantial reality has been admitted; for it is\na condescension to a great vulgar want, and its supplies are detailed,\nfor the most part, through the unwashed fingers of very scurvy fellows\nindeed. Neither is there anything in the discipline necessary for the\ndevelopment of a medium, so far as I know, which makes his refinement\nas a class probable.\n\nEducated men are naturally shy of admitting their connection with\nanything involving so much that is low and disagreeable, except as\na sort of \"casual ward\" experience; just as men are usually shy of\nits being known that they eat strange meats, such as rats, out of\nsiege-time. But once let an heroic rat-eater come forward, impelled\nby a sense of public duty, to tell the world what a noble viand it is\nneglecting, when, lo! it appears, from confessions on this side and on\nthat, that numbers know all about it, and have been secretly indulging\nin the rat feast. So it is with spiritualism and its adherents; it is\nonly now and again that the curtain is lifted up, and we are enabled\nto appreciate the hold which it is steadily making good on the public\nimagination.\n\nAs to the line taken by the _Pall Mall_ and the _Saturday_, the\nquestion is whether the critics who write in these periodicals\ncould, under any circumstances, adapt their method and style, I will\nnot say to the support, but to the fair discussion, of an uncouth,\nill-conditioned, sensational enthusiasm like spiritualism. As it was\nthe Crusader's boast that he never touched the unbeliever save with\nthe sword, so, it would seem, some of our critics plume themselves\nupon never touching enthusiasm but with a sneer. Our present school of\ncritics is the result of a reaction from the enthusiastic Young England\nschool of forty years ago, who were romanticists, patronizing religious\nenthusiasm as one of the many forms of romance. We can hardly expect\nthat a school which is inclined to regard all religious sentiment as\nsomething essentially weak and finikin; which can talk of Joan of Arc\nas a \"crazy servant-girl,\"[197] should be civil to an exhibition of\nenthusiasm much weaker, and vulgar to boot. Neither do I see how it\nwould be possible to write a trenchant _critique_ of such a nondescript\nmedley, except by treating it as a form of mania. It admits of no\nprecise scientific treatment, for it falls under no one category.\nSpiritualism, to discuss, not to banter, would be as uncongenial a\nsubject for the _Pall Mall_ or the _Saturday_ as a case of chronic\nbronchitis for a brilliant public operator.\n\nWhen the \"Jupiter\" of the latter days is engaged in duly chronicling,\nfor the edification of the public, the splendid spiritualistic\nphenomena with which Antichrist will dazzle the world, should the _Pall\nMall_ and _Saturday_ still exist, we should not look for them even\nthen amongst the enthusiastic crowd. Though employed in the government\ninterest, they will surely be allowed to do their old work in their old\nway, and we shall find them engaged in the congenial task of mocking\nthe last miracles by which Enoch and Elias are gathering in the remnant\nof the elect.\n\nIt may be insisted that the one effectual way of repressing\nspiritualism is to pooh-pooh it. Surely it is too late; you must give\nits many sober adherents some better reason against trusting their own\nsenses than its making other people laugh.\n\nAssuredly spiritualism can never be safely despised until its reality\nhas been discounted and its author recognized.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[192] _Apoth._ l. 409.\n\n[193] _Lib. de Divers. Qu\u00e6st._, qu. 12.\n\n[194] See G\u00f6rres, _Mystik_, tom. iii. p. 346, French trans.\n\n[195] St. Aug., _De Unit. Eccles._, c. 19.\n\n[196] Tyndall, _Scientific Scraps_.\n\n[197] This was in the _Spectator_, but surely not of it.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FARM OF MUICERON.\n\n\n                            BY MARIE RHEIL.\n\n                  FROM THE REVUE DU MONDE CATHOLIQUE.\n\n\nXII.\n\nThe Sunday after the last day of the harvest, M. le Marquis invited\nall the boys up to the ch\u00e2teau, where a magnificent banquet was\nprepared, and they were expected to remain until the evening. He\nordered a splendid repast, and music besides; the principal barn, which\nordinarily was crammed full at this season, but that, owing to the\nbad season, was comparatively empty, was decorated for the occasion.\nOur master desired that nothing should be spared to make the _f\u00eate_ a\ngreat success. All the fine linen of the ch\u00e2teau--and the closets were\nheaping-full of it--the china, and silver were put into requisition, so\nthat there never was given a more superb banquet to great personages\nthan to our delighted villagers. As for the _fricass\u00e9e_, it is\nremembered to this day; it was composed, to commence with, of a dozen\nkinds of poultry, so well disguised under different sauces that one ate\nchicken in confidence as chicken, because it was so written on little\nstrips of paper laid beside each plate, but without being positive that\nit was not turkey or pigeon; and every one agreed in acknowledging\nthat such a delicious compound had never passed down country throats,\nand that the wines, if possible, surpassed the eating; so that the\ngood fellows commenced to be merry and perfectly happy when the roast\nappeared.\n\nOf this roast I will say a word before passing to other things, for\nI fancy you have seldom seen it equalled. With all respect, imagine\na huge hog, weighing at least a hundred pounds, roasted whole,\nbeautifully gilded, and trimmed with ribbons, and reposing so quietly\non a plank covered with water-cresses you would have thought him asleep.\n\nIt was really a curious and most appetizing sight, and sufficiently\nrare to be remarked; but see how stupid some people are! On seeing\nthis superb dish, whose delicious perfume would have brought the dead\nback to life--that is to say, if they were hungry--some of the fellows\nsaid that M. le Marquis might have better chosen another roast, as\npork was something they ate all through the year. Whereupon Master\nRuinard, the head-cook of the ch\u00e2teau, made a good-natured grimace, and\napostrophized them as a heap of fools, but without any other sign of\ndispleasure; and then seizing his big knife, that he sharpened with a\nknowing air, he cut the animal open, and out tumbled snipe, woodcock,\nrennets, and partridges, done to a turn, and of which each one had\nhis good share. As for the hog, no one touched it, which proved two\nthings--first, that you must not speak too soon; secondly, that when a\ngreat lord gives an entertainment, it is always sure to be remarkably\nfine.\n\nAt the dessert, which was abundant in pastry, ice-cream, and fresh and\ndried fruits, they served a delicate wine, the color of old straw, the\nname of which I don't know exactly, but which was sweet and not at all\ndisagreeable. At this time, M. le Marquis, accompanied by mademoiselle,\nDame Berthe, and Jeannette, entered and mingled with the guests, who\nrose and bowed low. Our good master thanked the young men for the great\nservice they had rendered him; and as he could not drink with each one,\nhe touched his glass to that of Jean-Louis, saying it was to the health\nof all the commune. They cried, \"Long live M. le Marquis!\" until the\nroof shook; and as their heads were as heated as the boilers at the big\nyearly wash, they whispered among themselves that it would be well to\ncarry Jean-Louis again in triumph, as much to please the master as to\nrender justice to him who was the cause of all this festivity.\n\nNow, our Jean-Louis was the only one who remained composed after all\nthis eating and drinking. He had eaten with good appetite, and fully\nquenched his thirst, but not one mouthful more than was necessary. He\nheard all that was said without appearing to listen; and when others\nmight have felt vain, he was displeased; he therefore watched his\nchance, slid under the table, and, working his way like an eel between\nthe legs of his comrades, who were too busily occupied to notice him,\nin three seconds was out of the door, running for dear life, for fear\nof being caught.\n\nHe was delighted to breathe the fresh air, and did not slacken his pace\nuntil he had gone a good quarter of a league, and was near Muiceron.\nThen he stopped to take breath, laughing aloud at the good trick he had\nplayed.\n\n\"Thank goodness!\" thought he, \"I have at last escaped. They can run as\nfast as they choose now; there is no chance of catching up with me.\nWhat would M. le Marquis and the family have thought to have seen me\nhoisted up on the shoulders of those half-tipsy fellows, and paraded\naround the court, like a learned beast on a fair-ground? Not knowing\nthat I had come to the ch\u00e2teau only to oblige the master, who had\nbesides given me a valuable watch, it would have looked as though I\nwished to receive in vain applause what I refused in money. None of\nthat, none of that for me; there is enough nonsense going on, without\nmy mixing myself up in it. They can drink and dance until sunrise\nto-morrow, if they so please, it is all the same to me; and I will go\nhome to bed, after having told all to my dear mother, who will not fail\nto approve of my conduct, and laugh heartily at my escape.\"\n\nAs he said this to himself, he entered the wood, of which we have\nalready spoken, that skirts La Range and throws its shade nearly to\nthe fir-trees which surround Muiceron. It was such a delightful spot,\neither by night or day, that it was difficult to pass through it\nwithout feeling a disposition to loiter and meditate, particularly for\nsuch a dreamer as Jean-Louis. After all, now that he was safe, there\nwas nothing to hurry him home for at least half an hour. He therefore\nput his hands in his pockets, and strolled along, resting both mind and\nbody in a dreamy reverie for the benefit of the one, and walking slowly\nto the great good of the other.\n\nReally, the evening was delicious. The great heat of the day had been\nsucceeded by a fresh breeze, which, passing over the orchards around,\nbrought into the wood the sweet odor of young fruit, mingled with that\nof the foliage and bark of the trees, damp with the August sap. The hum\nof insects was heard, and not far off the joyous murmur of the stream\nleaping over the stones. As the ground had been thoroughly soaked for\nseveral weeks past, quantities of wild flowers strewed the soil, and\nadded to the balmy air a taste of spring, entirely out of season. You\nsurely must have felt, at some time or other, how such nights and\nsuch scenes enervate the brain. The will cannot resist the bewitching\ninfluence; insensibly we become dreamers, and feel a strong desire to\nconverse with the stars. August nights especially are irresistible,\nand I imagine no one, unless somebody depraved by wicked deeds and\nthoughts, or a born idiot, can fail to understand and acknowledge the\neffect.\n\nJudge if our Jean-Louis, with his pure soul and young heart of twenty\nyears, was happy in the midst of these gifts of the good God. He was\nlike a child who hears for the first time the sound of the bagpipes;\nand I beg you will not sneer at this comparison, for the reveries of\nan innocent heart have precisely the same gentle effect on the soul\nas the grand harmonies that roll through vast cathedrals on the great\nfestivals of the church.\n\nDoubtless, that he might better listen to this music, he seated himself\non the moss at the bottom of a birch-tree, rested his head against\nthe trunk, and looked up at the leaves, shaken by the wind, his feet\ncrossed, and in the most comfortable position possible, to dream at his\nease. Now, whether he was more fatigued than he imagined, on account of\nhis week's hard labor, or whether the unusual feasting at the ch\u00e2teau\nmade him drowsy, certain it is that he first closed one eye, then both,\nand ended by falling as soundly asleep as though he were in his bed at\nMuiceron.\n\nIt happened that, during this time, a storm arose behind the hill\nof Chaumier, to the right of the river that runs through the parish\nof Val-Saint and Ordonniers--something which our sleeper had not\nforeseen, although he was very expert in judging of the weather.\nOrdinarily, the river cuts the thunder-clouds, so that this side of La\nRange is seldom injured by storms; but this time it was not so. At the\nend of an hour or two that his sleep lasted, Jean-Louis was suddenly\nawakened by a clap of thunder which nearly deafened him; and in an\ninstant the rain commenced to fall in great drops that came down on his\nface, and of which he received the full benefit as he lay stretched out\non the grass.\n\nHe rose at a bound, and started off on a gallop, that his best clothes\nmight not be injured. Muiceron was not far distant, and the storm had\njust commenced; he therefore hoped to reach the house in time to escape\nit. Not that he thought only of his costume, like a vain, effeminate\nboy, but because his mother Pierrette was very careful, and did not\nlike to see his Sunday suit spoiled or spotted with the rain.\n\nBut the storm ran faster than he; the rain fell as from a great\nwatering-pot in the trees, lightning glared on all sides at once, and\none would have said that two thunder-clouds were warring against each\nother, trying to see which could show the greatest anger.\n\nIn the midst of this infernal noise, Jean-Louis suddenly saw what he\nthought, by the flash of lightning, to be a little brown form trotting\nbefore him in the middle of the path. He was not a boy to be alarmed by\nthe raw-head-and-bloody-bones stories with which we frighten children\nto make them behave, and which many grown-up men, with beards on their\nchin, half believe to be true; but, nevertheless, the thing appeared\nquite unusual. He hastened his steps, and, as sometimes he could see\nin the lightning-glare as well as at noonday, he soon recognized the\ncostume of the women of the country, or at least the cloak they throw\nover their clothes when the weather is threatening.\n\n\"Oh!\" said the kind-hearted Jeannet, \"here is a poor little thing half\nfrightened to death on account of the storm. I must catch up with her,\nand offer to take her to the village.\"\n\nFor Jean-Louis, although he had very little ever to do with girls,\nwas so kindly disposed he was always ready to be of service to his\nneighbors, whether they wore blouses or petticoats.\n\nBut as he hurried on, that he might put in practice his charitable\nthought, there came a flash of lightning that seemed to set the woods\non fire, and, immediately after, a terrible clap of thunder as loud\nas though the heavens were rent asunder. Jeannet involuntarily closed\nhis eyes, and stopped short, fastened to the ground like a stake. It\nwas what the _savants_ call--an electric shock. But don't expect me to\nexplain that expression, for I know nothing about it, and, besides, I\ndon't worry my head about such things.\n\nWhen our boy opened his eyes, after one or two seconds, which appeared\nto him very long, his first care was to explore the path, in order that\nhe might discover the unknown country-girl; but there was nowhere to\nbe seen a trace of a girl, a cloak, or anything that resembled a human\nbeing.\n\n\"Well, this is at least singular,\" said he very uneasily. \"Has my\nsight grown dim? No; I would stake my head that I saw before me a\nflesh-and-bone woman. I saw it--that I am positive and sure. If she has\nbeen hurt by this stroke of lightning, which must surely have fallen\nnear here, she must be lying on the ground; for I have never heard\nthat the storm kills people by making them melt like snow under the\nMarch sun.\"\n\nThis sudden disappearance excited him to such a degree that, without\nthinking of the rain, which was pouring down in torrents, and had\ndrenched his new coat of Vierzon cloth, he resolved to enter the\ncopse, at the risk of losing his way, and search around until he would\ndiscover the lost girl. But before leaving the beaten path, by a sudden\ninspiration, he cried out with a loud voice:\n\n\"If there is any one here who needs assistance, let her speak. I will\nbring two strong arms to the rescue.\"\n\nInstantly a faint voice, stifled and weeping, replied, \"Oh! for S.\nSylvain's sake, good people, have mercy on me!\"\n\n\"Holy Virgin Mary!\" cried Jean-Louis, \"is not that the voice of my\nsister Jeannette? She is the last person for three leagues around I\nwould have expected to find in such a plight at this hour of the night.\nBut I must be mistaken; it can't be possible.\"\n\nAnd with that, more dead than alive from the violent palpitation of the\nheart which suddenly seized him, Jean-Louis rushed towards a thicket of\nyoung chestnut-trees that bordered the path, and from which seemed to\ncome the weak, mournful voice that implored pity. He pushed aside the\nbranches with a vigorous hand, and soon discovered a girl, in cloak and\nhood, crouched upon the ground, and so doubled up in a heap she could\nhave been mistaken at first sight for a large ant-heap or bundle of old\nrags left there by some passing beggar.\n\n\"For the love of our Lord and Saviour, tell me who you are, and don't\nbe afraid of me,\" said Jeannet, leaning over the poor little thing.\n\nShe raised her head, and instantly let it fall again on her knees,\naround which her hands were clasped; but as the lightning continued\nwithout ceasing a moment, the movement sufficed for Jean-Louis to\nrecognize her.\n\nIt was really Jeanne Ragaud, but so paralyzed with fear, so wet and\nfainting, she seemed about to breathe her last. Her piteous moans were\nenough to break one's heart. Her whole body trembled, and thus huddled\nup in the middle of the mud in the dense underbrush, her situation\nwas so perilous I verily believe she would have met her death in that\nlonely spot, but for the assistance sent by Heaven.\n\n\"Jeanne, Jeanne!\" cried Jean-Louis, coming close to her, \"keep up your\ncourage, my darling. Rouse up, I beg of you. Be brave; you are already\nchilled through. It is dangerous to remain in the woods in such a\nstorm.\"\n\nBut the poor little creature did not move. The fright and cold of the\nterrible tempest had totally bewildered her. Jeannet vainly shook her\nby the shoulders, trying to raise her on her feet, and to unclasp her\nhands, which had stiffened around her knees. He could not make her\nchange her position in the least. What could be done? He did not know\nprecisely how long she had wandered in the wood before falling down;\nand although he had just heard her speak a moment before, he feared\nthat she was about to die, as perhaps she had been struck by lightning.\n\nHe made the sign of the cross, and invoked the angels of paradise.\nImmediately he remembered that not far from this grove was a miserable\ncabin, used by the wood-cutters, half tumbling down, but still\nsufficiently sound to shelter a Christian. This thought gave him fresh\nstrength; and taking the little thing, doubled up as she was, in his\narms, he raised her from the ground, and carried her, without stopping,\nto the wretched hut.\n\nWell was it that he thought of this retreat, and, still better, that it\nwas not far distant; for Jeannette, although slender and not tall, was\nin a dead faint, and consequently so heavy that Jeannet was perfectly\nexhausted when he reached the shelter.\n\nBy a still greater mercy, he had his flint in his pocket, and, luckily,\nit had not been injured by the dampness. He thus was able to strike\na light, after having laid the poor girl on the dry earthen floor.\nHe quickly lighted some handfuls of brush and straw that strewed the\nground, and by their smoky light discovered, in a corner of the cabin,\na good moss mattress, which the wood-men used when they came to sleep\nin the place, and near by a little board, upon which laid a packet of\n_auribus_--little resin candles very much used in our province.\n\n\"May God be praised for helping me!\" thought the brave boy, delighted\nat having found poor little Jeannette. \"It is a poor bed-room in\ncomparison with the fine apartments at the ch\u00e2teau, but worth a palace\nwhen we think of the thicket just now.\"\n\nHe unfastened his sister's cloak, with a thousand respectful\nprecautions, just as he would have touched the veil that covers the\nstatue of Our Lady, and in the same manner took off her shoes and\nstockings, which he found very difficult, as, owing to the dampness,\nthe fine thread stockings clung tightly to the skin. That accomplished,\nhe built up the fire with all the rubbish he could find, and, turning\nthe moss mattress in such a manner that Jeannette's feet were in front\nof the fire, he stretched her gently upon it, and seated himself beside\nher, waiting for her to recover her senses.\n\nThus passed half an hour without the little one stirring; fortunately,\nher cloak was very thick, so that the rest of her clothes were not wet,\nand he could thus hope for the best. But it was the first time Jeannet\nhad ever watched by the side of a fainting girl; and, not knowing by\nexperience what to do in such a case, the time seemed to him very long\nbefore she revived. He himself was dripping wet, and, although he\nscarcely gave it a thought, he shivered as one who might soon have the\nchills-and-fever.\n\n\"It would be very queer if I also should have an inclination to faint;\nwhat then would become of us?\" thought Jean-Louis, who really began to\nfeel very uncomfortable.\n\nAs this idea entered his head, Jeannette moved her little feet before\nthe fire, and began to sigh, and then to yawn, which was the best sign\nthat there was no danger of dying, as there is always hope as long as\na sick person can yawn. A minute afterwards, she raised herself, and\nlooked around with astonished eyes that asked an explanation.\n\n\"Well,\" said the happy Jeannet, \"how do you feel, my poor little\nsister?\"\n\n\"Is it you?\" she asked, still trembling. \"O Jeannet! how frightened I\nwas.\"\n\nAnd as she spoke, she tried to throw her arms around his neck, like\na child who seeks refuge in his mother's breast. Jean-Louis drew\nback--something which was entirely different from his usual manner of\nreceiving her caresses.\n\n\"Are you angry?\" said she. \"I have done nothing wrong, except to\nventure out to-night to return home; but the weather was not bad when I\nstarted, and I did not dream of such a storm.\"\n\n\"I angry? Why should I be?\" cried Jean-Louis, kissing both her hands.\n\"No, no, my pet; on the contrary, I am most happy to see you a little\nrestored. But I am thoroughly drenched with the rain; that is the\nreason I don't wish you to touch me.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" said she; \"I did not notice it before. What were you\ndoing before this good fire, instead of drying yourself?\"\n\n\"I was looking at you,\" replied Jeannet innocently.\n\n\"Big goose!\" cried the little thing laughing heartily with her usual\ngood humor. \"Hadn't you any more sense than that? And now you are just\nready to catch the ague.\"\n\n\"Don't be uneasy, Jeannette; it is not the first time I have had a\ncheck of perspiration. What I hope is that you will not suffer by this\nadventure, any more than I. But tell me, why did you run away from the\n_f\u00eate_ at the very moment the dancing was about to commence?\"\n\n\"I cannot say why,\" replied Jeannette. \"Sometimes we have ideas we\nmust follow, whether or no. It is as though some one stronger than we\nwere pushing us by the shoulders the way he wished us to go. To speak\nfrankly, I saw you leave hastily, and I instantly became more serious,\nand felt less desire to be amused. I said to myself, Doubtless Jeannet,\nwho is better than I, knows that father and mother are alone waiting\nfor him at Muiceron, and he cannot bear the thought of their sitting\nup for him until late at night. And I, what am I doing? Am I not also\na child of the house? Jeannet will relate all that happened at the\ndinner, and they will ask, 'And Jeannette?' 'Oh! yes, Jeannette;\ndoes Jeannette think of anything else but amusing herself and talking\nnonsense far away from her parents?' At these thoughts my heart\nthrobbed so I nearly burst into tears; just then mademoiselle was busy\nreplying to the compliments every one was offering her; so I left the\nbarn, and went after my cloak, and, without further reflection, started\nfor Muiceron. You know how afraid I am of thunder and lightning; when\nI saw the storm coming up, I became bewildered, and don't know which\nway I went, but I suppose it was the wrong one. When I regained what\nI thought was the right path, the storm was still raging, and I would\nhave died of fright, but for you, my old fellow.\"\n\n\"Thank God you escaped this time!\" said Jean-Louis, very much touched\nby the simple recital, which showed the good heart of the little girl;\n\"but, nevertheless, you ran a great risk. Now, Jeannette, let us hurry\nhome; we must quit this place, as it must be late.\"\n\n\"I suppose it is,\" said she. \"Haven't you your watch to see what time\nit is?\"\n\n\"I left it hanging up in my room,\" replied Jeannet. \"I did not wish to\nwear it when at dinner in the ch\u00e2teau, for fear it might look as though\nI wished to display it before those who had none; and it is well I did\nnot take it, as it would have been ruined by the rain.\"\n\n\"How can I walk barefooted?\" asked Jeannette. \"I can't put on my wet\nstockings.\"\n\n\"And your shoes still less,\" replied her brother, laughing. \"But if you\nwill let me, Jeannette, I can carry you.\"\n\n\"Poor Jeannet! Not at all; it would be too much for you,\" said she.\n\"Go to Muiceron, and bring me my wooden shoes. It is all quiet now\noutside; I don't hear any noise, and I will not be afraid to remain\nhere alone for a little while.\"\n\nIt was really the best and shortest way of getting over the difficulty.\nJean-Louis opened the door of the cabin, and saw that the sky was clear\nand bright; not this time with the lightning's glare, but with the soft\nrays of the moon and beautiful stars of the good God. All was quiet and\npeaceful, except that great drops fell from the trees, still wet with\nthe heavy rain, and that the ruts in the road were filled with water,\nthat made them look like little rivulets.\n\n\"Watch the fire, Jeannette, and be patient ten minutes,\" said he; \"and\nin two strides I will be there and back again.\"\n\nIt took a little longer time than that to return, as on entering the\nfarm he met Ragaud, who was looking to see if the storm had injured the\npalings around the barn-yard, and was therefore obliged to stop and in\na few words relate the night's adventure.\n\nThe good man, while grumbling and scolding at the imprudence of his\ndaughter, who, he said, had no more sense than a child six years old,\nfelt fearfully anxious, as was easily shown by the rapid questions he\nasked Jean-Louis. To assure himself that nothing was kept behind, and\nthat the boy, from kindness of heart, had not disguised the truth, he\nhastily took down his big woollen scarf from the hook, and hurried off.\n\n\"I will lecture the giddy child well,\" said he. \"Go before, Jeannet; I\nwill follow you. It is not far, so hurry.\"\n\n\"Mother will be anxious,\" said Jeannet. \"Let me go alone; I will be\nback the sooner.\"\n\n\"Your mother has been asleep a long time,\" replied Ragaud, \"or else\nshe would have been on our heels before this, and we would have had to\ncarry her back also. Fasten the bolt, without any noise, and let us be\noff.\"\n\nWith that they started. Ragaud was quick and light for his age, and\nthey proceeded at a rapid rate, which soon brought them to their\njourney's end. Jean-Louis carried a bright lantern and a bundle of\nwoollen stockings and wooden shoes he had taken at random out of the\nchest; for it was all-important that Jeannette's feet should be well\nwarmed, and that she should be in her comfortable bed as soon as\npossible, so as to prevent fresh chills.\n\nIt was nearly midnight when they reached the hut, which enables us to\nsee what a long time had elapsed since Jean-Louis' flight from the\nch\u00e2teau, what a good sound sleep he had had in the wood, and proves\nthat the storm and Jeannette's swoon were not slight affairs.\n\nAs soon as they entered--Jeannet the first, Ragaud behind him--they\nsaw that the lantern was a wise precaution. The heap of brush-wood was\nburnt up, and there was no light, except from a little pile of red\nashes, as even the resin candle glued to the wall was flickering and\nfalling in big drops, which announced its speedy death.\n\n\"Here we are, my Jeanne,\" cried Jean-Louis from the threshold of the\ndoor. \"Father is with me, and we have brought fresh lights.\"\n\nNo answer. The child was so weak and faint, it looked as though she had\nswooned again. Ragaud, at this sight, forgot the scolding he intended\ngiving his daughter by way of welcome, and, leaning over her, placed\nhis hand on her forehead, which was icy cold.\n\n\"She is very ill, I tell you,\" murmured the good man. \"Bring the\nlantern here, Jeannet. God have mercy on me, how pale the poor child\nis!... Jeanne, Jeanne, don't you know us?\"\n\n\"Ah! yes, my father,\" she whispered, looking languidly at him. \"I hear\nyou, but I am so sleepy ... so sleepy ... I can't talk.\"\n\n\"But you must wake up, and leave this place,\" said Ragaud. \"Try and\nrouse yourself, my child; in five minutes we will be at the house.\"\n\nShe made the effort, and tried to stand on her feet; but for Jeannet,\nwho was near and caught her, she would have fallen down.\n\n\"I am so tired!\" she said again, closing her eyes.\n\n\"Shall we carry you on _a chair to see the king_?\" asked Jean-Louis.\n\"Perhaps that will be the best way.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said she, smiling at this remembrance of her childhood;\n\"that will be fun.\"\n\nUndoubtedly you know what is _a chair to see the king_? It is a child's\nplay, which generally is done by three persons--two boys and a girl;\nthe boys clasp hands in such a manner that a good seat is made for the\ngirl, who thus, without any fatigue to the bearers, can be carried as\neasily as in a carriage.\n\nRagaud highly approved of the idea. Jeannet, who thought of everything,\ntied the lantern to a piece of cord, and suspended it to Jeannette's\nneck, who recovered enough strength to laugh; and thus, well lighted\nand very happy, they started on their return to the farm, which they\nsoon reached safe and sound.\n\nThey entered Muiceron by the kitchen door, so softly that Pierrette,\nwho was sleeping in the big front room, did not hear the slightest\nnoise. Jeannette appeared perfectly restored; she was gay, although\nstill pale and shivering; but she assured them the warmth of the bed\nwould soon make her feel better. So they embraced, and, after many\ngood-nights, retired to their rooms.\n\nThe next morning Ragaud told Pierrette all the events of the preceding\nnight, but forbade her entering Jeannette's room, for fear she might be\nawakened too soon after her great fatigue; but at the same time, unable\nto restrain his own curiosity, he took off his wooden shoes, softly\nlifted the latch, walked on tiptoe to the bed, and peeped between the\ncurtains, just to see, for a second, how the child was resting.\n\nAlas! poor Jeannette was sitting up in bed, her face on fire, her eyes\nwandering in delirium, her whole body burning with fever. She knew no\none. Her excitement was so great she beat the air with her bare arms,\nwhile her throat was so choked up the voice was nearly stifled. Ragaud\nthought she was dying; he uttered a loud cry, which brought Pierrette\nto the bedside, where the poor mother fell down, half fainting with\ngrief and fright.\n\nIn an instant the whole farm was in a tumult. Big Marion set up\na blubbering, crying that the child was dying; the cow-herds and\nstable-boys burst into the room, and, seeing every one in tears, began\nto whine in their turn without exactly knowing why. Jean-Louis alone,\nwhen he saw his sister's dreadful condition, did not shed a tear or\nmake a sound, but, darting out of the room like an arrow, leaped on a\nhorse's bare back, and galloped off for the doctor, who lived half a\nleague beyond Val-Saint, towards the large town of Preuilly.\n\nBy good fortune, he found him at home, as it was quite early; and,\nwhile explaining the pressing case that brought him, spied the\ndoctor's wagon under the shed, and quickly harnessed to it the horse\nwhich he had ridden, so that, in less time than it takes to say it,\ndoctor, wagon, horse, and Jean-Louis were on the way to Muiceron, and\nreached there before any one else had thought that, before such great\nlamentation, no matter what was the trouble, it would have been better\nto have run promptly for assistance.\n\nAnd here you will excuse me if I add, by way of advice, that presence\nof mind, which is not counted among the virtues, is one nevertheless,\nand not at all to be disdained in the life of this world; and,\ntherefore, I beg of you always to keep a good share in reserve, for\nI do not doubt you may soon find use for it, if not to-day, perhaps\nto-morrow, and you will always do well to remember what I say.\n\n\nXIII.\n\nThe doctor, on seeing the room of the patient filled with people\nlamenting from useless tenderness of heart, instead of doing something\nfor her relief, began by being very angry. He was a good man,\nrather rough and coarse in manner, but skilful in his profession,\nand understood perfectly how to manage peasants, for he had always\npractised in the country, and was himself of the upper class of\nvillagers.\n\n\"What is such a lot of noisy, lazy bawlers doing around a sick girl,\nwho needs air and quiet?\" he cried. \"Get out of here, the whole of\nyou, and don't one dare come within ten yards. You, Ragaud, can stay\nif you choose, but keep as quiet as you are now, and don't look as if\nyou were more dead than alive, with your miserable face a foot long;\nyou, Mme. Ragaud, stop hugging your daughter. Let her go; don't you see\nyou are smothering her? And above all, don't be dropping your tears\non her face; she don't know you. Jean-Louis, don't stir from here;\nyou are reasonable and courageous, and will be useful to me. And now\nopen the window, and let out this smell of the stables brought by\nthose abominable cow-herds, who ought to have been driven out with a\npitchfork. Good. Now tell me what has happened to this child.\"\n\nAll being thus quieted, and the room purified by the fresh morning\nair, which came freely in through the open window, a slight change for\nthe better was soon seen in Jeannette. She let them lay her head on\nthe pillow, and, although she was still insensible, her pretty face,\ncrimson and swollen with the fever, looked less excited. The doctor\ncounted her pulse while he listened to the night's adventure, which was\ncorrectly related by Jean-Louis, as neither the father nor mother could\nhave put two ideas together at that particular moment.\n\n\"Just as I thought,\" said the doctor; \"a violent fever brought on by\nexposure to the cold, and wet feet. All the danger is in the head, and\nI do not deny that it is very great. The child has a cerebral fever;\ndo you understand? Cerebral means _of the brain_. Now the brain is the\ninside of the head; so the sickness is there, under this beautiful\nblonde hair, which you must instantly cut off. I hope, Mme. Ragaud, you\nwill not hesitate to sacrifice your daughter's hair to save her life?\"\n\n\"O my God!\" cried poor Pierrette, sobbing. \"Do what you please, my dear\ndoctor; if it would be of any use to cut off one of my arms, I would\nwillingly allow it.\"\n\n\"Yes, my good woman, but that would not help you much, and her not at\nall; so keep your arms, we will need them for something else. Come, we\nmust relieve her. Jump in the wagon, Jeannet, and go to the ch\u00e2teau,\nand tell them to send me some ice, mustard, and other things that I\nwill write on this slip of paper; and remember to tell mademoiselle not\nto be uneasy, and not to put her foot in this house short of a week.\nWhile waiting for the return of Jean-Louis, Mme. Ragaud, draw a bucket\nof water from the well, and bring it to me immediately.\"\n\nPoor Pierrette obeyed without saying a word, which was very beautiful\nin her; for hearing it announced that her daughter was ill from cold,\nthe words ice and well-water confused her terribly. She had already\nbeen horrified when commanded to open the window. Indeed, Dr. Aubry was\nno fool, as had been well proved for twenty years; and the best way was\nto think that he knew what he was about, no matter how unreasonable his\nwords might sound.\n\nJean-Louis performed his errand with his usual promptitude; he brought\nback what was needed for the first applications. During his absence,\nthe doctor had constantly applied bandages, soaked in very cold water,\nto Jeannette's head; but that was not effective enough, and, as soon\nas the ice was brought from the ch\u00e2teau, he prepared to use it. It\nwas the moment to accomplish the sacrifice of Jeannette's beautiful\nhair, which was still dressed as for the previous night's dance. To\ntell the truth, the thick, heavy braids were enough to weigh down the\npoor sick head. Pierrette showed great courage; she only cared for the\nrelief of her child. As for the doctor, he thought no more of cutting\noff this splendid hair than of pulling up a bunch of nettle out of the\nflower-beds in his garden.\n\nRagaud sat as though nailed to his chair, and seemed neither to hear\nnor see anything passing around him. You would have pitied the poor\nold man. But our Jeannet, so brave until then, could not look on\nindifferently at the murderous play of the scissors around that dear\nhead, which would so soon be shorn of its crowning beauty. As the\ndoctor cut off a tress and threw it on the floor, as if it were a\nnoxious weed, he picked it up and smoothed it with his hand, as though\nto repay by caresses the condemnation it had received. Thus he soon had\nall the fair hair in his hands; and then, as he thought that soon--too\nsoon, perhaps--it might be the only living vestige of Jeannette, his\ncourage vanished; he sank on a chair near the window, hid his face in\nthe mass of hair, that was still warm, and sobbed as though his heart\nwould break....\n\nThis touched Dr. Aubry, who was kind-hearted under his rough exterior.\nHe never talked sentiment, being too much accustomed to tears and\nlamentations around sick-beds; but he loved Jeannet, and thought him\nmore refined and superior in tone to the surrounding boys. So he\napproached the poor child, and, tapping him on the shoulder, he said by\nway of consolation: \"Bah! you big ninny, that will improve her hair; in\none year it will be handsomer and thicker than ever, and you will have\nenough of this to make a hundred yards of watch-chain.\"\n\n\"In one year!\" cried Jean-Louis, who only heard this word of all the\nfine consolation. \"Then you don't think she will die?\"\n\n\"What are you talking about? Die? A beautiful young girl of seventeen,\nwho has always been healthy and good, don't die from having got her\nfeet soaked on a stormy night. Be reasonable, follow my orders, keep\neverything around quiet and fresh, don't fatigue her with words and\nembraces when she recovers her senses, and, with the help of God, I\nwill answer for her.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Jean-Louis, throwing his arms around the doctor's neck,\n\"may Heaven listen to you, M. Aubry!\"\n\nThese cheering words brought old Ragaud back to life; big tears rolled\nfrom his dry, fixed eyes, and relieved him greatly. Pierrette fell on\nher knees by the bedside; for, before thanking the doctor, it was right\nto raise her heart to God, who saw further still than he.\n\nM. Aubry again repeated his orders, which he always did--oftener six\ntimes than once with his village patients; for it must be acknowledged\nwe are very stupid about nursing, and, outside of the common remedies,\nwhich are purgatives, emetics, and quinine to break the fever, all\nthe rest of the medical gibberish appears to us very strange, and\noften rather contrary to good sense. That is the reason those who are\ncured burn a candle to S. Sylvain. But for his kind protection, there\nwould be as many deaths as sick people; and if you find fault with\nthat expression, I will tell you that I am very sorry for it, but that\nis the way we talk, and I cannot express myself differently or more\ndelicately than I was taught.\n\nThe doctor drove off in his wagon, to which the farm-horse was still\nharnessed, and he had the privilege of keeping it several days, which\nwas a great convenience to him, as his own beast was out at pasture.\nHe took care to pass by Val-Saint, where he found mademoiselle very\nanxious and sad about her god-daughter's accident. As soon as she heard\nit was a serious illness, she rushed to the bell, crying that she must\nhave the carriage immediately to go to her darling; but M. Aubry, who\nhad his own way with every one, caught her by the arm.\n\n\"I beg your pardon,\" said he; \"but you are not going there at all.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" she asked. \"I cannot stay here without seeing my Jeanne,\nwhen I know she is suffering.\"\n\n\"You shall not go,\" repeated M. Aubry firmly. \"It would be dangerous\nfor you; and I am your physician as well as hers.\"\n\n\"What nonsense!\" said mademoiselle, who, gentle as she was, did not\nlike him to oppose her. \"You will never make me believe a brain fever\nis contagious.\"\n\n\"That is yet to be seen,\" replied M. Aubry, who could lie when\nnecessary as well as any dentist; \"and, if you should get sick, I\ndeclare that, daughter of a marquis as you are, I would not have\nthe time to take care of you. At this moment I have more sick\npeople--maimed, wounded, and down with fever--than I can manage, and I\ndon't want another case; without counting that your ch\u00e2teau is perched\nup as high as the devil, and, to get up here, I would lose half a day.\"\n\n\"You horrid man!\" said mademoiselle, who could not help smiling, for\nshe knew the doctor's way, and never took offence at what he said. \"You\ntalk like a car-driver; but you are perfectly capable of doing as you\nsay, so I dare not risk it. But when can I go?\"\n\n\"We will see about that; neither to-morrow nor next day, nor for\nseveral days after. I will come and bring news of her.\"\n\n\"But how will you find time, with all your patients?\" asked\nmademoiselle, delighted to catch the doctor in a little falsehood.\n\n\"You give me the change for my money,\" said M. Aubry, laughing in\nhis turn. \"I see you are as malicious as ever. Well, then, to speak\nfrankly, it is not the contagion that I fear, but your chattering and\ngabbling, which never stop. If La Ragaudine recovers, it will depend\nupon quiet and repose. Not even the buzzing of a fly must be heard\nin her room for a week; therefore, it would be useless for you to go\nthere. But now you can act as you think proper.\"\n\n\"You should have told me this at first,\" said mademoiselle. \"I will not\ngo; but promise me you will always tell the truth about her, and never\nconceal any danger.\"\n\n\"My God! no,\" said the doctor quietly; \"and, to commence, since you\ndo not wish me to disguise the truth, I will tell you that, if Jeanne\nRagaud does not recover her senses to-night, she will be dead to-morrow\nat twelve o'clock.\"\n\n\"But you are a monster!\" cried mademoiselle, the tears streaming from\nher eyes. \"How can you be so hard-hearted as to tell me such news\nwithout any preparation?\"\n\n\"There!\" said the doctor, \"you are off again. I thought you wished me\nto tell you the whole truth.\"\n\n\"My poor Jeanne! Dead to-morrow!\" sobbed mademoiselle.\n\n\"One moment--pay attention to what I say--if she does not recover her\nsenses to-night; but she will, for she was already a little better\nbefore I left Muiceron.\"\n\n\"Oh! I wish you would go away!\" cried mademoiselle. \"I hate to hear you\ntalk; you will set me wild.... Come now, doctor, speak seriously: is\npoor dear Jeannette really in danger?\"\n\n\"I tell you yes, but I have great hope. And now I am going away; you\nare not angry with me, dear mademoiselle?\"\n\n\"I will have to forgive you,\" said she, giving him her hand; \"but know\nwell that I detest you from the bottom of my heart, and, when I am\nsick, I will send for another doctor.\"\n\n\"Bah! I bet you won't,\" replied M. Aubry, perfectly unmoved; \"you are\nso amiable and gentle when the fever comes on!\"\n\nMademoiselle laughed through her tears; she knew from experience it\nwas not easy to have the last word with M. Aubry, and she let him go\nwithout further discussion.\n\nThe good God showed that he loved Muiceron. For three days Jeannette\nwas very ill, after which her youth and good constitution overcame the\ndisease. M. Aubry declared he would answer with his head for hers,\nand soon the dear child recovered strength and color. But this was\nthe moment to be careful; for convalescence is very uncertain and\ndangerous, they say, in such a case, and the least imprudence will\nsuffice to cause a relapse. Therefore the doctor for ever repeated:\n\n\"Attend to what I say; because she is better, that is no reason to\nthink she is cured. Don't let her stir any more than you would let\nloose a chicken among the fir-trees; these affections of the brain are\nterrible if there is a relapse.\"\n\nThat word, _affections_, was another that Pierrette could not manage to\nunderstand; each time he said it she was terribly perplexed, and looked\nintently at the doctor, to see if he could not use a more appropriate\none in its place.\n\n\"For,\" thought she, \"I see nothing affectionate in such a wicked fever\nthat nearly brought my daughter to the threshold of the grave. Whoever\ndoes or speaks ill is always called a great enemy; and I don't think an\nenemy can ever be affectionate, or friendly, or anything else of the\nsort.\"\n\nAnd you will acknowledge the argument was not bad for a good\ncountrywoman, who knew nothing except to read her Mass-prayers by force\nof habit.\n\nIt is not necessary to inform you that all the people around were very\nmuch interested in Jeannette's illness; and if there is a consolation\nthat softens the bitterness of grief, it is surely that which is given\nby friends who offer to share trouble. Many of the neighbors were\nanxious to relieve Pierrette by taking her place at night; but you\nunderstand that a mother is always mother, and, unless she had fallen\ndead at her daughter's bedside, she would yield her post to no one.\nHappily, the great danger which demanded such extreme care did not\nlast long; and as at the end of a week the fever left Jeannette, and\nshe then slept tranquilly the greater part of the night, Pierrette\nconsented to lie down, without undressing, on a little bed temporarily\nplaced in the sick-room by Jean-Louis, and thus was enabled to obtain\nsome rest.\n\nBut many weeks elapsed before Jeannette was strong enough to resume her\naccustomed life; and as she daily felt herself improving, the great\ndifficulty was to keep her quiet in bed, and furnish her amusement, so\nthat she would not get up too soon, at the risk of falling ill again;\nand here, again, Jean-Louis, with his devotion and thoughtfulness,\nprovided a remedy.\n\nNot far off lived a beautiful young girl, a year or two older than\nJeannette, and the friend of her childhood, named Solange Luguet, the\nsister of Pierre; she was tall, rather thin and pale, like Jean-Louis,\nwhom she somewhat resembled in features and character. This will not\nastonish you, as I have already told you they were first-cousins\nwithout knowing it; and, whether legitimate or illegitimate, near\nrelatives generally have a certain family resemblance.\n\nSolange led a retired life, some said from piety, others from\nshyness. She was a skilful seamstress, and embroidered beautifully;\nconsequently, she never wanted work, and passed her time by her little\nwindow, sewing from morning till night. Jean-Louis was very fond of\nher. He often wished Jeannette's tastes and habits were as quiet,\nand he sometimes held up Solange to her as a model. But Jeannette's\ncharacter was entirely different, and what seemed to Solange the\nperfection of happiness would have been miserably tiresome for her;\nnevertheless, the two girls were great friends, and were always happy\nto meet.\n\nIt was, therefore, Solange Luguet whom Jeannet thought of as a means\nof distracting Jeannette during her convalescence. He went to her,\nand begged that she would come and pass several hours every day with\nJeannette. Solange willingly consented, as she could take her work\nwith her, and whether she embroidered at home or at Muiceron was all\nthe same to her; and, besides, she could be useful to her friends,\nespecially Jean-Louis, for whom it was easy to see she felt a great\npreference.\n\nNow, Solange, in spite of her reputation for piety and shyness, was\nvery lively and bright. The first day she came to the farm Jeannette\nwas quite subdued; without saying it, she was afraid her companion\nwould be very serious and frown at the least joke. But it was just\nthe contrary; Solange amused her so much with her stories, and\ngossip--which was never ill-natured--and songs, that Jeannette never\nlet her go until she promised to return next day. This pleasant\narrangement suited everybody. Ragaud and Jean-Louis gradually resumed\ntheir outdoor work, and Pierrette was less tied down. We all know\nthat weariness of mind is the worst of ills, as it renders one sad,\nand sadness makes both body and soul sick: so this little spoiled\nJeannette, who laughed and chatted from morning till night, recovered\nfour times as rapidly, thanks to Solange's agreeable company, and was\nsoon able to sit up an hour or two about noon.\n\nWho had caused all this happiness? Even he who never gave it a second\nthought, and to whom it was so perfectly natural to serve others that\nit seemed a part of his everyday life; for the excellent Jeannet spoke\nso seldom of himself, neither Jeanne nor the Ragauds ever dreamt of\nthanking him for having brought Solange, seeing that they knew nothing,\nand simply thought the Luguet girl came of her own free will, which\ncertainly she never would have done, if even the idea had ever entered\nher head.\n\nAs soon as mademoiselle received permission, she hastened to\nJeannette's side. Every other day her beautiful carriage was seen\ncoming down the road, and, a minute after, she alighted, accompanied by\nDame Berthe, who always brought a little basket filled with dainties\nand delicacies fitted to tempt an invalid's stomach.\n\nPoor mademoiselle found the days very long since Jeanne had left, and\nwas very impatient for her complete recovery, that she might carry her\nback to the ch\u00e2teau. She did not hesitate to express her desire at each\nvisit before the Ragauds, never remarking that neither ever replied\nto her proposition. The reason was that Ragaud had received such a\nsevere shock by the narrow escape of his daughter, he had promised and\nsworn never again to expose the child to such a fearful risk, which\nhad so nearly proved fatal. He saw in this terrible sickness a warning\nfrom the good God; and, as he felt it in the bottom of his heart, he\nacknowledged in the end that if Jeanne had not led a life above her\nposition, nothing like it would have happened.\n\nBetween ourselves, mademoiselle, who was much better informed than\nRagaud, should have even more clearly understood it. Still further,\nas M. le Cur\u00e9, who you can well imagine came constantly to Muiceron\nsince the accident, had been confidentially told by Ragaud of his\ngood resolutions, which he highly approved, and cautiously approached\nthe subject whenever an opportunity offered of conversing with\nmademoiselle. But \"none are so deaf as those who will not hear,\" said\nthis good pastor; \"and even without a scene mischief will come of\ntaking Jeannette from the ch\u00e2teau. Her acquaintance there is too long\nformed.\"\n\nIt did not happen precisely so. Jeanne, without scenes or difficulty\nwith any one, had been forced to seek refuge under the paternal roof,\nand should have remained there until the present time from her own\nfree will and accord; but when one has strayed ever so little from the\nright path, it is not easy to return to it, even when it has not gone\nas far as mortal sin; and you will see this time again that I have\nstrong proofs to support what I have advanced, as Jeanne Ragaud had to\nundergo severe and bitter trials before she could entirely give up the\nhalf-noble position she had involuntarily filled, and resume fully the\nsimple peasant life.\n\n\nXIV.\n\nOne day, when mademoiselle was making her accustomed visit, after she\nhad talked and laughed, and played dinner-party with the fruits and\ndelicacies she had brought to Jeannette, she suddenly exclaimed:\n\n\"You are looking admirably, my child--as pretty as a picture; your\ncolor is more brilliant than even before you were sick, and your short\nhair, which made me feel so sad the first time I saw it, is more\nbecoming than the way in which you formerly wore it; but you are very\nbadly dressed. What have you done with all the dresses I gave you?\"\n\n\"They are still at the ch\u00e2teau, godmother,\" replied Jeannet. \"I have\nnot needed them for a long time. If you will send me some of them, I\nwill try and look better at your next visit.\"\n\n\"You are very much thinner, poor little thing, so that none of them\nwill fit you; besides, it will be a long while yet before you can go\nout. What you want is a dressing-gown, and I will have one made for\nyou, if you will promise me to wear it.\"\n\n\"When you come, I will,\" answered Jeannette, who knew well such a dress\ndid not suit her position, and that her parents would not like it.\n\n\"No, I wish you to wear what I will send, and not only when I am here,\nbut every day; do you understand, child? I wish it.\"\n\n\"O godmother!\" said Jeannette, \"I beg you will not insist upon it;\nsuch a dress is very well at the ch\u00e2teau, but here I cannot dress\ndifferently from my mother.\"\n\n\"I do not wish to transform you into a princess,\" replied mademoiselle;\n\"but neither do I like to see you dressed, as you are, in serge. I have\nmy own reasons for it.\"\n\nJeannette bowed her head, although at heart she was very much\ndissatisfied. Pretty Solange, who was silently working away in her\ncorner by the window, gave her an encouraging glance, to keep her firm\nin her good resolution; but for ten years Jeannette had given in to all\nher godmother's whims and caprices, and dared not answer.\n\nTwo days afterwards, a large bandbox, directed to Jeannette, was\nbrought to Muiceron. She was still in bed, and was quite curious until\nit was opened; and there was the promised dress, made of beautiful blue\ncashmere, so fine and soft it looked like silk. As to how it was made,\nI really cannot describe it; but it is enough to know that mademoiselle\nherself could have worn it without impropriety, so that it can easily\nbe understood it was not suitable for Jeanne Ragaud.\n\n\"Isn't it beautiful?\" exclaimed Jeannette, admiring the dress, fit\nfor a marchioness. \"But I will never wear it; do you think I should,\nSolange?\"\n\n\"No, indeed,\" said Solange. \"Don't do it for the world, Jeannette; it\nwould be very wrong for you to wear it, and the neighbors would laugh\nat you.\"\n\n\"Help me to get up,\" replied Jeanne. \"It will be no harm to try it on\nonce; it will amuse us. Can I?\"\n\n\"Yes, to be sure,\" said good Solange; \"I should like to see you for\nonce dressed as you were at the ch\u00e2teau.\"\n\nJeannette jumped quickly out of bed, and Solange, to amuse her, brushed\nher short hair in such a way that she looked like a little angel; then\nshe put on some fine white petticoats, and, last of all, the beautiful\nrobe, which fitted her splendidly. Thus dressed, Jeannette was one of\nthe prettiest young ladies you can imagine; and I rather think she\nlooked at herself in the mirror with great satisfaction.\n\nShe sat down in the big arm-chair her godmother had sent her from the\nch\u00e2teau as soon as she was convalescent, and it was easy to see she was\nnot ill at ease in her beautiful present, but that, on the contrary,\nwas infinitely satisfied, and not at all anxious to take it off.\n\nHowever, she feared the arrival of her parents, and did not wish them\nto see her in such a costume. Solange, from the same thought, had not\nresumed her work, and remained standing before her, ready to undress\nher. You see the will was good, but the devil was upon the watch. At\nthe very moment that Jeannette, with a little sigh of regret, was about\nto put off her gay trappings and don her peasant dress, the big white\nhorses of mademoiselle were heard pawing the ground in the yard.\n\n\"It is my godmother!\" said Jeannette, blushing. \"Well, I am not sorry;\nshe will see that I do honor to her present.\"\n\nMademoiselle entered immediately after, and, seeing Jeannette so pretty\nand so stylish in her beautiful dress, kissed her heartily, and loaded\nher with praises.\n\n\"You are perfectly lovely,\" said she; \"and for the penalty, I have\nprepared a great surprise. There is a handsome gentleman, who has come\nwith me, and wishes very much to see you.\"\n\n\"Will you please tell me who it is?\" asked Jeannette.\n\n\"No; I wish to see if you will recognize him. Come in, Isidore,\" cried\nmademoiselle to some one who was waiting outside the door.\n\nThe said Isidore immediately appeared--a tall young man, well made,\nand dressed in the latest Parisian style. His hair was elaborately\ncurled, and his cravat, gloves, and shoes were so elegant he looked as\nthough he had just been taken out of a bandbox. He made a low bow to\nJeannette, and paid her a compliment such as we read in books.\n\nJeannette, much amazed, rose without speaking, and, as her astonished\nlook showed she did not recognize him in the least, mademoiselle\nlaughingly relieved her embarrassment.\n\n\"What!\" said she, \"you don't remember Isidore Perdreau, the son\nof Master Perdreau, my father's notary, and the playmate of your\nchildhood?\"\n\n\"You must excuse me,\" said Jeanne, \"but he is so much changed.\"\n\n\"In size, perhaps,\" said M. Isidore, \"but not in beauty, as you most\ncertainly are.\"\n\n\"He has returned from Paris, and will in future live at Val-Saint. It\nis very good in him,\" said mademoiselle, \"for his life will be very\ndifferent; but his father wishes to associate him with himself in\nbusiness.\"\n\n\"To all true hearts one's native place is dear,\" replied M. Isidore,\nplacing his hand on his waistcoat.\n\n\"Don't you remember the young girl by Jeannette?\" asked mademoiselle.\n\n\"Not precisely,\" he replied.\n\n\"I am the sister of Pierre Luguet, with whom you used to go hunting for\nblackbirds.\"\n\n\"Pierre Luguet? Ah! yes, little Pierre; and where is he now?\"\n\n\"Always in the same place,\" replied Solange, without stirring.\n\nM. Isidore did not condescend to continue the conversation with one so\nlittle disposed to talk, and, turning towards Jeanne, lavished upon\nher some more foolish compliments, which, without being exactly to the\ntaste of the child, were not displeasing to her vanity.\n\nIt was evident that mademoiselle encouraged Isidore, and thought\nhim very charming. It was not because she was wanting in sense or\npenetration, but the custom of living alone in her big ch\u00e2teau, where\nshe rarely saw any one but country people, and the new distraction of\ncarrying out a plot that she had concocted, and which you will soon\nguess, made her see things dimly; and whilst Solange, simple girl as\nshe was, saw at the first glance that young Perdreau had become an\ninsolent, ridiculous fop, this high-born young lady, who had read so\nmany books, was ready to faint at the least word of that simpleton--for\nsimpleton was the name he well deserved until after-circumstances\nproved that he was worthy of a still more odious title.\n\nDame Berthe behaved just like her mistress; but, as the good creature\nhad scarcely any common sense, that can very easily be understood.\nIsidore, since his return three days before, had never ceased to\nflatter her and relate long stories about Paris, principally his own\ninventions, but to which, nevertheless, the old governess, with eyes,\nears, and mouth wide open, listened with devoted attention. So, when\nSolange showed such coldness to her old school-fellow, mademoiselle\nlooked at her with anything but a gentle expression, and Dame Berthe\ninstantly shrugged her shoulders and made big eyes at her.\n\nBut Solange remained perfectly indifferent; in the first place, because\nher back was turned to the ladies, and, secondly, because she worked\naway as though she expected to be paid a franc an hour.\n\nMeanwhile, Pierrette and Ragaud came back from the pool Saint-Jean,\nwhere they had commenced to soak the hemp, and Jean-Louis soon\nfollowed. When they saw such fine company in the room, they all three\nstopped, rather ashamed of their working-clothes, which was doubtless\nthe reason they did not observe that Jeannet, in her elegant costume,\nwas a great contrast to them.\n\nRagaud, as you already know, was rather given to vain-glory, and his\nvanity was easily tickled. It was the only defect of this good man,\nbut it must be acknowledged this defect clung to his heart as a tree\nis tied by its root to the ground; so that in Isidore Perdreau he only\nsaw the favorable side--to wit, a young man, brought up in the capital,\nvery rich and handsome, who could be received in the best houses, and\nwho did not disdain to hasten to greet old friends so far beneath\nhim. Pierrette, without further reasoning, was very sensible of what\nshe likewise considered a great honor. So the excellent couple, whose\nhonest souls were rather stupefied for the moment, quite overwhelmed\nPerdreau with the warmth of their reception, and pressed him so\nearnestly to repeat his visit you would really have thought they were\nwelcoming the return of their own son.\n\nMademoiselle was in a gale of delight, and, when she re-entered the\ncarriage with her attendants, the lackeys' faces were in a broad grin\nat seeing her so gay, and even the horses made two or three little\njumps on starting, as though they, too, participated in the good-humor\nof their mistress.\n\n\"Well, what did I tell you?\" asked mademoiselle of Isidore, who was\nseated opposite to her. \"Is she pretty enough, well-bred enough? And,\nin spite of all your Parisian acquaintances, do you think she is a\nwoman to be scorned?\"\n\n\"O mademoiselle!\" cried Perdreau, \"she is adorable, delightful! But you\nbrought her up; isn't that enough?\"\n\n\"She will make a lovely bride,\" said mademoiselle; \"and it will be the\nhappiest day of my life when I shall see you both leave the church\narm-in-arm.\"\n\n\"How becoming the wreath of orange-blossoms will be to her!\" cried Dame\nBerthe.\n\n\"But will she have me?\" asked Isidore in a hypocritical tone.\n\n\"Bah! be assured she will be most happy, and her parents immensely\nhonored,\" replied mademoiselle; \"besides, I have only to say a word, as\nyou know.\"\n\n\"You are an angel!\" said M. Perdreau, as he kissed mademoiselle's hand;\n\"and if I had not seen you again before Jeanne Ragaud, my happiness\nwould make me crazy. I can only say that you are the most beautiful and\ngraceful woman in the world, and she is the second.\"\n\nPoor mademoiselle, who was humpbacked and anything but handsome, and,\nbesides, nearly thirty, smiled nevertheless at this insolent speech,\nso out of place from the mouth of her notary's son; so true is it that\ncompliments are swallowed as easily as ripe strawberries, no matter how\nfalse they may be, if the mind is not properly balanced, and cannot\nrise above the frivolity and nonsense heard on all sides in this world.\n\nWhile the carriage rolled away to the ch\u00e2teau, each one at the farm\nhad something to say, and Perdreau was there, also, the subject of\nconversation.\n\n\"He is a very pleasant fellow,\" said good Ragaud, \"not at all proud,\nand much better-looking than when he left home. He must have studied\nvery hard in Paris, and his dear, good father will have a worthy\nsuccessor.\"\n\n\"When I think,\" replied Pierrette, \"how readily he accepted your\ninvitation to supper, never raising the slightest difficulty, that\nproves he has a good heart.\"\n\n\"We won't know what to say to him,\" remarked Jeannette, \"he is so much\nmore learned than we.\"\n\n\"Yes, but very simple with it all,\" said Pierrette. \"I will not be the\nleast embarrassed. I am sure he will like to talk over all his boyish\ntricks and adventures--how he stole apples from Cotentin's garden,\nand how he would keep M. le Cur\u00e9 waiting when it was his turn to be\naltar-boy.\"\n\n\"He was always full of fun,\" replied Ragaud, \"and is so still; but that\nis no defect.\"\n\n\"Oh! certainly not,\" cried Jeannette.\n\n\"For what evening have you invited him?\" asked Jean-Louis, who had not\nyet expressed an opinion.\n\n\"Next Sunday,\" said Ragaud; \"that will not take us from our work, and\nwe can bring him back with us in the wagon after Vespers.\"\n\n\"What a beautiful dress you have on!\" said Jeannet, looking at his\nsister.\n\n\"Mademoiselle gave it to me,\" she replied, looking down. \"I put it on\nto receive her; but I will not wear it again.\"\n\n\"Until Sunday?\" asked Jean-Louis.\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Pierrette, \"Jeannette must be prettily dressed in\nhonor of Isidore.\"\n\nJean-Louis said nothing; he walked to the window where Solange was\nsitting, and leaned on the back of her chair, apparently absorbed in\nwatching her embroider.\n\n\"Jeannet,\" said Solange, without raising her eyes, \"what do you think\nof all this?\"\n\n\"It makes me sad,\" he replied.\n\n\"You have reason to feel so,\" said she. \"That smooth-tongued Isidore\nhas turned all their heads. Mademoiselle is even more carried away\nthan the others; and, from the way things are going on, there will be\ntrouble before long.\"\n\nJean-Louis sighed. As they had spoken in a low tone, and the Ragauds\nwere conversing with Jeannette, their little conversation had not been\nremarked.\n\n\"Will you go home with us after Mass next Sunday?\" continued Solange.\n\"Pierre will be glad to see you, and Michou has promised to dine with\nus at noon, and taste our boiled corn.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Jeannet, \"I will go with pleasure.\"\n\nThis was on Tuesday; the four following days Isidore Perdreau came\nconstantly to Muiceron, sometimes with mademoiselle, sometimes alone,\nand was most cordially received by the Ragauds, and Jeannette also, I\nregret to say.\n\nIf you are of my opinion, you will allow that nothing is pleasanter\nthan to listen to a story when there is only question of good people\nand happy events. It makes our hearts glad, and we forget for a little\nwhile that life is like the clouds in the sky, streaked with white,\ngray, and black, and that often the dark clouds overshadow the light;\nbut as truth must be loved above all, I am very sorry to tell you\nthat for the present I have nothing good to relate. You must pardon\nme, then, if I am obliged to sadden you by the recital of sinful and\ncriminal acts, and believe me that, if it is painful for you to have to\nlisten to them, it is not less so for me to recount them to you.\n\nWhen mademoiselle once became possessed with the charming idea of\nmarrying her god-daughter to Isidore, never was the caprice of a woman\nwithout occupation more obstinately pursued and more firmly fastened in\nthe very bottom of her brain. Very true, she only sought the happiness\nof her beloved Jeannette, and thought she had thereby secured it. She\nincessantly repeated to Dame Berthe that it would be the greatest\nmisfortune if Jeannette should marry a peasant, that after all the care\nshe had lavished upon her for ten years she could not bear to see her\nmilking the cows, and hardening her hands by washing and working in\nthe fields. On the other side, she would not risk the happiness of her\npet by marrying her to a man she did not know; consequently, she should\nmarry some one in the neighborhood; and Isidore was the only person\naround who united all the requisites desired by mademoiselle, as the\nother young men were only of the laboring class. She communicated her\nidea to M. le Marquis, who, without making any objections, thought the\nproject might be attempted. He himself went to see M. Perdreau, the\nfather, and announced to him his wishes upon the subject, and Isidore\nwas immediately recalled from Paris.\n\nOld Perdreau, the notary, passed for one of the most honest men in his\nprofession. For thirty years M. le Marquis had closed his eyes and left\nhim the entire control of his affairs, which, truth to say, were not\nvery complicated, as the principal wealth of the ch\u00e2teau consisted of\nfertile land, woods, meadows, and vineyards, the revenues of which he\nreceived and controlled.\n\nMore than that--and this was the worst--our master made him the special\nconfidant of his most secret expeditions. Thus, when he left home\non one of his mysterious journeys, where he expected to encounter\ngreat dangers, Perdreau alone knew exactly the hiding-places of M. le\nMarquis, the plots that were there concocted--in a word, the great\nconspiracies that monsieur and his friends thought legitimate in their\nsouls and consciences, although they could scarcely be called such in\nmy opinion.\n\nThis was very astonishing, it must be acknowledged, as it bound M. le\nMarquis hand and foot to his notary. But what could you expect? My\nlate beloved father, who had been an enthusiastic _Chouan_, contrary to\nmost of the people of his province, who did not care a fig for all that\nfuss, said that perfectly honest souls can never think ill of any one,\nand that is the reason they are often duped and vilified without their\neven dreaming of it.\n\nFor it is time to let you know that Master Perdreau, the notary of\nVal-Saint, was, and had been always, the most cunning rascal, not\nonly of our neighborhood, but of the whole country for twenty leagues\naround, including all the towns, little and big. His only idea was\nto make money, and for that he would have sold his master, his\nconscience--in case he had one--his best friends, his soul, and even\nthe sacred vessels of the tabernacle. In the way of hypocrisy, deep\nwickedness, theft, stinginess, and falsehood he had nothing to fear\nfrom any rival, saving, perhaps, his only son, Isidore, who was rapidly\nlearning to play the knave, and promised, with the help of the devil,\nto become very soon the true pendant of monsieur, his father.\n\nIn order to perfect this shameful education, Isidore had finished his\nstudies in Paris, and Master Perdreau, I need not say, had chosen a\ncollege for him where he would neither learn virtue nor the fear of God.\n\nFor the consolation of good people, evil-doers seldom profit by their\ncrimes. Thus, at this period of our story, Master Perdreau was on the\neve of reaping the fruits of thirty years of criminal conduct, and it\nwas precisely the opposite of what he had sought all his life that was\nabout to happen to him.\n\nHolding in his hand the secrets of M. le Marquis, he had used them to\nobtain large sums from the poor deluded man, under the pretence of\nadvancing his interests; and with this money, added to other thefts,\nhe had first supplied his son with means for continuing his dissipation\nin Paris, and then speculated so often and so well in a place not very\nChristian--called, I believe, the Exchange--that he had nothing left\nhe could call his own but his little country office and debts enough\nto drive him crazy. Judge, then, if he thought himself favored by\nfortune when M. le Marquis came and proposed Jeanne Ragaud to him for\ndaughter-in-law. Never did a drowning man grasp more eagerly at the\nplank held out to keep him from death. The girl's fortune was well\nknown. Muiceron and the adjoining property was worth at least one\nhundred thousand francs; and to rightly estimate the money good Ragaud\nlaid by every year, one would have to count on his fingers a tolerably\nlong while. Further, Jeannette was an extremely pretty girl, brought\nup as a young lady, and there was no doubt her godmother would leave\nher--perhaps might give her at her marriage--a very handsome present.\nAll being thus arranged to the satisfaction of this scoundrel of a\nnotary, he had only to rub his hands and chuckle at the idea of having\nfooled everybody during his whole life.\n\nI will not sadden you by relating what was the conversation on the\nsubject between father and son on the evening of Isidore's arrival in\nthe village, and the means which they proposed to accomplish their\nends, which was to wheedle old Ragaud into giving up all the property\nto his daughter, only reserving for himself a modest annuity. As for\nthe shameful way in which these arrant swindlers held up to ridicule M.\nle Marquis, whom they called \"old fool,\" and mademoiselle, whom they\nstigmatized as the \"yellow dwarf,\" on account of her crooked figure, it\nwould make me sick to relate all they said. However, in saying that\nPerdreau deceived everybody, I have rather exaggerated, for two men in\nthe village saw through his villany, and, thank God, they were two of\nthe most worthy--namely, Jacques Michou, and our dear, holy _cur\u00e9_.\nThe first, who, as you know, had never been drawn into the promising\nconspiracies of his good lord, had always suspected Perdreau for\ncatching so readily at the alluring bait. He had watched him closely,\nand, to fully unravel his plans, pretended to become very intimate with\nM. Riponin, the steward, who was scarcely any better than the notary,\nbut who owed Perdreau a grudge for his having duped him in some knavish\ntrick they undertook together. Since then, Michou, who knew how to play\none against the other, in order to serve his master, made one thief\nsteal from the other, and fully succeeded in his design. As for our\n_cur\u00e9_, he knew both the good and the bad, and looked out for a squall.\nThe great misfortune was that mademoiselle was so fully possessed with\nher idea of the marriage she neglected to consult him and ask his\nadvice.\n\nAlas! I am bound now to avow that poor little Jeannette, whose sin was\nmore of the head than the heart, allowed herself to be very quickly\ncaught in the net held out to her. Never did a giddy, inconstant little\nfish make the leap as willingly as she. In a village marriages are soon\narranged. The parties are supposed to be well acquainted. At the first\nproposition, when the interests agree, they have only to say yes; and\nso it happened no later than the second Sunday after the arrival of\nIsidore Perdreau.\n\nEvery one assisted to hurry up the affair with lightning speed. Jeanne\nsolemnly believed all the nonsense poured into her ear by Isidore,\nthought herself adored by him, and regarded him as infinitely superior\nto all other men in style, manner, and fine speeches. Ragaud and\nPierrette were puffed up with pride; monsieur and mademoiselle did\nnot conceal their satisfaction; and the people around, with the sole\nexception of Michou, who was looked upon as a cross, peevish old\nfellow, hastened to congratulate the fortunate couple.\n\nSickness was no longer thought of. Jeannette, happy and triumphant,\nrapidly regained her strength. The poor silly child only thought of her\nnew dresses and of the promised visit to Paris after her marriage, the\ndelights of which Isidore dwelt upon in glowing terms, which would have\nturned a stronger head than hers. Never, in fact, did a family rush\nblindfolded and more willingly into a bottomless abyss.\n\nHowever, there was one person at Muiceron whose presence tormented\nM. Isidore, and whom he had hated from the first day. You can guess\nit was Jean-Louis. Each time that he entered the house and saw that\ntall figure, the face pale and serious, silently seated in a corner,\nthe only one who did not receive him with joy, his eyes flashed with\nanger, and he would turn his back on him in the most contemptuous\nmanner--something which the Ragauds would certainly have resented in\nany one else; but the poor people were so bewitched they were unjust\nenough to be angry with Jean-Louis, and even to fancy that he was\njealous, whilst he was only very properly grieved at what had happened.\n\nHis life had become very different. No more friendly talks, no more\nwatching for him, no more tender caresses; not that they had ceased to\nlove him, but there was no time for these innocent family recreations,\nand, besides, it would have embarrassed them to make a display of\naffection before M. Isidore, who thought all such country performances\nbeneath him. Poor Jean-Louis, who for so many years had always entered\nMuiceron with joyful heart at the thought of embracing his dear mother,\nnow came in with sad and troubled brow. Pierrette always appeared busy\nand worried. She would rapidly say \"good-evening\" in reply to Jeannet's\ngentle salutation whispered in her ear, and immediately go on with\nher work; for there were always sauce-pans to overlook, or orders to\ngive to Marion, who was not the least bewildered of them all. As for\nJeannette, the cold manner in which Jean-Louis always treated her\nintended, and, above all, the wicked insinuations Isidore made against\nhim, aroused her displeasure; and, if Pierrette was always absorbed\nin her household cares, Jeannette pained him still more by her frigid\nmanner, bordering on sullenness.\n\nJean-Louis felt all this most keenly. He was not a person who liked to\ncomplain or ask explanations; besides, what would he have gained by it?\nHe knew too well the reason of their conduct to be obliged to ask why.\nIn a moment he could have changed all by appearing as delighted as the\nrest; but that was precisely what he would not do. In truth, when we\nsee those we love at the point of drowning, how can we applaud?\n\nStill worse was it when the family circle of Muiceron was increased\nby the presence of old Perdreau, who nearly every evening showed his\nweasel-face at the table, and drank with great friendliness to the\nhealth of the good people whose ruin he was mercilessly plotting.\nJean-Louis two or three times bore it patiently; then he felt he could\ntake himself off, and be missed by no one; so one fine evening he\nmustered up courage, left the farm before supper, and went off to the\nhouse of his friends, the Luguets.\n\nAs usual, he found the little house quiet, clean, and shining with\nneatness. Pierre was reading aloud the life of a saint, while Solange,\nalways employed, was sewing by the lamp. Their old parents and Jacques\nMichou, seated around the fire, listened in silence, and the dog lay\nsnoring on the warm hearth-stones. Jeannet on entering motioned with\nhis hand for them not to stir, and seated himself by Solange, who\nnodded to him.\n\n\"My friends,\" said Jean-Louis when the reading was over, \"I have come\nto ask for my supper this evening, and perhaps I may again to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Whenever you please, my boy,\" said Luguet.\n\n\"Things don't please you at Muiceron, eh?\" asked Michou.\n\n\"Ah!\" replied Jeannet sadly, \"perhaps I am unjust and wrong; but I\ncannot bring myself to help in that marriage.\"\n\n\"What difference does it make to you?\" said Pierre; \"when people are\npossessed, they will do as they please. You are too sensitive, Jean;\nafter all, you will not have to marry Perdreau.\"\n\n\"I am so sure,\" replied Jeannet, \"that poor child will be unhappy.\"\n\n\"No one forces her!\" said Pierre. \"She wishes it, so do the Ragauds, so\ndo M. le Marquis and mademoiselle. All agree; well, then, let them run\nthe risk!\"\n\n\"Be still, Pierre,\" said Solange; \"you speak as though you had no\nheart. Remember that Jeannette has been from her infancy like a sister\nto Jean-Louis; would you like to see me marry Isidore?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" cried Pierre, \"I would sooner cut his throat; but you are not\nlike Jeannette.\"\n\n\"Don't say anything against her,\" replied good Solange with warmth.\n\"She is the best girl in the world; and because her head is rather\nlight and giddy, that does not prevent her having an excellent heart.\nI understand Jean-Louis' feelings, for, certainly, Isidore Perdreau's\nreputation is not very good. But who knows? Perhaps, when he is married\nand settles down, he may make Jeannette a good husband.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Solange,\" said Jeannet, taking her hand, \"it is so kind\nin you to defend her; it makes me feel happy. If I could only show a\nlittle friendship for Isidore, I think I would be less miserable; but I\ncannot conquer myself; I cannot change....\"\n\n\"It is not worth while trying to do it, boy,\" said Michou; \"when we see\nmisfortune coming, and cannot prevent it, the best we can do is to keep\nat a distance, and not meddle.\"\n\n\"Then, M. Michou, you really think trouble will come of it?\" asked\nJeannet.\n\n\"Yes, my son, such overwhelming trouble,\" answered the game-keeper,\n\"that until the day I see them standing before the mayor and the\n_cur\u00e9_, I shall hope the good God will work a miracle to prevent\nit. The Ragauds at present are like men who have taken too much\nbrandy--that is to say, they are as tipsy as a beggar after the\nvintage. They can neither hear nor understand. But mind what I say; you\nothers who are in your senses. I will tell you what sort of men they\nare, that infamous notary and his rascal of a son, and then you will\nsee whether Jean-Louis is right or wrong.\"\n\nThereupon he recounted to his astonished friends what we already know,\nbut went into greater details than I have thought necessary.\n\n\"We can only pray to God,\" said Solange when he had ended. \"Alas!\npoor Jeannette, what will become of her? M. Michou, you must warn the\nRagauds.\"\n\n\"You think that would be easy?\" said Michou. \"In the first place, they\nwould not believe me. Monsieur and mademoiselle would be indignant. The\nPerdreaux are too thorough scoundrels not to have at hand a crowd of\nproofs and protestations which would make them appear as white as snow.\nEvery one is against us, up to that obstinate Jeannette, who is dead in\nlove with Isidore, so they say--hare-brained little fool!\"\n\n\"It is only too true,\" said Jeannet, much overcome.\n\n\"As for you,\" resumed Michou, \"in consequence of your peculiar\nposition, you can say less than any one else; but if I were in your\nplace, I would not remain an indifferent spectator of such a sad\naffair.\"\n\n\"What can I do?\" said Jeannet. \"How can I abandon them?\"\n\n\"Come and stay with me a while. I am clearing a part of the wood;\nyou can overlook the workmen, and we can manage to keep house with\nBarbette, if you are not very difficult to please about the cooking.\"\n\n\"Oh! I would like it very much, M. Michou, and you will do me a great\nfavor. But I must ask my father about it; will you see him, and get his\nconsent?\"\n\n\"To-morrow we will have it all arranged,\" replied Michou.\n\n\"Jeannet,\" said Solange, \"the wood of Val-Saint is not very far from\nhere; when your day's work is over, you must remember there is always a\nplace at our table for a friend. Come, and we will console you. Don't\nworry yourself too much about all this affair; often the storm is so\nterrible we expect every moment to be struck with lightning, and then\nthe clouds break, the sky clears, and, after all the fright, nobody is\nkilled.\"\n\nJean-Louis, notwithstanding his sadness, could not help smiling at\nthese hopeful words, spoken by this good and beautiful girl, so\nreasonable in all things, and still always so cheerful. He pressed her\nhand, and helped her set the table for supper. Michou, reflecting on\nthese words of Solange, wisely remarked that the future being in the\nhands of God, who always concealed it from us through mercy or to grant\nus agreeable surprises, it was unbecoming in us to torment ourselves\ntoo much about it.\n\nAt which speech good Pierre, who never liked trouble, loudly applauded;\nand then, the repast being served, all sat down to table, and, while\neating, conversed on various topics not the least connected with\nMuiceron.\n\n\nXV.\n\nAccording to his promise, Michou the next day paid an early visit to\nthe Ragauds, accompanied by his old blackened pipe, which he always\nkept firmly between his teeth when he feared he might become impatient\nor angry in conversation. He said that, without it, the big words\nwould rush out of his mouth before he had time to prevent them; but\nthat, with it, while he smoked, shook it, or relighted it, he regained\nhis composure, and gathered time to arrange his ideas. And never was\n_puffer_--as he called his pipe--more necessary than on this visit\nto Muiceron. Seeing his friends on the point of throwing themselves\ninto the enemy's clutches, and knowing that remonstrance would\navail nothing, he felt that anger and sorrow might carry him to any\nextremity--in words only, let it be well understood.\n\nHe found Ragaud seated before the door, shelling gray peas, while\nPierrette was washing dishes; for, since she had commenced to feed the\nPerdreaux, all the crockery was in use, and they went to bed so late\nhalf the work remained for next day.\n\n\"I wish you good-morning,\" said Michou to his friends. \"I see you are\nvery busy, but I have only come to remain a few moments.\"\n\n\"Come in,\" said Pierrette.\n\n\"No, I prefer to remain outside,\" replied Michou. \"I like the fresh\nair. Ragaud, do you feel inclined to do me a favor?\"\n\n\"What a question!\" said the good man. \"I am always ready for that, my\nold friend.\"\n\n\"Thank you, it is not a very great request. Can you spare me Jean-Louis\nfor a fortnight? I have twenty men at work in the wood of Montreux, and\nno one to oversee them. The young fellow can help me a great deal.\"\n\n\"Very willingly,\" said Ragaud; \"the hemp is nearly ready, and I do not\nwant Jeannet just now.\"\n\n\"He will take his meals with me,\" replied Michou, \"and sleep at my\nhouse the nights. He will be obliged to work late; so you need not be\nuneasy if he does not return home sometimes.\"\n\n\"Agreed,\" said Ragaud. \"Do you employ the wood-cutters of the\nneighborhood?\"\n\n\"Deuce take it, no!\" replied Michou. \"I hire them right and left, and\ntruly they are the stupidest asses. The way they talk makes one's hair\nstand up under his cap.\"\n\n\"Bah! what do they say?\"\n\n\"Devilish nonsense! Why, they talk of nothing but revolution,\noverthrowing everything and everybody, massacring the nobility, and\ntheft. I remember how my father, long ago, told me about the people\nbefore the Reign of Terror, and I imagine these men must be something\nof the same stamp. Some of them disappear sometimes; when they return,\nthey speak in whispers, and, when I order them to go to work, you\nshould see the way they glare at me. It is very well I don't know what\nfear means; but, reinforced by Jeannet, all will go well.\"\n\n\"Take him right away,\" said Ragaud; \"and if he is not enough, well,\nsend for me; I will give you a helping hand.\"\n\n\"You?\" replied Michou, who commenced to mumble over his pipe. \"You are\ntoo busy in this house with the wedding.\"\n\n\"Oh! it is not going to be to-morrow,\" said Ragaud; \"the day of\nbetrothal is not yet fixed. I leave all that to good M. Perdreau. He\nis taking a great deal of trouble; and I am glad he is, for I know\nprecious little about legal matters.\"\n\n\"So, then, you don't bother yourself with anything?--very pretty\nconduct on your part.\"\n\n\"What should I do?\" asked Ragaud innocently. \"Each one has his part to\nplay. M. Perdreau was brought up among books, and I at the plough. When\nhe has the papers ready, he will tell me where to sign my name.\"\n\n\"And you will sign it?\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly, after he has read them to me.\"\n\n\"All very nice,\" said Michou. \"If I were in your place, I would sign\nwithout reading them; it would be more stupid....\"\n\n\"What do you say?\" asked Ragaud.\n\n\"I say,\" replied Jacques, \"if you will allow me to offer a word of\nadvice, you will not only make them read your daughter's marriage\ncontract to you, but also have it read to others--to M. le Cur\u00e9, for\nexample; he is learned also--that he is.\"\n\n\"That would be insulting to M. Perdreau.\"\n\n\"Not at all. Two such learned men would soon understand each other.\nAfter all, you know, you must do as you think best. Good-morning! Thank\nyou for Jean-Louis; send him to me quickly. I must hurry off to my\nrascally wood-cutters in the wood of Montreux.\"\n\nAnd the game-keeper turned his back without waiting for an answer,\npuffing away at his pipe so tremendously his cap was in a cloud of\nsmoke.\n\nRagaud continued to shell his peas, but it was easy to see he felt\nrather anxious. Nevertheless, when he had ended his work, he re-entered\nthe house without showing any discomposure.\n\nJean-Louis left home that morning to spend a fortnight with Michou,\ndepressed in spirits, but still hoping the best. On passing through\nVal-Saint, he stopped at M. le Cur\u00e9's, who confirmed all that Michou\nhad said about the Perdreaux. That dear, good man was much distressed,\nbut could not think of any remedy for the evil; but he promised Jeannet\nto say Mass for the family, and highly approved of his leaving Muiceron\nfor a time.\n\nMeanwhile, the Ragauds acted as though they were bewitched. During\nthe first week after the departure of Jeannet, his name was scarcely\nmentioned, even by Pierrette. They appeared to have lost all\nrecollection of the services the excellent-hearted boy had rendered his\nadopted parents. No one thought of him or noticed him when he returned\nsometimes late at night from his hard day's work; and, had it not been\nfor the good Luguets, poor Jean-Louis would have been as isolated in\nthe world as if he had been brought up in a foundling asylum--his\nfirst destination. But God did not abandon him, and, although always\nvery sad, he did not lose courage. Every evening, whether he returned\nor not to Muiceron, he visited his friends, and there, with Pierre\nand Solange, he recovered his good-humor, or at least maintained his\ngentleness and resignation. His friendship for Solange increased\nday by day. He suspected nothing, nor she either; for although very\nfriendly and intimate, they only felt toward each other like brother\nand sister. However, all was known in the village--better, perhaps,\nthan elsewhere--and the gossips commenced to say that the devout\nSolange jumped at marriage as quickly as any other girl. Several of the\ngirls even commenced to tease her about him; all of which she received\ngently, and smiled without being displeased, contenting herself with\nthe remark that, after all, she might choose worse; and her work was\ncontinued more faithfully than ever.\n\nOne evening, when Pierre and his parents remained rather late at the\nfair at Andrieux, which is three good leagues from Ordonniers, and\nwhich is only reached by roads very difficult to travel in the bad\nseason, Jeannet, as usual, went to the Luguets, and was surprised to\nfind Solange all alone. She blushed slightly when she saw him, not from\nembarrassment, however, but only, I imagine, because she remembered the\nreports that were circulating in the village. Jeannet took his usual\nseat, which was always near hers. The month of November was nearly\nended, and that morning Michou had told Jean-Louis that Jeannette's\nbetrothal would take place a little before Christmas, and the marriage\nsoon after. The poor fellow was overwhelmed with sorrow; he poured all\nhis grief into Solange's ear, and so great was his confidence in her\nthat he allowed himself to weep in her presence.\n\n\"You have lost your courage and become thoroughly hopeless,\" said\nSolange gently. \"I don't like that in a man, still less in a Christian.\"\n\n\"How can I help it? Am I made of stone?\" replied Jeannet, his head\nburied in his hands. \"Alas! alas! Solange, I believed your words. I\nthought that God would have mercy on us, and that this unfortunate\nmarriage would not take place.\"\n\n\"I don't see that it has yet,\" replied Solange. \"In the first place,\nthey only speak of signing the contract a month from now, and up to\nthen the mill will turn more than once; and, after all, does not God\nknow better than we what is good for us, poor blind things that we are?\"\n\n\"That is true; but to see Jeannette the wife of that man, without faith\nor fear of God or law; to see my old father and dear, good mother\nreduced to want; to be obliged to leave the country, and never see\nMuiceron again! For think, Solange, that Jeannette, when she signs her\nmarriage contract, will know that I am not her brother! I will not wait\nto be told that my place is outside of the house. God knows I have\nworked for my parents, and their tenderness never humiliated me, but to\nreceive a benefit from Isidore--no, never!\" cried Jean-Louis, raising\nhis eyes that flashed with honest pride.\n\n\"You are right in that,\" said Solange quietly; \"but listen a\nmoment, ... and first sit down there,\" she added, gently placing her\nhand on his arm. \"Come to your senses. There, now, can you yet listen\npatiently to me?\"\n\n\"Go on,\" said Jean-Louis obediently; \"you need not talk long to calm\nme.\"\n\n\"Well,\" resumed Solange, resting her elbow on the table in such a\nmanner that her sweet face nearly touched Jeannet's shoulder, \"I will\nrepeat again that the story is not yet ended; but as this good reason\nis not weighty enough for your excited brain, I beg you will tell me\nwhy you think Jeannette will despise you when she will learn that you\nare not her brother.\"\n\n\"But how can you expect it to be otherwise, my dear friend? Is it not\nagainst me that I seem to be installed in her house for life? that I\nhave had half the hearts of her parents? Do you think that Isidore,\nwho detests me, will not tell a thousand falsehoods to prejudice her\nagainst me? Ah! Solange, I have suffered terribly during the last\nmonth; but to see Jeannette regard me as an intruder; to have her crush\nme with her scorn, and make me feel that I am a foundling, picked up\nfrom the gutter--it is beyond all human strength, and the good God will\nnot compel me to endure such agony. I will not expose myself to such a\ntrial.\"\n\n\"But what can you do? You cannot get work in the country without\nrunning the risk of meeting her at every turn.\"\n\n\"I will manage it,\" said Jean-Louis. \"France is a kind mother, Solange,\nand has never refused food to one of her sons, even though he had no\nname but the one given in baptism. I know that my dear father intended\nto procure a substitute for me; but, in the present situation, I can no\nlonger accept a cent of Jeannette's inheritance, which will one day be\nIsidore's.\"\n\n\"Good,\" said Solange. \"But wait another moment. All this is still in\nthe future, since you can only be drawn next year; so put that aside.\nI will only say that you have spoken like a good-hearted fellow, for\nwhich I don't compliment you, as I knew you were that before. But,\nto return to what we were speaking of, why do you think you will be\nscorned by Jeannette? Come, now, tell me all. You love the little\nthing? and ... more than a brother loves a sister?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" cried Jeannet, hiding his face, which he felt crimsoning, like\na young girl surprised, \"you drag the last secret from my heart. Yes,\nI love her, I love her to madness, and that adds to the bitterness of\nmy despair. May God pardon me! I have already confessed it, but with\nmy great sorrow is mingled a wicked sentiment. Solange! I am jealous;\nI know it well. What can you expect? I was so before I knew it, and I\ncannot drive it from me. Did I ever feel that she was not my sister?\nNo, not once until the day that there was question of her marriage;\nand yet,\" added he clasping his hands, \"God, who hears me, knows that\nif she had chosen one worthy of her, I would have had the strength\nto conquer it for the sake of her happiness. But so many misfortunes\nhave made me what I am, and--what I only avow to you--incapable of\nsurmounting my jealousy and dislike.\"\n\nWhile he spoke thus, beautiful Solange smiled, not like a scornful\nwoman, who has no pity for feelings to which she is insensible, but\nlike a mother who is sure of consoling her sick child. Her clear,\ntranquil eyes rested upon Jean-Louis, who gradually raised his, that he\nmight look at her in his turn; for everything about this girl of twenty\nyears was so gentle and calm, and at the same time so good, one always\nexpected to receive consolation from her.\n\n\"You wish to scold me?\" said Jean-Louis. \"If so, do it without fear, if\nyou think I am in fault.\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" she replied; \"there is nothing wrong in what you have\nconfided to me, Jeannet. I pity you with my whole heart, only I\nscarcely understand you.\"\n\n\"Why so, Solange? You are, however, very kind, and certainly have a\nheart.\"\n\n\"I hope so,\" said she; \"but when a creature is loved so dearly, she\nshould be esteemed in every respect.\"\n\n\"Don't I esteem Jeannette? O Solange! why do you say that?\"\n\n\"But I only repeat what you first said, my child,\" she replied in her\nmaternal tone, which was very sweet in that young mouth. \"You think her\ncapable of despising you, and imagine that she will disdain you when\nshe learns the misfortune of your birth; therefore, you do not esteem\nher, and so, I repeat, I can't understand such great affection.\"\n\n\"You can reason very coolly about it,\" said Jeannet; \"but if your soul\nwere troubled like mine, you would not see so clearly to the bottom of\nthings.\"\n\n\"It is precisely because you are so troubled that the good God permits\nthis conversation to-night,\" she replied. \"Let me tell you now why I\nstill hope. Jeannette at this moment sins by the head, but her heart is\nuntouched; and here is the proof: the secret you so dread her knowing\nshe has known as well as either of us for more than three months. Have\nyou seen any change in her manner?\"\n\n\"Oh! is it possible?\" cried Jeannet. \"And who told her?\"\n\n\"I myself,\" answered Solange. \"She had heard at the ch\u00e2teau some\nwords dropped by Dame Berthe, which excited her curiosity. After\nher sickness, when I went to stay with her, she one day asked an\nexplanation of her doubts; and as I feared, if she questioned others,\nshe would not be properly answered, I told her all.\"\n\n\"You did right; and what was her reply?\"\n\n\"She threw herself in my arms, and thanked me,\" said Solange. \"For more\nthan an hour she spoke of her great affection for you, which time had\naugmented instead of diminishing. She wept for your misfortune, and\nthanked God that her parents had acted so well, as by that act they had\ngiven her a brother; and never did I see her so gentle, tender, and\nkind. She made me promise I would never tell you that she knew your\nsecret; but the poor child did not then foresee the necessity that\ncompels me to speak to-night on account of your wicked thoughts.\"\n\n\"Dear, dear Jeannette!\" said Jean-Louis, with tears in his eyes.\n\n\"I have heard lately,\" continued Solange, \"that she came near sending\noff Isidore, because he presumed, thinking she knew nothing, to make\nsome allusion to the subject. She declared that she considered you her\nbrother, and those who wished to be friends of hers must think the\nsame.\"\n\n\"Say no more,\" said Jeannet. \"I will love her more than ever.\"\n\n\"No,\" replied she, \"it is useless. Only don't despair. Take courage,\nfor there is always hope when the heart is good; and the moment this\npoor child, who is now acting without reflection, will know she should\ndespise Isidore, she will dismiss him and drive him away as she would a\ndangerous animal.\"\n\n\"But will she ever know it?\" said Jean-Louis.\n\n\"Hope in God,\" replied the pious girl. \"Has he ever yet abandoned you?\"\n\n\"Beg him to make me as confident as you,\" said he, looking at her with\nadmiration. \"What good you do me! How can I repay you, Solange, for\nsuch kind words?\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said she seriously--\"perhaps, one day, I may ask you to do\nme a great service.\"\n\n\"Really! Let me know it now. I will be so happy to serve you.\"\n\n\"Yes? Well, then, I will,\" replied Solange, after a moment's\nhesitation. \"You have laid bare your heart to me; I will return your\nconfidence. Jean-Louis, I also have a secret love in my soul, and I\nwill die if I do not obtain what I desire.\"\n\n\"You!\" said Jeannet, astonished; \"you, dear Solange! I always thought\nyou so quiet and so happy in your life.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" said she, sighing. \"I look so, because I cannot let\npeople see what they could not understand. But with you, Jean-Louis, it\nis different; I can tell you everything.\"\n\n\"I hope, at least,\" said Jeannet, smiling, \"that he whom you love is\nworthy of your esteem.\"\n\n\"Oh! yes,\" she replied, crossing her arms on her breast, while her\npale, beautiful face crimsoned with fervor--\"oh! yes, for he whom I\nlove is the Lord our God. I wish to be a Sister of Charity, Jeannet,\nand until then there will be no happiness on earth for me.\"\n\nJean-Louis for a moment was dumb with surprise at this avowal; then he\nknelt before her, and kissed her hands.\n\n\"I might have suspected it,\" said he, much moved; \"you were not made to\nlive the ordinary life of the world. God bless you, dear Solange, and\nmay his holy angels accompany you! But what can I do to aid you in your\nholy wishes?\"\n\n\"Much,\" she replied; \"you can inform my parents, and afterwards console\nthem; reason with Pierre, who will be half crazy when he hears of my\ndeparture; and perhaps you can even accompany me to Paris, for I am\nafraid to go alone. I have never been away from home, and I would not\ndare venture on that long journey.\"\n\n\"But, dear Solange, you will need a great deal of money for that.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said she, laughing, \"do you think me a child? For two years I\nhave deprived myself of everything, and I have more than enough. See,\"\nshe added, opening a little box, which she kept hidden under a plaster\nstatue of the Blessed Virgin, which stood near her bed. \"Count!\"\n\n\"Three hundred francs!\" said Jeannet, after having counted; \"and ten,\nand twenty, and thirty more--three hundred and sixty, besides the\nchange. There are nearly four hundred francs.\"\n\n\"There will be when I am paid for what I am now embroidering,\" said\nshe. \"Is that enough?\"\n\n\"Ten times too much,\" replied Jeannet. \"Poor dear Solange! what\nhappiness to think that I shall see you until the last moment!\"\n\n\"And afterwards again,\" said she gaily; \"the white cornets are made to\ngo over the world. We will meet again, don't fear!\"\n\nIt is truly said that example is better than precept. Jean-Louis became\na man again before that beautiful and pious girl, so brave and so good.\nHis heart was comforted, his soul strengthened. He would have blushed\nnow to weep about his sorrows, when Solange was about to sacrifice her\nwhole life to the sorrows of others. She commenced to play her part of\nSister of Charity with him, and God doubtless already blessed her; for\nnever did balm poured into a wound produce a more instant effect.\n\nThey finished their little arrangements just as the Luguets returned\nhome. Pierre was rather gay, as he could not go to the fair without\ndrinking with his friends; and when a man's ordinary drink is water\ncolored with the skins of grapes, half a pint is enough to make him\nfeel jolly.\n\nTherefore, when he found Solange and Jeannet in conversation, looking\nrather more serious than usual, he commenced to look very wise,\nwhistled, winking from one to the other, to let them know he understood\nwhat was going on. Jean-Louis was seated near the fire, and pondered\nover the mutual confidences made that evening. He paid little attention\nto Pierre's man\u0153uvres; but Solange saw them, and, while laying the\ncloth for supper, begged her brother to explain, in good French what\nwas on his mind.\n\n\"Yes, yes, my pretty one!\" said he, trying to put his arm around\nher waist, something which she did not permit even in him; \"we know\nsomething about you.\"\n\n\"Nothing very bad,\" she replied, laughing; \"here I am before you in\nflesh and blood, and you see I am not at all sick.\"\n\n\"Don't be so sly,\" he answered; \"this is not the time. We returned from\nthe fair with lots of acquaintances, and every one told us you were\ngoing to be married, and that your bans would be published next Sunday.\"\n\n\"It is rather too soon,\" said Solange quietly; \"the consent of the\nparents will be needed, and I don't know yet whether it will be given.\nAnd to whom shall I be married? Those people who are so well informed\nshould have told you that.\"\n\nThereupon Pierre, without answering, struck Jean-Louis on the shoulder.\n\n\"Look up, sleepy-head!\" cried he in his ear. \"Can you tell me who is\ngoing to marry my sister Solange?\"\n\n\"Who? What?\" answered Jeannet, like one coming out of a dream. \"What\nare you talking about?\"\n\n\"I say that you and Solange can keep a secret famously,\" said he,\nrather spitefully. \"It is well to keep it secret, when you are only\nthinking of marriage, and I don't object to your first arranging it\nbetween yourselves; but now that everybody knows it except us, it is\nrather provoking for the family.\"\n\n\"You are crazy,\" said Jean-Louis.\n\n\"A big baby, at least,\" said Solange, shrugging her shoulders.\n\n\"All very well,\" said Pierre; \"we know what we know. We say nothing\nfurther. When you choose to speak of your affairs, well, we will be\nready to listen to you.\"\n\nJeannet was about to reply, but Luguet and his wife, who all this\nwhile had been in the barn, giving a look at the cattle, to see that\nall was safe for the night, re-entered the room, and Solange motioned\nto Jean-Louis not to continue such a useless conversation before her\nparents.\n\nBut whether Pierre was more obstinate than usual that night on account\nof the wine in his head, or whether his great friendship for Jeannet\ninflamed his desire for the alliance, certain it is he would not give\nup his belief in the approaching marriage, and continued throughout\nsupper to make jokes and clack his wooden shoes underneath the table;\nin fact, he acted like a boy who is sure of his facts and loves to\ntorment people. Jean-Louis several times was on the point of telling\nhim to be quiet, but Solange, with her gentle smiles, always prevented\nhim.\n\nYou can well perceive this confirmed Pierre in his belief that they\nunderstood each other, as honest lovers have the right to do; so that,\nif he was a little doubtful on his return from the fair, he was no\nlonger so at the end of the supper, and went to bed so firmly persuaded\nthat he would soon have Jeannet for brother-in-law, they could easier\nhave cut off his right hand than make him believe to the contrary.\n\n                            TO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n\n\nEPIGRAM.\n\nTO DOMITIAN, CONCERNING S. JOHN, COMMANDED TO BE CAST INTO A CALDRON OF\nBURNING OIL.\n\n\n    Thou go unpunish'd? That shall never be,\n    Since thou hast dar'd to mock the gods and me.\n    Burn him in oil!--The lictor oil prepares:\n    Behold the saint anointed unawares!\n    With such elusive virtue was the oil fraught!\n    Such aid thy olive-loving Pallas brought![198]\n\n                                                  --CRASHAW.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[198] The allusion is to wrestlers anointing themselves to prevent\ntheir adversaries grasping them.\n\n\n\n\nNANO NAGLE:\n\nFOUNDRESS OF THE PRESENTATION ORDER.\n\n\nThere is no fact more apparent or more full of significance in the\nhistory of the church than the constant acting and reacting upon\neach other of races and nations in the perpetual struggle between\ncivilization and religion with barbarism and infidelity, light with\ndarkness. While the faith seems dimmed and its professors the victims\nof persecution in one land, in another the torch of learning and\npiety is slowly but surely kindling into brilliancy, and the ardor of\napostolic zeal is being awakened, even by the supineness and apostasy\nof its neighbors. That this should be permitted or ordained by divine\nProvidence is a mystery to all, but its effects can easily be perceived\nby any ordinary student of history.\n\nFor proof of this mutation and transition we need not go beyond our own\nday and generation. Europe of the XIXth century presents a spectacle,\nif not alarming, at least discouraging to many who have the cause of\nChristianity sincerely at heart. In one country we perceive a direct\nattack on the Sovereign Pontiff, wholesale spoliation of his temporal\npossessions, restriction of his personal liberty, and a general\nonslaught on the religious orders--those most efficient agents for the\npropagation of morality, charity, and intelligence--which surround\nhim--and that, too, by a prince of Catholic origin and education, who\nclaims the right to govern twenty millions of subjects. In another we\nhave a stolid, sordid _imperator_, instigated by a more intellectual\nbut not less arbitrary minister, not only claiming complete dominion\nover the lives and property of twice that number, but assuming also the\nright to dictate the terms upon which they shall worship their Maker,\nwhat shall be their faith, and who may be their teachers and guides in\nthe way of salvation.\n\nAgain, in such countries as Austria, France, Spain, and Belgium,\nuntil very recently considered the bulwarks of Catholicity on the\nContinent, indifferentism, communism, and open infidelity, if not\nyet triumphant, have certainly of late made rapid strides towards\npower and authority, and to the human eye seriously threaten the very\nexistence of society, of all order and all law, human and divine,\nin those distracted nations. And still, a prospect such as Europe\nnow presents, though seemingly gloomy, is actually full of hope and\npromise. While the hitherto supine Catholics of the Italian peninsula\nare being aroused into earnestness by the outrages daily perpetrated\non the Holy Father and the religious orders, and their co-religionists\nof Germany are forming themselves into a solid, compact, and energetic\narray in defence of their rights, elsewhere the cause of the church is\nprogressing with a rapidity and uniformity that equally astonishes and\nalarms her enemies.\n\nTake our own republic, for example, with its seven archbishops, its\nforty-nine bishops, thousands of priests, and millions of earnest\nand obedient spiritual children, where a century ago a priest was\nan object of curiosity to most of the people, and a Catholic was\ngenerally regarded with less favor than is now shown the Chinese\nidolaters. Now, what has wrought this change; what has scattered\nbroadcast over this vast continent, and engrafted in the heart of\nour vigorous young republic the doctrines of the church, but the\npersecutions which our co-religionists have endured and are still\nenduring, in the Old World? To the irreligious maniacs of the French\nRevolution, to the penal code of Great Britain, and now to the\nmendacity of Victor Emanuel and the truculent tyranny of Bismarck,\nare we mainly indebted, under Providence, for the origin, growth, and\nincrease of Catholicity among us. Like a subterranean fire, the spirit\nof the church can never be repressed. Subdued in one place, it will\nburst forth in another with redoubled force, intensified by the very\nattempts made to confine it.\n\nThen let us look at England--England which among the nations was the\nland of the Reformation; who not only stoned the prophets, but whose\nannals for nearly three centuries are the most anti-Catholic and\nintolerant to be found in the records of modern history. She, also, as\nin the early ages of her conversion, felt the effect of continental\nbarbarism and persecution. At the very time when the faith seemed\nto have been utterly extirpated within her boundaries, the French\nRevolution drove to her shores many Catholics, lay and clerical, of\ngentle birth, cultivated manners, and varied accomplishments, and to\nthose exiles does she owe primarily the revival in her bosom of the\nreligion planted by S. Augustine. She has now sixteen archbishops and\nbishops, sixteen hundred priests, over one thousand places of worship,\nwhere assemble large congregations, including many of the most eminent\nand distinguished of her sons.\n\nThe Catholics of Ireland, always true to the faith and loyal to the\nhead of the church, were common sufferers with their co-religionists\nacross the Channel, and, though in a different manner and at an earlier\nperiod, they were equally the gainers with those of England, and from\ncauses almost similar. The property of that cruelly tried people was\nnot only confiscated by the penal laws, their clergy outlawed, and\ntheir persons subjected to all sorts of pains and penalties, but they\nwere denied the poor privilege of acquiring the principles of the\ncommonest education. The consequences of such persecution, continued\ngeneration after generation, were what might have been, and no doubt\nwas, expected to be--that the people, persistently refusing to yield\nto cajolery or threats in matters of conscience, within two centuries\nafter the \"Reformation\" had almost universally sunk into abject poverty\nand secular ignorance. In fact, had it not been for their traditional\nknowledge of the great truths of religion, and the instruction\nsometimes stealthily given them by some fugitive priest in remote\nmountains and the fastnesses of the bogs, they must inevitably have\ndegenerated into something like primitive barbarism.\n\nHowever, such an anomalous state as this could not last for ever.\nAll Christendom was about to cry out against it, and an incident\noccurred in 1745, under the administration of the celebrated Lord\nChesterfield, which awakened at home general attention to the wretched\nmanner in which four-fifths of the inhabitants of the country were\nobliged to worship their Creator. It happened that in that year a\nsmall congregation was assembled secretly in an old store, in an\nobscure part of Dublin, to hear Mass, when the floor gave way, and\nthe entire body was precipitated to the ground below. F. Fitzgerald,\nthe celebrant, and nine of his parishioners, were killed, and several\nothers severely injured. The viceroy, who, whatever may have been\nhis other faults, was certainly less bigoted than his predecessors,\nthereupon took the responsibility of allowing the Catholics, under\ncertain restrictions, to open their chapels, and worship in public.\nThis limited concession was the commencement of a new era in the\naffairs of the Irish Catholics. The number of priests began to\nincrease; churches, rude and small of necessity, sprang up here\nand there, generally in secluded localities, as if afraid to show\nthemselves; and incipient efforts for the education of the masses of\nboth sexes were soon noticed.\n\nIn this latter great work of benevolence the most zealous and efficient\nwas the lady whose name heads this article. She seems to have been\nendowed by Providence with all the gifts, mental and moral, necessary\nto constitute her the pioneer of that host of noble women who, since\nher time to the present, have devoted themselves to the education and\ntraining of the females of Ireland. Born of an ancient and thoroughly\nCatholic family of considerable wealth and wide popular influence,\nshe grew up amid home scenes of comfort, peace, and charity, a devout\nbeliever in the sanctity of religion, and in perfect accord with the\ninstructions of indulgent but watchful parents. The position her father\nheld among his poorer and less fortunate neighbors, his charity to\nthe needy, and his protection to the helpless, afforded her, even in\nher extreme youth, many opportunities of studying the wants of the\ndistressed, and of sympathizing with their afflictions: principles\nwhich, then perhaps nourished in her heart unconsciously, were in\nafter-years destined to grow and fructify into those nobler deeds of\ncharity that have made her memory so cherished and revered.\n\nHonora, or, as her friends and beneficiaries loved to call her,\nNano Nagle, was the daughter of a gentleman named Garret Nagle, of\nBallygriffin, near Mallow, in the county of Cork, where she was born\nA.D. 1728. Through both parents she was related, not only to many\nof the old Catholic houses, but to several of the most influential\nProtestant families in the South; which is only worthy of remark\nas furnishing a clew to the fact of her parents' wealth and social\nstanding in times when those of the proscribed religion were not only\ndisqualified from accumulating or holding property in their own right,\nbut were personally objects of contempt and contumely to the dominant\nclass. It may also, perhaps, account for the impunity with which Mr.\nNagle, despite the numerous statutory enactments, was enabled to send\nhis favorite child to the Continent to complete an education the\nrudiments only of which could be obtained in the privacy of her family.\n\nAccordingly, at an early age, Nano quitted her pleasant and cheerful\nhome by the Blackwater for the retirement and austerity of a convent\non the banks of the Seine, in which institution she acquired all the\naccomplishments and graces then considered befitting a young lady of\nposition.\n\nHaving entered school a mere girl from a remote part of a\nsemi-civilized country, untutored, undeveloped, and, it is even said,\na little petulant and self-willed, she now, at her twenty-first year,\nemerged from the shadow of the convent walls into the sunshine of\nParisian life, an educated, beautiful, and self-sustained woman. Her\nfamily had many friends in the French capital, particularly in the\nhouseholds of the Irish Brigade officers and other Catholic exiles,\nand her entrance into the best society was unimpeded, and was even\nsignalized by rare scenes of festivity and mutual gratification.\nHer native _na\u00efvet\u00e9_ and buoyancy of spirits, tempered with all the\nwell-bred courtesy and dignity of a French education under the old\n_r\u00e9gime_, made her a general favorite; and though it does not appear\nthat she was in the least spoiled by the admiration and adulation that\neverywhere awaited her, there is little doubt that she participated in\nthe fashionable dissipations of the gay capital with all the ardor and\nimpetuosity latent in her disposition. Admitted to such scenes, it is\nlittle wonder that for a time she forgot the land of her birth, its\npersecutions and tribulations, its degraded peasantry and timid and\ndegenerate aristocracy. One so young and so capable of appreciating the\nrefinements and elegancies of the most cultured city in Europe, might\nwell have been excused if she found it difficult to exchange them for\nthe obscurity and monotony of a remote provincial town.\n\nBut the spell which at this time bound her was soon to be broken. The\nstill, small voice of duty and conscience was soon to find a tongue\nand speak to her soul with the force almost of inspiration. The\ncircumstances of this radical change in her life are thus graphically\ndescribed in a very valuable book recently published:\n\n  \"In the small, early hours of a spring morning of the year 1750,\n  a heavy, lumbering carriage rolled over the uneven pavement of\n  the quartier Saint Germain of the French capital, awakening the\n  echoes of the still sleeping city. The beams of the rising sun\n  had not yet struggled over the horizon to light up the spires\n  and towers and lofty housetops, but the cold, gray dawn was far\n  advanced. The occupants of the carriage were an Irish young lady\n  of two-and twenty, and her chaperon, a French lady, both fatigued\n  and listlessly reclining in their respective corners. They had\n  lately formed part of a gay and glittering crowd in one of the\n  most fashionable Parisian _salons_. As they moved onward, each\n  communing with her own thoughts, in all probability reverting\n  to the brilliant scene they had just left, and anticipating the\n  recurrence of many more such, the young lady's attention was\n  suddenly attracted by a crowd of poor people standing at the yet\n  unopened door of a parish church. They were work-people, waiting\n  for admission by the porter, in order to hear Mass before they\n  entered on their day's work.\n\n  \"The young lady was forcibly struck. She reflected on the hard\n  lot of those children of toil, their meagre fare, their wretched\n  dwellings, their scanty clothing, their constant struggle to\n  preserve themselves and their families even in this humble\n  position--a struggle in many a case unavailing; for sickness, or\n  interruption of employment, or one of the many other casualties\n  incidental to their state, might any day sink them still deeper in\n  penury. She reflected seriously on all this; and then she dwelt\n  on their simple faith, their humble piety, their thus 'preventing\n  the day to worship God.' She contrasted their lives with those of\n  the gay votaries of fashion and pleasure, of whom she was one. She\n  felt dissatisfied with herself, and asked her own heart, Might\n  she not be more profitably employed? Her thoughts next naturally\n  reverted to her native land, then groaning under the weight of\n  persecution for conscience' sake--its religion proscribed, its\n  altars overturned, its sanctuaries desolate, its children denied,\n  under grievous penalties, the blessings of free education.\n\n  \"She felt at once that there was a great mission to be fulfilled,\n  and that, with God's blessing, she might do something towards\n  its fulfilment. For a long time she dwelt earnestly on what we\n  may now regard as an inspiration from heaven. She frequently\n  commended the matter to God, and took the advice of pious and\n  learned ecclesiastics; and the result was that great work which has\n  ever been since, and is in our day, a source of benediction and\n  happiness to countless thousands of poor families in her native\n  land, and has made the name of Nano Nagle worthy of a high place on\n  the roll of the heroines of charity.\"[199]\n\nMiss Nagle then set out for Ireland, firmly determined to commence the\nnoble work so suddenly contemplated and so maturely considered; but on\nher arrival in Cork, she found her friends exceedingly lukewarm, and\nthe amount of ignorance and destitution in that city so appalling that\nshe shrank from the very magnitude of the difficulties to be overcome,\nand began to fear that she had, in a moment of enthusiasm, overrated\nher ability and mistaken her vocation. This was natural. What could a\nyoung lady, scarcely entered on womanhood, delicately nurtured, and\nhitherto accustomed only to the society of the most fastidious--what\ncould such a frail scion of aristocracy do to remove even an\ninfinitesimal part of the incubus of poverty, ignorance, and crime, the\nresult of centuries of misgovernment, which then weighed so heavily on\nthe people?\n\nShe therefore resolved to visit the French capital again to consult\neminent clerical friends, and to lay before them all her doubts\nand difficulties. They heard her explanations and arguments with\nattention, weighed her objections with proper gravity, and finally,\nhaving dispelled her doubts and strengthened her self-confidence,\nassured her that in their opinion--and it was a unanimous one--God had\nevidently called her to be the succor and comfort of her afflicted\ncountrywomen--a decision which subsequent events proved to have been\nlittle short of prophetic. Thus reassured, and casting aside once\nfor all the allurements of life, the rational pleasures which youth,\nbeauty, and wealth might reasonably command, Miss Nagle resolved to\neschew the things of the world for ever, and devote herself heart and\nsoul to the self-imposed duties from the performance of which she\nhad lately shrunk, more from a consciousness of the weakness of her\nposition than from any lack of intention to perform them faithfully.\nThe resolve she so solemnly made then she kept till the day of her\ndeath, thirty years afterwards, with unflinching fortitude and fidelity.\n\nIn 1754 we find her back in Cork, steadily but quietly, almost\nsecretly, as the spirit of the times demanded, initiating her crusade\nagainst squalor and ignorance. With what precocious circumspection\nshe commenced her labors is best shown in a letter to a friend, Miss\nFitzsimmons, then in the Ursuline Convent at Paris. The extract is\nlong, but it will repay perusal, as it may be considered an exact\nreflex of the working of her strong, simple, but thoroughly earnest\nmind. She writes under date July 17, 1769:\n\n  \"When I arrived, I kept my design a profound secret, as I knew, if\n  it were spoken of, I should meet with opposition on every side,\n  particularly from my own immediate family; as, to all appearances,\n  they would suffer from it. My confessor was the only person I told\n  of it; and as I could not appear in the affair, I sent my maid to\n  get a good mistress, and to take in thirty poor girls. When the\n  little school was settled, I used to steal there in the morning.\n  My brother thought I was in the chapel. This passed on very well\n  until, one day, a poor man came to him, to speak to me to take\n  his child into my school; on which he came in to his wife and me,\n  laughing at the conceit of a man who was mad and thought I was in\n  the situation of a schoolmistress. Then I owned that I had set\n  up a school; on which he fell into a violent passion, and said\n  a vast deal on the bad consequences that may follow. His wife is\n  very zealous, and so is he; but worldly interests blinded him at\n  first. He was soon reconciled to it. He was not the person I most\n  dreaded would be brought into trouble about it; it was my uncle\n  Nagle, who is, I think, the most disliked by the Protestants of any\n  Catholic in the kingdom. I expected a great deal from him. The best\n  part of my fortune I have received from him. When he heard it, he\n  was not at all angry at it; and in a little time they were so good\n  as to contribute largely to support it. And I took in children by\n  degrees, not to make any noise about it in the beginning. In about\n  nine months I had about two hundred children. When the Catholics\n  saw what service it did, they begged that, for the convenience of\n  the children, I would set up schools for children at the other end\n  of the town from where I was, to be under my care and direction;\n  and they promised to contribute to the support of them. With this\n  request I readily complied, and the same number of children that\n  I had were taken in; and at the death of my uncle, I supported\n  them all at my own expense. I did not intend to take boys, but my\n  sister-in-law made it a point, and said she would not allow any\n  of my family to contribute to them unless I did so; on which I\n  got a master, and took in only forty boys. They are in a house by\n  themselves, and have no communication with the others.\"\n\nThis letter, it will be observed, was written fifteen years after the\nfirst school was founded, and already there were in active operation,\nin various parts of the city, two schools for boys and five for girls,\nall under the supervision of Miss Nagle, and supported from her private\npurse, or by a contribution of one shilling per month, which she was in\nthe habit of collecting from a few of the more wealthy of the citizens.\nIn these nurseries of intelligence and morality--model schools, in\nfact--the children of both sexes were taught to read and write, to say\ntheir daily prayers, learn the catechism, and, in the case of the older\ngirls, to acquire a familiarity with such useful work as befitted\ntheir condition. Those who were of sufficient age heard Mass every\nmorning, went to confession monthly, and to communion as frequently as\ntheir confessor considered advisable.\n\nIn supervising so many schools, and constantly instructing hundreds\nof pupils, whose moral as well as mental culture had been neglected\nhitherto most wofully, this heroic woman's self-imposed labors, it may\nwell be imagined, were of the most arduous description, and we are not\nsurprised to find that her health began to show signs of giving way.\n\"In the beginning,\" she says, \"being obliged to speak for upwards of\nfour hours, and my chest not being so strong as it had been, I spat\nblood, which I took care to conceal, for fear of being prevented from\ninstructing the poor. It has not the least bad effect now. When I have\ndone preparing them at each end of the town, I feel like an idler that\nhas nothing to do, though I speak almost as much as when I prepare\nthem for their first communion. I find not the least difficulty in it.\nI explain the catechism as well as I can in one school or other every\nday; and if every one thought as little of labor as I do, they would\nhave little merit. I often think that my schools will never bring me\nto heaven, as I only take delight and pleasure in them. You see it\nhas pleased the Almighty to make me succeed when I had everything, I\nmay say, to fight against. I assure you I did not expect a farthing\nfrom any mortal towards the support of my schools; and I thought I\nshould not have more than fifty or sixty girls until I got a fortune;\nnor did I think I should in Cork. I began in a poor, humble manner;\nand though it has pleased the divine will to give me severe trials in\nthis foundation, yet it is to show that it is his work, and has not\nbeen effected by human means. I can assure you that my schools are\nbeginning to be of service to a great many parts of the world. This\nis a place of great trade. They are heard of; and my views are not\nfor one object alone.\" The fortune here so delicately alluded to was\nleft her by her uncle Nagle, who, profoundly penetrated with a sense\nof her discretion and of her devotion to the friendless, bequeathed\nher the bulk of his property. It was a very considerable sum, and was\nunstintingly devoted by her to further the great objects she had ever\nin view.\n\nAs her schools multiplied, and the attendance on each increased, with\na rapidity that astonished every one, Miss Nagle saw the absolute\nnecessity of calling in other and, if possible, organized assistance,\nthat thus, by making her system more perfect, she might perpetuate the\ngood work already so auspiciously begun. She therefore resolved on a\nbold measure--one that could have entered only the mind of a dauntless\nspirit, fortified by implicit faith in the protection of Providence.\nShe determined, in fact, despite the many inhuman and ingenious penal\nstatutes against monastic institutions, to establish a convent in Cork.\n\nFor this purpose, some time previous to the date of the above letter,\nfour young ladies, representing some of the best families in the\nneighborhood, were sent to the Ursuline Convent of S. Jacques, in\nParis, to enter their novitiate, while Miss Nagle, with her usual\ngenerosity and prudence, set silently to work to build a suitable house\nfor their reception on their return. That event took place in 1771, and\nmarks a new era in the history of the church in Ireland and England.\nThe young novices who thus not only abandoned the allurements of the\nworld, home, friends, and future, to serve God, but braved the terrors\nof the penal laws and the sneers of the anti-Catholic rabble, deserve\nto have their names handed down for the admiration and homage of their\nsex in every age and clime. They were \"Miss Fitzsimmons, the special\nfriend and correspondent of the foundress; Miss Nagle, her relative;\nMiss Coppinger, of the Barryscourt family, and cousin of Marian,\nDuchess of Norfolk; and Miss Kavanagh, related to the noble house of\nOrmonde.\" They were accompanied by Mrs. Margaret Kelly, a professed\nsister of the Ursuline Convent of Dieppe, none of the sisters of S.\nJacques being willing to undertake so hazardous an enterprise.\n\nThey arrived in May, and on the 18th of September following took\nformal possession of their convent, and from that day may be dated the\nreintroduction of the conventual order into the United Kingdom of Great\nBritain and Ireland.[200]\n\nThus in the wise designs of God, while the Encyclopedists and the\nsecret societies of the Continent were maturing their plans of attack\non the church and her institutions, when monasteries, convents,\ncolleges, and hospitals from one end of Europe to the other, already\nfeeling the premonitory symptoms of that monstrous earthquake of\nimmorality and infidelity which was soon to be felt throughout\nChristendom, were shaking to their very foundations, in an obscure\nlittle city in the South of Ireland were planted the seeds of religion\nand Christian instruction which have since grown up and produced such\nmarvellous fruits. The incident becomes even more interesting when we\nconsider that the five ladies who commenced this beneficent work were\nall educated in that country and city, which ere long were to furnish\nthe deadliest enemies of Catholicity.\n\nIt is not to be supposed that so daring an act as that of the intrepid\nNano could pass unnoticed. Though the sisters studied the greatest\nseclusion, it was at one time proposed by the local authorities to\nenforce the laws against them; but better counsels prevailed, and the\nhumble community grew rapidly in popularity and usefulness. A few\nmonths after its establishment, a select school, with twelve young\nladies as pupils, was founded, and this number was quickly augmented\nby children from the more wealthy Catholic families of the adjoining\ncounties. There are now five houses of this order in Ireland.\n\nAt first Miss Nagle lived in the convent; but her impatient soul, her\nburning love for the children of the lowly, was not yet satisfied;\nfor though the good Ursulines devoted all their available time\nto the instruction of the poor, while perfecting in the higher\nbranches of education those destined in turn to become teachers,\nshe felt that another and a more comprehensive organization was\nnecessary to combat so vast an array of popular error, ignorance,\nand destitution. A society that would devote itself, as she had so\nlong done, individually, exclusively, and gratuitously to the service\nof the impoverished and untrained masses was what she desired, and\nwhat she felt called upon to form and direct. With that indomitable\nenergy which I ever characterized her, though enfeebled in health,\nreduced in fortune, and prematurely old from incessant labor, at the\nage of forty-four she retired from the companionship of her friends\nand _prot\u00e9g\u00e9s_, the Ursulines, to a house adjacent to the convent,\npurchased by herself, and, gathering around her some pious women,\nformed a society that was to be known as \"Of the Presentation of Our\nBlessed Lady in the Temple.\" The objects of this association were:\n\"Going through the city, looking after poor girls; inducing them to\nattend school, and instructing them in their religion; and, further,\nvisiting, relieving, and consoling the sick poor in their own homes\nand in the public hospitals--duties analogous to those now discharged\nby the Sisters of Charity and Sisters of Mercy.\"[201] Being approved\nby the bishop of the diocese, the Rt. Rev. Dr. Moylan, it began its\npious labors on Christmas day, A.D. 1777, by entertaining at dinner\nfifty poor persons, the foundress being the presiding genius, or rather\nangel, of the entertainment. She also established, in connection with\nthe home, an asylum for aged females.\n\nThis was the origin of what is now known as the _Presentation Order_,\nand was the last and crowning glory of Nano Nagle's remarkable career.\nThough of exclusively Irish origin, and notwithstanding that the\noriginal design of its foundress has been somewhat changed, and its\nfield of labor circumscribed and partly occupied by other orders\nor congregations, the institution founded by her with such limited\nmeans and materials has, with God's blessing, flourished with amazing\nrapidity, and has spread its influence, not only over the native land\nof the foundress, but to Great Britain, the lower provinces of North\nAmerica, and even to India and Australia. In Ireland alone there are\nat least fifty convents of the order, with poor schools, industrial\nschools, and asylums for the aged attached.[202]\n\nIn 1791 the society was reorganized and founded into a congregation\nat the request of the Bishop of Cork. The brief of Pope Pius VI.\ngranting the prayer, directed that the members should observe as near\nas possible the rules governing the Ursulines, taking, after proper\nnovitiate, simple vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience. Sixteen\nyears later the congregation was changed into an order by brief of\nPius VII., under the title and invocation of the \"Presentation of\nthe Blessed Virgin Mary.\" The rules and constitutions governing the\ncongregation and order were, at the request of His Holiness, drawn up\nby Dr. Moylan, approved by the archbishops and bishops of Ireland, and\nupon being forwarded to Rome, and upon proper examination, received the\nPapal sanction.\n\nThe six or seven years spent by Miss Nagle as head of the Society\nof the Presentation were perhaps the most useful of her life; for\nnot only did she create and perfect a plan of practical instruction\nand discriminating charity which has since been of infinite benefit\nin promoting the cause of religion and industry in other parts of\nIreland; not only did she inculcate in others who were to survive her,\nprinciples of order, charity, and self-denial, but she organized a\nsystem of relief and a scheme of instruction which were of infinite\nbenefit to the deserving poor of Cork, and which were afterwards\napplied with equal advantage by other religious bodies in other cities\nand towns. None knew so well as she did to whom to give and whom to\nrefuse, though it may be well imagined that her gentle heart, when it\nerred, leaned in favor of the latter.\n\nNor must we suppose that the early years of what might be called her\nmissionary labors were devoted exclusively to the instruction of her\nlittle waifs. On the contrary, much of her time--all, in fact, that\ncould be spared from her private devotions and her beloved schools--was\ndevoted to the visitation of the sick and the relief of the starving;\nfor starvation, be it remembered, was even then chronic in the South of\nIreland. On her return from France, she at first mingled occasionally\nin society, as much to conceal, perhaps, her immature plans as in\ndeference to the wishes of her friends; but gradually she withdrew from\nall association with those of her own station, and devoted her entire\ntime to acts of practical charity. Even the most inclement winter\nweather could not deter her from her duty; and it is said that before\ndaylight she might be noticed wending her way to the little North Cork\nchapel, to hear Mass as the commencement of a long day's labor, and\nthat far into the night, in the unlighted streets of Cork, a female\nfigure, closely enwrapped in a cloak and bearing a lantern, could\nbe seen hurrying to the death-bed of some poor sufferer, regardless\nof rain or snow or the cutting night-blast. So familiar had this\napparition become to the citizens, and so well her errands of mercy\nwere known, that the vilest of both sexes passed her with respect, and\nshe trod the lanes and alleys of the worst parts of the city with\nperfect safety. At the sight of that little lantern in the distance,\nthe drunken brawler, as he reeled home, ceased his ribald song or\nstayed the half-uttered oath; and the ill-starred wanderer, the pariah\nof her sex, fled to some hiding-place, or came forth for a few words of\ngentle admonition, which fell like healing balm on her wounded, sinful\nsoul; for Nano Nagle, in humble imitation of her Redeemer, had charity\nfor all, even for the most degraded of mankind.\n\nIt is unnecessary to say that, in all her toils and struggles,\nMiss Nagle enjoyed the respect and esteem, and, when required, the\nassistance, of all the more wealthy and respectable of the citizens\nof Cork, Protestant as well as Catholic; but it was amid her children\nand in the hovels of the poor that she was best beloved, because best\nknown. Where famine hollowed the cheek and glazed the eye, she was\nto be found, with her brave words of comfort and hope, and, better\nstill, with her well-filled basket and open purse; where sickness and\ndisease lurked, and the atmosphere of the miserable dwellings of the\nfever-stricken was laden with almost certain death, her place was at\nthe bedside of the dying, consoling and solacing; now administering the\ncooling draught to the poor patient's burning lips; now, by prayer and\nspiritual instruction, endeavoring to smooth the path to a better world\nof the soul that was struggling to be free. No danger daunted her, no\nsight, however repulsive, stayed her persistent charity; and it is even\nsaid that the once brilliant and accomplished favorite of the Rue St.\nGermain did not hesitate, when she considered herself called upon to\ndo so, to perform the most menial of domestic offices for her sick or\naged pensioners.\n\nThirty years of such unremitting labor was more than a constitution of\nordinary strength could well bear; and even Miss Nagle, buoyed up as\nshe was by intense devotion to the poor, felt that the hand of death\nwas upon her, and that she was about to receive the eternal reward of\nher virtues, her charity, and her zeal in the service of God. Early in\n1784 her health completely broke down, and, thus timely warned, she\nprepared, with Christian sincerity and humility, to leave the scenes of\nher earthly labors, and pass through those portals which, for the just,\nopen to an infinity of happiness. In the house of the society, and\nsurrounded by its members, her spirit calmly took its upward flight on\nthe 26th of April, 1784. Her last advice to her little community was:\n\"Love one another as you have hitherto done.\"\n\nSuch, in brief, were the life and labors of one whose name even is\nseldom heard, and of whose heroic efforts in the cause of religion\nand education so little mention is made beyond the boundaries of the\nlocality in which she wrought and which she sanctified. Judging her\nby the sacrifices she made, there may be found many even of our own\nday equally meritorious; but considering the age in which she worked,\nthe dangers and difficulties which constantly beset her path, the\ninvincible energy with which she surmounted all obstacles, and the\nwidespread and beneficent character of the results of her thirty years'\ntoil, we may assuredly place her among the most remarkable and most\ndevoted of the daughters of the church.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[199] _Terra Incognita; or, The Convents of the United Kingdom._ By\nJohn Nicholas Murphy. London: 1873.\n\n[200] There are now in England and in Wales alone two hundred and\nthirty-five convents, containing about three thousand nuns of various\norders and congregations. Among these is the Presentation Convent in\nManchester, to which is attached a female orphanage, a poor school\nattended by four hundred and seventy-five day and five hundred\nSunday-school scholars.\n\n[201] _Terra Incognita._\n\n[202] The convents are those of the city of Cork, South, opened in\n1777, in which is also an asylum for aged women; the city of Cork,\nNorth; Bandom, Doneraile, Youghal, Midleton, Fermoy, Michelstown,\nLimerick, Killarney, Tralee, Dingle, Milltown, Cahirciveen, Millstreet,\nListowel, Castleisland, Thurles, attached to which is an industrial\nschool; Cashel, with an orphanage and an industrial school; Fethard,\nBallingary, Waterford, Dungarvan, Clonmel, Carrick-on-Suir; Lismore,\nGeorge's Hill, Dublin; Roundtown, near Dublin, Maynooth, Clondalkin,\nLucan, Kilkenny, Castlecomer, Mountcoin, Carlow, Maryborough, Kildare,\nBagnalstown, Clane, Stradbally Portarlington, Mount Mellick, Wexford,\nEnniscorthy, Drogheda, Rahan, Mullingar, Granard, Tuam, Galway, and\nBanmore.\n\n\n\n\nGRACE SEYMOUR'S MISSION.\n\n\nIn a small village of New England, elm-shaded and far from the resorts\nof travellers, there lived, a great many years ago, two people in easy\ncircumstances, the owners of a lovely cottage--a father and his only\ndaughter.\n\nThey were well descended, and fully showed it; moreover, the girl's\nmother had been an Englishwoman of high birth, the daughter of a great\nhouse which, in the past, had also been allied to that of the man she\nmarried. Edward Seymour had once been the pastor and the favorite of\nthe village of Walcot, an upright, believing, uncompromising Calvinist,\na kind of Cromwell with all the ambition turned heavenwards, and all\nthe hardness tempered by a warm, generous nature. His wife also had\nbeen a vigorous believer in the same theology. Sprung from a family\nnoted for its \"Low Church\" views in England, she had been strongly\ninterested in the narrative of the American missionary, in the days\nwhen he, fresh from the university, and filled with vehement but\npractical enthusiasm, had gone to the \"mother country\" on a tour of\nalms-asking and receiving. From interest sprang attraction; then love,\nwith its impulsive and whole-hearted logic, rushed in and pleaded the\ncause of the disciple with that of the religion, and suggested forcibly\nthat a fortune thrown at the feet of the minister would eventually find\nits way to the feet of God. Sweet argument of the heart! though in this\ncase an argument misapplied.\n\nSo it fell out that, despite warnings and shakings of heads and holding\nup of hands, Elizabeth Howard and her fortune (not a princely one,\nthough) crossed the seas, and Edward Seymour presented a fair young\nforeign enthusiast to his congregation as his beloved and hard-won\nbride, under the fire of a rude battery of eyes belonging to the\nstartled maidens whose charms had long since (in their own individual\nminds, at least) been destined for the minister's solace and support.\nShe won her way into the hearts of all, this young English Calvinist,\nfull of pure-hearted sincerity, gentle yet steadfast as \"Priscilla, the\nPuritan maiden,\" courageous in self-denial that the poor might profit\nby her privations, a confidant the most unhappy ever found sympathetic,\nand the most guilty, indulgent. Her husband used to say of her that the\nScriptures had never received a more fitting and perfect fulfilment, a\nmore ideal accomplishment of true womanhood, as set forth in the many\nsentences where wise and holy women are depicted, than Elizabeth had\nproved herself to be.\n\nIn household matters she was no less at home than in those graver\nconcerns of the parish and the soul-life of her husband's spiritual\npeople. A good deal of the old earnestness regarding religious truth\nremained in the little favored community of Walcot, and serious,\nintelligent investigation was one of the many sturdy though reverential\nhabits of thought that yet lingered with these world-forgotten\nvillages. To Seymour himself the place was a paradise; the work was\nnot such as to overtax his bodily strength to that degree that leaves\nbut little energy for the intellectual requirements of his calling;\nneither was the stress upon his imagination so unwholesomely great\nas it is with too many of his successors, whose brain, in order to\nfroth up according to their Sunday audience's expectations, must be\nin a moral ferment for the previous six days of the week. His wife,\nno frivolous gossip to whom tea and petty scandal are dear, no mere\ndrudge from whom household cares have worn away the bloom of poetry\nand the freshness of early enthusiasm, was to him a living guide, a\ntrue helpmate, bearing his burdens and sharing his joys, a gospel-law\nwritten in sweetest, most natural human characters, and a most winning,\nwomanly embodiment of the stern and glorious word \"Excelsior.\"\n\nWas it a reward for _her_ many virtues, or a trial for _his_ strong\nand faithful nature, that God should call her hence, and close the\nbook abruptly which had been to her husband a living commentary on the\ndivine law? Yet it happened so, but not at the outset of their purified\nlove-career; for when Elizabeth Seymour came to die, she saw not only\nher husband near her, with faith subduing sorrow in his inspired eyes,\nbut two children, one a girl of fifteen, the other a boy of four\nyears, the only ones she had had, but upon whom she had lavished the\nholy mother-love that would have been intense still for each had her\nchildren numbered as many as the sons of Jacob.\n\nGrace--she had been called so because it was through earnest prayer\nalone that her mother had survived her birth--was holding her father's\nhand, while his other one and her own were clasped in the dying woman's\nwasted fingers; and as the little one at her feet pulled unconsciously\nat her long dress, she felt her heart throb strangely, solemnly, when\nher mother said:\n\n\"Grace, I leave you my place; be a helpmate to your father, be a mother\nto little George. Bring him up a brave, Christian man, like _his_\nfather--like _my_ father, for whom he is named. Never let him do wrong,\nthough the greatest worldly advantages might be the result. Remember\nthat, my child; offer your life to the Lord sooner than see your\nbrother offend him. God bless you, my precious Grace!\"\n\nThe sick woman turned her longing eyes earnestly upon her husband,\nand he, half kneeling, sank on the floor, and supported her head on\nhis shoulder. The burden was featherlight, but the strong man shook\nand swayed as in mortal weakness, and his voice was low and broken.\nGrace took the child's hand, and turned away. Those last moments\nwere too sacred even for a daughter's eye to gaze upon; angels alone\nlistened to the secret heart-speech of those two, whose lives had\nbeen as the two strands of one rope. They had been all in all to each\nother. The husband's love, if the greatest, had not been the less\nfaithful; but the burden was now for him, the reward for her. Strange\ndispensation--and yet one that no lover would alter if he could--that\nthe deepest love should be but an earnest of the deepest suffering;\nthat the higher the heart goes in its sublime learning, the greater\nshould be its privilege of agony. And yet this thorny path is a very\nVia Triumphalis, and those who tread it would not give one drop of the\nroyal purple that dyes their weary feet for all the kingly mantles\nof rare and costly hue that grace the throne of the earthly monarch\nor strew the path of the earthly victor. Edward Seymour had a double\nright to this brotherhood of sublimest sorrow; for in his heart his\nlove had grown so strong that not once, but many times, it had held\nunholy struggles with the higher, wider Love, to whom he had vowed\nhimself from his childhood, and he had had to wrestle mightily with its\nstrength, and had only overcome because, after all, the enemy he fought\nwas human, and the weapons he used were of God's eternal fashioning.\nIn Elizabeth's calmer, more even nature, love had never risen to that\nheight; it had flowed a tranquil stream in the channel of duty, and, if\ndeep, had never been turbulent. The trial had never come to her which\nhad threatened shipwreck to her husband; she had never even known of\nit, for it had been the _one_ secret of his frank and pure life. The\nawful moment came at last; Grace and little George had come nearer\nagain, and all three said afterwards that \"Jesus\" was the last sound\nthat passed the dying woman's lips. For a few minutes a trembling\nstillness reigned; it was as if those left behind were listening\nto the feet of the bearer-angels that had come to carry their mate\naway. Could they but have listened at the same time to the wondrous\nrevelation of lightning-like truth that flashed from those angels'\nsolemn eyes, and transformed the blind belief of the living woman into\nthe exultant faith of the heaven-illumined Catholic! Strange and awful\nthought! that those from whose mortal sight the scales have only just\nbeen taken by death should, on the instant, enter into such communion\nwith the unknown, unsuspected truth, and be borne so far deeper in its\nblessed knowledge than those who spend lives of long and humble search\non earth. Elizabeth Seymour knew now where truth had always been, and\nyet she must look with spirit-eyes on her loved ones bending over her\nbeautiful, senseless body, all unconscious of that truth, all unknowing\nof their dark and dangerous pathway. Would her agonized prayers ever\nbring them to her new resting-place? Would God ever allow them to join\nher in the other world? And meanwhile, the minister, with his dear\nburden still in his clasped arms, lifted his head, and poured forth a\nprayer into which his very life was breathed, ending with a passionate\nflinging of his whole nature into the bosom of the all-knowing,\nall-loving Father--\"Thy will be done, not mine!\"\n\nAs he lifted the inanimate form gently on the pillows, closed the eyes,\nand pressed a kiss of all but despairing grief upon the white, warm\nforehead of the lost one, his daughter, letting the child go, seized\nhis hand, and pressed it to her bosom, kissing it passionately, as\nif, from the very instant of her mother's departure, she was taking\npossession of the precious trust made over to her on the same spot only\na few short moments before.\n\nHe, ever mindful of others before himself, felt his child's signal, and\npressed her hand in return, leading her gently from the room, while the\nold nurse, his wife's attendant from her early childhood by the sunny\nbrooks and fragrant meadows of Gloucestershire, performed the last\nnecessary duties towards the loved remains.\n\nDay after day the dead lay in a darkened room, with flower-wreaths\nframing her simple coffin, a queen in death as she had been in life,\nwith a touching court about her of widows and orphans, of mourners\ncomforted, of children and old men, of strong young laborers whose\nminds she had turned soul-wards, and whose reverence for her had been\nlittle less than that--so misconstrued by those very men--of Catholics\nfor a patron saint. At night, when the stream of villagers would\ncease, the husband and the daughter watched hand-in-hand by the one\nthey could not think of as really gone from them while her sleeping\nform lay so near their own resting-place. Now and then the minister\nwould say a few words, half in soliloquy, half to his companion, and\nshe, with her clear, pitying gray eyes upturned, would look at him in\ndumb sympathy, and a pang would shoot through his heart, as he read the\nmother's expression in the daughter's face. They renewed the flowers\nand rearranged the internal draperies of the coffin; they spoke in\nwhispers, as one does in a sick-room, fearing to wake the happy dreamer\nwhom the first sleep has just come to relieve from a load of burning\npain and constant restlessness; little George was even allowed to bring\nhis quiet toys, and crawl over the floor round the strange bed where\nhe was told his mother was sleeping--at first sight of the coffin,\nhe had asked gravely, Was that a cradle, and had a new baby come to\nplay with him?--and, in a word, the death-veiled chamber seemed more\nlike home than any other part of the cottage. Then came the last day,\nand the lid was to be fastened over the white-robed, white-crowned\nsleeper. Grace brought her father a bunch of heliotrope to lay in her\nmother's hands; it had been her own and her husband's favorite flower\nin life; and just over her heart, together with a heart-shaped paper,\non which the name \"Jesus\" was illuminated in red and gold, was placed\na triple tress of hair, and attached to it a scroll with the names\nof \"Edward--Grace--George.\" Thus something living, something of her\nearthly treasures, went down with her to the tomb; and on the day of\nthe great awakening, who shall say that those tokens will not make the\nwife and mother's heart throb with a deeper joy, as she rouses herself\nto meet those whose last pledge of undying love she will find thus laid\non her breast?\n\nSlowly the procession moved to the meeting-house, and slowly on to\nthe churchyard; a neighboring minister performed the simple service,\nand the three bereaved ones walked immediately behind the coffin.\nThe villagers were more awed by the face of the husband than by the\nblack-palled coffin of the wife; and some one remarked, \"It was\nmore as if the minister had been walking between two angels to the\njudgment-seat of the Almighty than as if, a father and a widower, he\nwas leading his orphan children to a new-made grave.\"\n\nThe silent cottage, buried under its wealth of flowering creepers,\nseemed very cold and desolate when the mourners returned; tea was laid\nin the cosey library, the blinds were drawn up, and the little birds\ntwittered in the veranda; everything was ordinary and as usual again,\nthe same it had been just one week ago, the day before _she_ died; but\nit seemed so different! Mr. Seymour threw himself in an arm-chair by\nthe window, and took up a paper-knife mechanically; little George had\nbeen taken up-stairs, and the third chair at the tea-table was for the\nkind clergyman who had come to help his brother in his affliction.\n\nGrace had taken off her bonnet and shawl, and was making tea in the\ntea-pot that, together with the high, old-fashioned English urn, had\nbeen one of her mother's most cherished wedding-gifts. Tears came\nto her eyes and blinded her, and her hand shook as she touched the\ntea-caddy of old English oak and wrought iron. Still, with all these\nhomely mementos rendering her sad inauguration of new duties sadder\nstill, she bravely thought of her trust, and struggled successfully to\nbe calm, at least in outward seeming. Her father's friend now came in,\nand sat down in silence in a low chair opposite Mr. Seymour. Grace laid\nher hand on her father's arm:\n\n\"Will you have your tea here by the window, on the little, low table?\"\nshe said tremulously.\n\n\"No, my pet,\" he answered, taking her hand, and stroking it gently;\n\"let us sit down together, as usual.\" And he led her to her new place\nat the head, as if he wished her to see that he would not shrink from\nthe everyday details of sorrow that each triviality of life would be\ntoo certain to throw into relief.\n\nThey made no pretence of talking beyond the few necessary questions\nof even the smallest assemblage at tea; but when Mr. Ashmead, their\nguest and the minister of the neighboring parish, said that he thought\nhe must leave on the morrow early, both his host and his young, grave\nhostess begged he would stay for a few more days, till next Sunday\neven, if he could.\n\nAnd so the new life began--the life we meant to start with at\nthe beginning of our story, but which has seemed so to need its\nintroduction, to be so much more interesting through it, that we could\nnot help putting in this long, explanatory prelude.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe long days of winter passed, and a year was gone since the day that\nsaw Elizabeth Seymour's burial. Grace was growing tall and womanly, and\nhad taken her mother's place with as great seriousness as success. She\nit was who taught her little brother all he was capable of learning\nat his age; she who helped the worn-out teacher in the school; she\nwho copied out her father's sermons, and looked out his texts and\nquotations.\n\nThe father and daughter, now knit together by a doubly tender tie,\nand fully realizing all its happy solemnity, turned to the welcome\noccupations of study to fill the many vacant hours their duties allowed\nthem. Mr. Seymour's library was extensive, and every month brought from\nBoston some valuable and interesting additions. Of course, theology\nfigured mainly among the subjects treated of in these old and new\nbooks; but not alone the theology of his own sect, for he had the\nearly fathers' magnificent works, those Thebaids of literature where\nthe vastness of the seemingly endless desert is only a veil for the\ninnumerable caves of deepest science, and hidden recesses filled with\nmost beautiful dogmas. The councils, too, were not unrepresented on\nhis shelves, though the earlier ones were to him the best known and\nthe least obnoxious. Among them was a dusty little book, in ancient\ntype, evidently a very hermit of a book, whose solitude had not been\ndisturbed since, by some accident, it had once made its way there among\nthe miscellaneous collection of a small library purchased nearly twenty\nyears ago. We may have occasion to refer to it again.\n\nMr. Seymour, confident of the truth of his own doctrines, never\nhesitated to simulate doubts and ask questions, or propound religious\nproblems for the further mental training of his daughter's inquiring\ndisposition; but this habit of constant investigation at last produced\nin her a tumult of the brain which she found she no longer had the\npower to quell. Questions forced themselves upon her, doubts wrestled\nfor mastery in her mind, all things began to take strange, hitherto\nundreamt-of shapes, and truths, elusory yet alluring, seemed to\nrise out of axioms which she thought she had long ago laid aside as\nproved and dangerous errors. She strove to hold on to her once blind\nand unreasoning acceptance of her father's teaching. She would have\nwelcomed any superstition, could it only have promised her peace; but\nthe restless spirit, once roused in her, hurried her remorselessly,\ntill at last, in sheer despair, she turned to sweeping and systematic\ndenial of everything she had been taught to look upon as truth.\n\nAt first she did not speak to her father about these strange\nexperiences; she clung to the idea that it was physical excitement, a\nfever of the brain, which would subside and let her see her landmarks\nplainly once more. But the tempest grew wilder and more hopeless;\nquestions rose up, and would not be crushed out of existence--faced her\nand mocked her, and would not be answered by the catechism formulas\nshe strove to oppose to them; her life seemed resolving itself into an\neternal, tormenting, unspoken, but ever suggested \"why?\" that rose and\ntook the shape of a demon she could not lay nor yet would listen to.\nImportunate voices were all around her, chasms opened on every side;\nand while she taught her little brother, and wrote out her father's\nsermons, it seemed as if a stern and pitiless query sounded within her\nvery heart, demanding why she abetted the enslaving of other minds to\ncodes of which she herself felt the utter insufficiency. The keenest\nmisery to her was that this mocking voice, whose every vibration pulled\ndown a stone of her former religious temple, and sent it echoing in\nhollow tones of fiendish triumph down the recesses and depths of her\ntorn heart--this voice never suggested one idea upon which she might\nhave seized and made the corner-stone of a new organization of truth.\nThe strange demon that beset her seemed, to her agonized mind, the\nspirit of heartless destruction only, not even of the most perishable\nand paltry substitution. Hollow, empty, heartless, seemed life to\nher; faith gone, or proved an illusion good only for those whose\nweak brain could not bear the spiritual loneliness of unbelief; the\nworld a charnel-house, in which death-doomed fools quarrelled about\nprecedence in another world, whose very existence was a myth of their\nown miserable creation; life a journey aimless and useless, and the\nfaiths men carried through it only so many wind-threatened torches they\nbore for their own deception--was this all, was this the beginning and\nthe end? Blindly her heart cried out, \"Somewhere there must be a God,\nsomewhere there must be happiness!\" and the fiend within her brain made\nanswer: \"There is no God save the one the coward imagines; there is no\nhappiness save that which the fool finds in ignorance.\"\n\nOne day, after many months of this life-wearing struggle, Grace spoke\nof her state to her father; and strange indeed was the shock to the\nearnest, clear-thinking minister. Grave and tender, he tried to handle\nthe wounded child, but Grace was not to be soothed into faith; it\nwas conviction she required. Firmly yet patiently she heard him, and\nanswered:\n\n\"All that I have said to myself, but it is of no avail.\"\n\nHe tried to speak to her of her mother--of her belief, her unwavering\nhope in God, her sure knowledge of Jesus, her feeling of rock-bound\nsecurity at the moment of her death; but to all this Grace answered: \"I\nknow it all, but I cannot feel it; tell me something else, something\nmore.\"\n\nThen the father, roused out of his half-hopeful state as to her\ndifficulties, and out of his hitherto so sweet reliance upon her\nkindred strength, turned to the dogmatic aspect of his faith, and\nprayed fervently that the Lord would open his child's eyes once more,\nand draw her in out of the cold desert where her soul wandered, a\nshivering stranger. But, alas! those apparently clear-cut arguments,\nthose knife-like dogmas, so trenchant, so uncompromising, those\ntechnicalities of crystallized religion, so satisfying to the old\nexiles and first settlers of New England, fell unheeded on the ear\nof Grace, who, had she believed them, would have been as competent a\nteacher of them as her own father, as far as her thorough knowledge of\ntheir slightest details went. Mr. Seymour was trying to do God's work;\nhe was trying to _create_, to give life to a lifeless organization, to\nput a quivering human soul into a shapely but ice-cold form.\n\nGrace had once said she did not want example nor personal experience,\nbut clear, frigid demonstration. She was right as to the seeming want\nin her soul--the want of absolute, incontrovertible truth; she was\nwrong as to the fire from heaven, which was her real want--the purely\npersonal gift of faith, direct from God, which only can descend and\nstrike the waiting soul as a sacrifice, and enkindle it for ever, no\nmore to be extinguished by error or by doubt.\n\nAnother year passed, and things were unchanged. No, not unchanged, for\nMr. Seymour, in his great anxiety to bring his daughter back to the old\nbelief in which he and his ever-remembered wife had been so carefully\nreared, had explored hitherto sealed books and commentaries in the vain\nhope that, since none of the old arguments touched her, some newly\nsuggested ones might. He did not expect to find anything in these works\nwhich would strike _him_ as either proving or disproving his settled\nbelief; still, he thought chance might throw into his hands some\ndemonstration that would have the desired effect upon Grace. She seemed\nto be inclined to magnify beyond his utmost powers of toleration the\nabsolute independence and free will of man; she proudly took her stand\non human reason, insisting that if there were a creative God, and if it\nwere really he who had given reason to man, it followed that this regal\ngift must be allowed full play in determining the object of faith. His\nCalvinism rebelled and retreated to its old entrenchments, denouncing\nreason as the natural enemy of faith, as an inventive principle ever\nactively evil and godless. But he once read in a work of one of the\n\"great\" reformers these strange and somewhat coarse words:\n\n\"The devil's sole occupation is to get the Romish priests to measure\nGod's will in his works, with reason.\"\n\nHe was staggered. He searched his book-shelves for some work of\nCatholic theology. As he was passing his hand along the volumes, and\nrunning his eye down their titles, the little, dusty book we have\nmentioned fell down. He picked it up, and, looking at it carelessly,\nsaw its name, _Catechism of the Council of Trent_. Curiosity at\nonce made him forget the first motive of his expedition among the\nbooks, and he sat down to examine the newly-found volume. By and by\nhe got interested, and from page to page his eyes ran eagerly, now\nsparkling with defiance, now widening in astonishment, and anon his\nbrow contracting with intense earnestness, as clear dogmas revealed\nthemselves from out the ancient text--dogmas directly opposite to\nhis own, it is true, yet at every moment appealing to rational and\nunbiassed human nature.\n\nHere man was represented as a grand monument of God's glory, a\nbeing worth redemption in the eyes of God, a creature endowed\nwith intellectual gifts to lead him rationally towards faith and\nvirtue, even as he was provided with feet to carry him to the clear\nmountain-spring, and with hands wherewith to till the yielding,\nfruitful soil. Here he beheld a humanity not degraded to brutishness\nby the fall, but redeemable through the very qualities God's grace\nhad yet left to it; here he saw reconciled man's dignity and God's\nmajesty; here, in a word, a religion which, claiming to be divine, was\nconsequently not afraid to acknowledge and to guide the good tendencies\nwhose very humanness put them beyond the pale of competition with\nherself. Mr. Seymour had always been taught to adhere to the Bible\nas the one infallible rock of salvation; he now saw the Bible merged\ninto a system he had once called idolatrous, but could not at present\nstigmatize as such. He determined to read the Bible from the point of\nview of the Council of Trent, for pure intellectual curiosity's sake,\nhe said to himself. Alone and almost hiding from his daughter's still\nhopeless but always eager inquiries, he began this study, with what\nresult would be almost useless to mention. The Council of Trent had\nseemed plausible when studied by itself; but when referred to the book\nhe had always called the rule of faith, this council was irrefutable.\nCould he have been mistaken all his lifetime? could it be that God\nhad purposely left him in ignorance so long? Or was not his belief at\nleast as good as the faith of the Council of Trent? But then came\nhis clear philosophical training to the rescue; for, it said, how can\ncontradictory axioms both be true? Hitherto he had unhesitatingly\nheld the Catholic doctrines to be intrinsically, nay blasphemously\nuntrue, and it followed that his own, their direct contradictories,\nmust be right; but if, upon examination, the reverse was evidently the\ncase, then his former opinions--for doctrines he could no longer call\nthem--must be radically, irredeemably false. One day he spoke to Grace\nabout it, and was surprised at the calm manner in which she received\na communication whose mere rudiments had been such a shock to him. To\nher mind, this curious development of her father's researches was a\nreally interesting study, quite apart from its religious bearing, and\nconsidered principally as a logical _passe-temps_. But to her father it\nwas a heart-stirring reality, which he pursued with all the hitherto\npent-up passion that his cold creed had forced to run in such narrow\nchannels. Once he said to his child:\n\n\"Grace, I used to believe the Bible was the only rule of faith; but\nI never saw that the Bible presupposed a church, a heaven-ordained\nsociety to shelter it from the conflicting explanations and\ninterpolations of men; presupposed, also, a willing obedience on the\npart of the faithful to believe it as it is written, not a desire to\nshrink from its plain teachings and explain away its doctrines. How\ncould we, without a church to interpret it to us, be sure that we were\nnot following some far-fetched human adaptation of its teaching, or\npandering to some cowardly modification of its code of morals? No; the\nBible presupposes the church, and, without it, would be more of a dead\nletter than the Hebrew is a dead language.\"\n\nGrace was silent, and wondered. Her own feelings were as unsettled as\never, but she tried to live less in her own hopeless struggle than in\nthe noble, fruitful, self-forgetting life that was dawning for her\nfather. As his convictions grew deeper and took stronger root, his\nanxiety for his child waxed more and more terrible. Would the grace\nof God that had come to him through the yellow pages of an old book\nnever touch her with its rod of power? Had reason no influence on\nher logical-seeming mind, had sentiment no power on her undoubtedly\nloving heart? She went about her self-imposed duties as usual, bringing\nconsolation wherever she went, cheering others with words that were\npowerless to cheer her own heart, kind and considerate to the poor,\namiable to all. Her father, smitten with dread as to her bodily as\nwell as spiritual welfare, asked himself how he could expose her at\nthis moment to the poverty that must result from the only step he knew\nhe ought to take. To leave Walcot as a convert meant to throw himself\nand his children--Grace especially--into the most absolute penury. He\ncould endure it, George would hardly feel it, but his daughter, brave\nand affectionate as she was, could her shattered heart bear up under\nso unexpected a necessity? So he cheated himself and hesitated yet;\nbut the evil spirit was to be defeated soon. God could not allow his\nreturning son and no longer blinded servant to wander long in human\nweakness outside the holy fold.\n\nGrace was sitting at a reading-desk in her father's library one Sunday\nevening in June, the purple sunset streaming in and giving the lilacs a\ndeeper hue, and the laburnums a more burnished shade, when a young man\nswung open the garden gate, and, with free and unfettered step, almost\nran up to the house-door.\n\nSeeing he was a stranger and a gentleman, Mr. Seymour opened the\nlibrary window, and leaned out, saying in a courteous tone:\n\n\"I am Mr. Seymour, if you are looking for me. I'll let you in directly.\"\n\nThe young man paused with his hand on the door-knocker, and waited till\nhis host came round.\n\n\"You must excuse my abruptness,\" he said pleasantly, as he handed his\ncard to Mr. Seymour. \"I am already presuming on a relationship you may\nchoose to ignore.\"\n\n\"Why ignore it? The nephew of my dear wife is as welcome to my house as\nif he were my own son,\" answered Mr. Seymour, laying the card on the\ntable. \"Come,\" he continued, \"let us be at home at once. I'll introduce\nyou to my daughter, your cousin.\"\n\nThey went into the library together, and the father, turning to Grace,\nsaid:\n\n\"Here is a cousin from over the sea, child--George Charteris.\"\n\nGrace had heard her mother talk of her younger sister's marriage to a\nMr. Charteris years before she herself was married, so the name was\nfamiliar to her.\n\n\"I wish, my boy,\" said the host, \"that God had spared your dear aunt to\nsee you here; but he knows best. And you have come to stay with us a\nlittle before you go home again, I hope? Have you seen anything yet?\"\n\n\"I only landed in Boston yesterday,\" answered the young man, \"and have\nhad hard work to get here so soon. I came on business, to tell the\ntruth.\"\n\n\"Really!\"\n\n\"You see, letters are very uncertain; and I just felt in the humor, so\nI came across myself. I have got important papers for you. My uncle,\nGeorge Howard, died five weeks ago at his place in Gloucestershire,\nand, as he left no children, the estate goes to the next of kin--your\nson, George Seymour.\"\n\nGrace and her father looked at each other in solemn, strange wonderment.\n\n\"My son!\" he said slowly, \"my son!\"\n\n\"Yes, the son of the eldest sister. My mother was the younger sister,\nyou know. And so I came over about it; I am supposed to be a lawyer,\nbut the fact is, business is not overpowering with us young fellows,\nand, as I had enough money to spare, I thought I would sooner go myself\nthan pay a man to make a mess of it. You and my father are appointed\nguardians during the minority of the heir.\"\n\n\"And they will expect him to go and live in England?\" said the father\nthoughtfully.\n\n\"Of course; will there be any difficulty about that?\"\n\nSeymour did not reply; he only glanced at his daughter with an awed\nexpression about his face. She was looking at him intently. Young\nCharteris noticed how ill she seemed.\n\nThe rest of the evening passed very sociably, and, having shown his\nyoung guest his room, Seymour returned in his dressing-gown and\nslippers to the library. Grace stole in softly, still dressed, and\nlooking anxious. She drew a chair beside him, and, taking his hand in\nher own, said solemnly:\n\n\"Dear father, it was ordained we should leave this place.\"\n\n\"Was such _your_ idea also, my child?\" her father asked.\n\n\"Of course; and if I have not spoken of it before, my dear father, it\nwas only because I was waiting for _you_ to mention it first.\"\n\nIt seemed a reproach! Was God using this blind instrument to show him\nmore forcibly where his duty lay?\n\n\"I know, father,\" continued Grace, \"what that means for you in the\ncircumstances you newly stand in. It means that you will not be allowed\nto be guardian to your son, that you will be denied access to him,\nthat he will be brought up a Protestant before your eyes, and that\npractically you will be as homeless as the outcast you would have made\nyourself from this village and this church. But remember, whatever\nhappens, Grace is always with you--will always be, whether she believes\nor not, happy or wretched, poor or rich, until it shall be your own\npleasure to drive her from your side. Although thy God may not be my\nGod, yet thy people shall be my people, and we will stand or fall\ntogether!\"\n\n\"My brave child!\" was all the father could answer through his tears.\n\n\"But, father dearest,\" she resumed in a quick, decided voice, \"if\nGeorge is to be brought up as you wish, the first thing to secure is\nhis being rightly baptized; and you can do that this very next day. I\nshall be allowed to see George, and thus my mother's trust will be in\nmy hands yet.\"\n\n\"O my girl! it is hard, you cannot tell how hard.\"\n\n\"I have lost what you have won, father. Think you the loss of faith a\nlesser evil than the changing of it?\"\n\n\"Poor child! poor child! God grant you may see it one day.\"\n\n\"God grant I may,\" she answered frankly, \"if it be the truth.\"\n\nThey spoke far into the night, and Seymour determined to announce\nfrom the pulpit next Sunday his unshaken conviction of the truth of\nthe Catholic faith, and to take a final leave of his congregation.\nYoung Charteris knew nothing of it. George was baptized the following\nmorning. The week passed by, and the young English cousin was more\nthan ever attracted by the strange, silent, preoccupied manner and\nthe serious, anxious beauty of his girl-companion. A gay young man,\nwith hardly any surface of religion about him, he yet had that deep\nobservative faculty which renders some men's perceptions so acute and\ntrue in the field of religion. Half an unbeliever himself for fashion's\nsake, he was yet quick to detect how really far from unbelief the\nseemingly cold, doubting girl's heart was; and he smiled to himself\nas he shrewdly thought how both Puritanism and this present phase\nof feeling would be rudely shaken when brought face to face with\nthe hot-pressed life of wealthy, bewildering London. But something\nwhispered to him that neither father nor daughter would allow the\nbrilliant world to stand between them and their convictions, whatever\nthose might be. Meanwhile, Charteris romped with little George, who was\nwisely kept in ignorance as to his new honors, and the days sped fast\ntowards the eventful Sunday which was to have so strange and stormy an\nending.\n\nThe Saturday previous, Mr. Seymour sat at the window of his library, in\nhis favorite arm-chair, his daughter leaning her head upon his knee,\nand holding one of his hands clasped to her bosom. For a long time\nthere was a silence; then, like the evening breeze just born among the\ntree-tops, a faint whisper of conversation began to stir the quiet of\nthe darkened room. The sun was gone down, and the crescent moon was\nrising in white mistiness behind the shrubbery.\n\n\"It was just such a night, Grace,\" said the minister, \"that we sat here\nwith Ashmead more than two years ago--the day we began our new life\nwithout your dear mother; and now we have turned another leaf already,\nand are on the threshold of another new life!\"\n\n\"Yes, my own darling,\" said his child; \"but it is not without me that\nyou are going to begin it. In any case, I shall never leave you. And if\nwe are parted from little George, why, what can we do but cling more\nand more to each other?\"\n\n\"Have you thought, Grace, that it may be a life of toil that we are\ngoing to meet?\" asked her father earnestly.\n\n\"Father dearest, would my mother have shrunk from entering it with you?\nAnd do you think _I_ love you less than she did?\"\n\n\"My brave girl!\" he answered, with a soft light coming into his dreamy\neyes. Presently he said: \"But, Grace, you will have little consolation,\nlittle support, for my principles are leading me; but you?\"\n\n\"My love for you is _my_ guide!\" she said fervently.\n\n\"Truly, my child, you are even as Ruth, who clung to Naomi for very\nlove, and thereby reaped the reward of faith. God grant you may be led\nto the same end through my humble instrumentality.\"\n\nThere was a pause. The father, after a few moments' earnest thought,\nspoke again.\n\n\"Grace, darling,\" he said, and she started, as if collecting her\nrunaway thoughts.\n\n\"Yes,\" she answered, with a loving look.\n\n\"Do not blame me for speaking abruptly, Grace,\" her father resumed;\n\"for circumstances are such as allow us little spare time for forms of\nspeech. Has it ever struck you that you will most likely marry? And\nhave you noticed your cousin's manner towards you?\"\n\nAt the first hint of marriage Grace had lifted her great, startled eyes\nto her father's face; then, on the second and more personal question,\nshe looked quickly down, and a burning blush came like sunset hues over\nher usually pale cheeks. But she never hesitated nor wavered in her\nanswer, for the blush was more that of surprise than consciousness.\n\n\"I never thought of my cousin in that way. Did _you_? And I have\nthought vaguely some day I might be a good man's wife--a minister's,\nmost likely; but now these strange doubts have come to me, I could have\nno peace in any new relation in life. In conscience, my father, I could\nenter upon none.\"\n\n\"Well, child, I am glad so far. But if your cousin had many\nopportunities, depend upon it he would love you. I only say this to\ncaution you. You know your own heart; you know I could approve such a\nmarriage under certain circumstances, always provided you do not come\nto the happy truth I have reached. Now, you can act as your conscience\nand your reason impel you; but it is always better, I think, to work in\nthe full daylight.\"\n\n\"I could not marry as I am now. Besides, I could not leave you.\"\n\n\"You might have to leave me.\"\n\n\"Father!\" cried the girl, startled.\n\n\"Never mind,\" he said soothingly, but not offering to explain himself,\nand then went on: \"Supposing a thing to be possible, still, in the case\nthat you remained out of the church, would you let your cousin be your\nhelpmate and your protector?\"\n\n\"If you wish it, I will think of it, and question my own heart,\" said\nGrace; but the words were measured, and the tone was cold. Her father\nfelt it.\n\n\"Grace, I did not wish to hurt you, child. I cannot tell you all I\nmeant, for I hardly discern yet what is God's voice within me, and what\nthe voice of my own earthly enthusiasm, perhaps even ambition. But, my\nown precious daughter, our hearts will always be one; and after God,\nthere is no one on earth more dear to me than you are.\"\n\nGrace laid her head on her father's knee again.\n\n\"So if your cousin Charteris should speak to you on the subject of\nmarriage before your views of religion are changed, you will answer\ndeliberately and calmly, will you not, having searched your innermost\nfeelings well?\" said the father.\n\n\"I will,\" said Grace firmly.\n\nThe next day dawned fair and bright; the very air had a holiday feel\nabout its quiet, fresh-scented crispness; the birds sang softly in\nthe vivid-painted trees, and it seemed as if nature had reserved a\nvery jubilee of delights for the lovely summer afternoon. Crowds came\nsoberly to church, the children glancing longingly at the tempting\nhedges, the young people now and then looking into each other's eyes\nthe things they dared not put in words, and would have spoilt in the\nsaying had they done so; to some, older and more spiritually-minded\npersons, came, on the fragrant breeze, faint suggestions of the\nfabled millennium, in which they believed with the grasping faith of\ndisappointed souls; to all came, on the wings of this Sunday morning,\nimpressions of peace, of happiness; perceptions of a life holier and\nhigher than that of the present; vague stirrings of the soul, as if\nsome mystery, both dread and beautiful, were coming out to meet them\nfrom the unusual radiance of this never-to-be-forgotten day.\n\nVery solemn indeed did the day's brightness seem to the earnest\nminister; a new bridal, far different from the bridal eighteen years\nbefore in the very country for which he was now again bound--a bridal\nof the soul with sorrow and with sacrifice, a taking up of the crown\nof thorns and the cross of dereliction. He would walk into the old\nmeeting-house, a hero among his people; he would leave it, an outcast\nand a leper among his brethren. He would meet his flock a revered\npastor, an acknowledged guide; he would go out of that pulpit, his no\nlonger, an exile, a suspected impostor, an accursed and condemned man.\nAnd not there only was the sting; beyond and far above it was the human\nsense of deep humiliation at having to unsay his teaching, to renounce\nthe doctrines he had taught for twenty years, to warn his people of\nthe very faith he had believed in from his cradle. It is no slight\nthing for a man, learned and looked up to, an eager and practical\ntheologian, to stand before a congregation of intelligent, sharp-witted\nhearers, and say, \"I was mistaken!\" For when you feel that every word\nyou speak is changed, as it falls on their ears, into a barbed weapon\nagainst yourself, and will be handled by remorseless and unsympathizing\nfellow-men until twisted into meanings you never dreamed of and\ndeceptions you would scorn, then it is that the painful, human side\nof the great and heroic sacrifice is revealed, and that our fleshly\nweakness has to turn perforce in helpless and blind reliance upon God.\n\nSolemn also, and far sadder, seemed the glorious beauty of that Sunday\nmorning to Grace Seymour by her open window, through which came the\nscent of lilacs and blossoming horse-chestnuts; her books ranged in\nmelancholy silence on the shelf above the mantel, the old family Bible\nlying solitary and unopened on a little table by itself, an air of\ndesolateness hanging over the simple, innocent-looking room, with its\nchintz hangings and two or three old prints and faded pictures. Some\nwere of sacred subjects, and these, unless this were the spectator's\nfancy, seemed more forlorn than any others; Grace herself thought\nso sometimes, as she would give a pathetic survey to the room that\nhad known no change since her childhood, save when the great change\nof death had wafted into it some of the old mementos of her English\nmother's youth.\n\nOn the eve of this last change, that was almost another death, the\nyoung girl sat with clasped hands on the wide window-sill, and gazed\nwith sad yet steadfast eyes on the beauty of the breaking day. To her\nit was indeed a setting forth on a journey without scrip or staff,\nwithout guide or compass. In her love for her father, she gloried in\nhis grand, manly act, though it drove her forth into the desert world;\nbut though she rejoiced at his stern following of principle, as at a\ndeed of heroism in itself, yet what comfort was there for her in the\ndreary waste of an untried world? To set out on the road to heaven,\nleaving the paths of men, was one thing; but to leave the known for the\nunknown, the real life of human sympathy for a dark, companionless one\namong things that were only shadows and mocking figures of mist--what\nwas that? And would human love carry her through? Could she follow, by\nthe glow-worm light of an earthly though hallowed feeling, the same\npath in which a fiery pillar preceded her father's soul, and angels\nguided his footsteps? But come what might, she would try; so she had\nresolved from the beginning. Besides, was it not she who had, according\nto the instinct of her true nature, decided for her father the step\nhis own conscience had counselled, but from which his human love\nstill weakly recoiled? And, therefore, was she not bound to share his\nfortunes, even though love had not impelled her to do so? She could not\npray that this day's work might end in good, she could not pray for\nstrength or guidance; she could only helplessly gaze upon the familiar\nhome-scene she had watched so often from that window--the spread of\norchard and garden and meadow-land beyond, the golden lights flickering\namong the shrubs, and playing with the soft, changing shadows--all the\nbeauty that had been her soul's book for years, and was now the only\nbook she could still read and love as of old. A sort of dumb prayer was\nthat wistful gaze, the hopeless, half-conscious murmur of paralyzed\nlips striving to form once more sounds that long ago, they remember,\nused to mean _something_ to the understanding. Little George at this\nmoment ran across the lawn after a yellow butterfly, and looked up\nfearfully at the library-window, as if expecting to be reproved for\nsuch unwonted exercise on the sacred day.\n\nGrace started and looked at her watch. It was time; the bells had been\nringing some minutes, and the hour was drawing nigh. She stole down to\nher father's side, very solemn and quiet, and took his hand. He turned\nand clasped her in his arms.\n\n\"God will bless you yet, my little one,\" he said, with an earnest look\ninto her brave eyes, \"for all you are to me.\"\n\nHand-in-hand they walked the short distance between their cottage\nand the meeting-house. The great trees stood protectingly round the\nlittle church, shading it like a temple, with broad shadows flung like\ncurtains before its doors, as if to supplement the bareness in which\nhuman hands had left it. The people were crowding in; some stepped\naside as the minister passed, making room for him; others nodded to\nhim, and were startled at the unwonted look in his far-searching eyes.\nGrace, on the contrary, seemed almost defiant, as if she thought of\nnothing save the storm which one short hour would bring about her\ndarling's head. The congregation seated themselves with that undertone\nof quiet rustling peculiar to country audiences. Grace sat directly\nfacing her father; but she had turned herself so that her features were\nvisible to those who sat in the nearest pews behind. Edward Seymour\nslowly came up the pulpit stairs, and stood before his people. One\nlong, sweeping glance he gave them, then his eyes went upward, and a\nlight came into them, as of something more than human.\n\nThe crowd was thrilled, and men and women gazed at each other\ninquiringly.\n\nThen he began: \"My friends, I have come to say farewell to you. This is\nno sermon, but an explanation which is due to you. I am not going to\nleave you for the city, nor for another flock, nor for the retirement\nof a college-life. It is not a man who has called me, it is not the\nworld or my own interests that have bidden me leave you; it is God.\n\n\"Truly, 'God's ways are not our ways, nor his thoughts our thoughts.'\nIf you will bear with me, I will show you how this has been borne in\nupon me, and will give you, what you have a right to hear, the brief\nhistory of the change which is calling me away from you.\"\n\nThe interest of his hearers was acutely, if not painfully, awakened;\nevery one waited breathlessly for the novel experiences of one who had\nalways seemed so strong in the belief he taught. Some thought he had\nturned to the Methodist views, some suspected him of Episcopalian\nleanings; of the truth, not one had the slightest inkling, for, to\ntheir minds, such a change was more irrational than suicide, and more\nawful a judgment than insanity.\n\nStep by step, with clear, sharp-cutting words, he developed the doubts\nand fears of his soul; he dissected his life for the last year, and\nshowered Bible texts upon his hearers in his rapid way that would have\nbeen impassioned had he let it be; and when, one after the other, he\nhad sapped all the axioms his former teaching had rested on, and had\ncarried the mind of his audience, against its will, out of the sphere\nof certainty, he then paused a moment, and said in a more gentle voice\nthan he had used in his dogmatic course:\n\n\"And now, my friends, what remains to be said? This: to confess my\nmistake before you all, to humble myself at the feet of God, whom I\nhave so long misunderstood and mistaught, and to ask your forgiveness\nfor having given you, in my ignorance, stones when you asked for bread,\nserpents when you cried for food. You know the church which alone\nteaches all that God has now shown me to be true; you know that it is a\nchurch flouted and condemned, persecuted and poor--none other than the\nHoly Roman Catholic Church (here the stir was like an electric shock\namong the rapt audience, and Grace half rose up in her seat, and looked\ndefiance from her flashing eyes upon her nearest neighbors), none other\nthan was founded in the poverty of Bethlehem, the ignominy of Calvary,\nthe secrecy of the catacombs.\n\n\"I have but few words left to say to you, my friends. We have walked\ntogether for many years, seeking God. I knew not that I had not found\nhim; _now_ I know that I walked in darkness and in the shadow of\ndeath. I pray that each of you, in God's appointed time, may be led,\nlike me, to find him. I thank him that this grace should come with\nsorrow, exile, and poverty in its train. I take up the cross willingly,\nand leave home and country, and a beloved grave, and a people to whom\nmy soul was knit, to follow humbly where God shall lead me. And now,\nonce again farewell, and may God bless you, every one, and reward you\nfor all that your friendship and your fidelity have ever done for him\nwho was once your pastor.\"\n\nWith a grave and simple salutation, he went down the pulpit stairs,\npassed out of the church, his daughter eagerly joining him and linking\nher arm in his. Her English cousin, who had come in late to the\nservice, hastened after them, and frankly expressed his astonishment\nat the sudden turn of affairs. The people, who streamed out after them\nin hurried groups, as if anxious to get into the air, that they might\ntalk over this extraordinary event, eyed them askance as they walked\nhome; the deacons spoke together in shocked whispers, and the older\nmen and women quoted texts about wolves in sheeps' clothing. Some\nof the younger church members were scared and disturbed more by the\nuncompromising arguments than by the tangible result; while others,\nthe reckless and the more \"unregenerate,\" boldly said they admired the\nminister's \"pluck.\"\n\nGeorge Charteris dwelt very seriously on the exclusion from the\nguardianship of his son which this course of Mr. Seymour's would\ninevitably entail; but the father only answered sadly: \"The Lord did\nnot speak to me of such things; those affairs are in his hands, and his\nsecrets are not for us to inquire into. So far as I saw my way clear,\nI have answered the call of God.\"\n\nSeveral friends called in the evening to speak to the minister about\nthe incredible announcement he had made that morning; they found him\nthe same as ever, patient, kind, and courteous, and his young daughter\nmore beautiful and more attractive than before; for the determined way\nin which she supported her father's conduct gave her a touch of the\nheroine.\n\nLate that night the two visited the moonlit grave near the little\nchurch. Great elm-shadows veiled it, and the night-wind rustled the\nviolet and primrose leaves that bordered it all round. In the summer\na cross of heliotrope grew at its head, but as yet it had been too\ncold to put the plants out. In his new-found faith, the husband could\nnow kneel and pray, and speak to the angel guardian of his lost wife,\nand send messages to the soul that knew all he had so lately learnt,\nand knew it so much better than he. But the great thing of which he\nspoke was the future of his children and hers, praying that they too,\nespecially Grace, should be brought to the same knowledge and saved\nthrough the same faith. Grace stood like a statue, her hands clasped\nand resting on her father's shoulder, her slight form bending forward\nas he knelt. When he rose, she pressed his arm and drew him towards\nher, looking up into his tear-veiled eyes with looks of hungry love. It\nwas a rare and a piteous sight to see the strong man weep, to see the\nwave-like emotion of this solemn hour bow the head of the deep thinker,\nthe calm and kingly scholar. It made him more sacred in her sight, and\nkindled her rapturous feelings to that degree that she could gladly\nhave died, that he might be spared one pang more in his future path of\nthorns.\n\nHe hardly suspected _all_ that he was to his child; for great\nthough his love was, broad, and deep, and still, it was silent as\nthe great ocean that sleeps round the islands of coral, beneath the\nchangeless radiance of southern constellations. But few outward signs\npassed between father and daughter, for his grand, noble nature was\nself-contained and grave; and for that very reason Grace honored him\nin her heart, calling him to herself a hero among men. Was it strange\nthat, by his side, other men seemed dwarfed, that their virtues seemed\nshallow, and their very vices more contemptible than horrible? Was\nit strange that his intellect, so far-reaching, and his practical\nbusiness abilities, so clear and straight-forward, should make other\nmen seem only half men, with one side of their nature alone monstrously\ndeveloped, till it grew to overbalance the other, and make the whole\ninto a grotesque travesty of humanity, a moral satyr, more beast than\nman, and more fool than either?\n\nI do not say that such ungracious thoughts came to her when she noticed\nher cousin, George Charteris; but something hollow and unreal suggested\nitself to her, as she listened to his brilliant, frivolous talk or\nhis cynical, off-hand observations. She thought, if that is what\nmodern fashion breeds in men, the world of to-day is no better than a\nsmelting-furnace, obliterating all but the changing current of mingled\nore and dross constantly running with aimless speed through its many\nchannels. She looked forward to any contact with it as a trial, and\nonly stayed herself with the idea that everything noble and pure and\ndignified was embodied in her father's life, in which she would always\nbe wrapped up. Yet she had promised to think of marriage!\n\nThe day following this eventful Sunday the Seymour family left Walcot.\nTheir cottage, which was their own property, was to be let for a year,\nas their affairs were still unsettled and their plans quite undecided.\nFrom that day Edward Seymour again felt that a new journey had begun\nfor him; and where his soul would be landed he knew not, nor cared to\nknow, so God was before him and his daughter at his side.\n\n                      TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH.\n\n\n\n\nCUI BONO?\n\n\n    Pale star, if star thou be, that art\n    So fain to shine, though far apart\n        From all thy stately peers;\n    Thou whom the eye can scarce discern--\n    Oh! who hath set thee there to burn\n        Among the spheres?\n\n    Thou com'st too late: the firmament\n    Is full, and thou wast never meant\n        For yonder gorgeous steep;\n    The night hath counted all her pearls,\n    And, pillow'd on her casket, furls\n        Her wings in sleep.\n\n    The night needs not thy tardy ray;\n    Thou canst not usher in the day,\n        Nor make the twilight fair;\n    What sailor turns to thee at sea?\n    What mourner doth look up to thee\n        In his despair?\n\n    Mournful or glad, no eye shall chance\n    To light on thee; no curious glance\n        Thy motions shall discern;\n    No lonely pilgrim pause to catch\n    Thy parting ray, nor lover watch\n        For thy return.\n\n    Oh! leave the world that loves thee not--\n    For who shall mark the vacant spot?\n        Oh! drop into the cloud\n    That waits to take thee out of sight,\n    Beyond the glare of yonder bright\n        And chilly crowd!\n\n    \"I may not, if I would, return\n    Into the dark, or cease to burn\n        My spark of light divine:\n    For he that in my lamp distils\n    The sacred oil, he surely wills\n        That I should shine.\n\n    \"I fret not at the blaze of spheres,\n    The distant splendor that endears\n        The night to men; but strive--\n    Finding strange bliss in perfect calm--\n    To keep with these few drops of balm\n        My flame alive.\n\n    \"It may be that some vagrant world,\n    Or aimless atom, toss'd and whirl'd\n        Through windy tracts of space,\n    Perceives by me the Hand that tends\n    It ever, and the goal that ends\n        Its tedious race.\n\n    \"I know not: me this only care\n    Concerns, that I for ever bear\n        My silver lamp on high,\n    Nor lift to God a laggard flame,\n    Because on earth I cannot claim\n        A partial eye.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE JANSENIST SCHISM IN HOLLAND.\n\nJANSENISM IN THE CHURCH OF UTRECHT.\n\n\n             FROM LES ETUDES RELIGIEUSES. BY C. VAN AKEN.\n\n\nI.\n\nI shall not undertake to write the history of Netherland Jansenism. I\nhave a more special purpose in view; it is to demonstrate the actual\nexistence of that heresy in the so-called Church of Utrecht. To this\nend, I shall, after showing what the principles of Jansenism are,\nmake it clear that the errors of Baius, as developed, or, so to say,\namended, by Jansenius, are reproduced by Quesnel, and are to be found\nin the false Synod of Pistoia. This assembly, held in 1786, under the\nauthority of Leopold II., Grand Duke of Tuscany, and presided over\nby Scipio Ricci, Bishop of Pistoia and Prato, merits our attention;\nfor the principal documents I shall make use of in this paper concern\nthe official adhesion given by the schismatical clergy of Holland\nto the synod.[203] As to the events which are related and admitted\nby all historians, I shall only refer to them in order to point out\ntheir significance, or to dissipate the obscurity in which the recent\npromoters of the schism have sought to envelope facts.\n\n\"Jansenius had been a great reader of S. Augustine; but he brought to\nthe study of this author far more of zeal than of prudence or real\nknowledge. In some passages he renders the thoughts of the Doctor\nof Grace well enough; almost everywhere else, and even in the most\nimportant points, he is grossly in error. An extensive reader he was\nnot; one author alone absorbed his whole life, and the more he dwelt\nupon his author, the less he understood him. His posthumous work is\nbad, impious, and truly heretical. Calvin, as Jansenius presents him,\nis no longer Calvin.\"\n\nThus writes F. Denis Petau (author of _Dogmes Th\u00e9ologiques_ and\n_Doctrine des Temps_) to F. Bollandus, August 9, 1641, shortly after\nthe publication of the celebrated _Augustinus_. The Calvinists of\nHolland have taken the same view as F. Petau; for them Jansenius is an\nally, a friend, whose opinions are less opposed to theirs in substance\nthan in form. Did not the Bishop of Ypres candidly acknowledge that\nhe \"almost entirely\" approved the Calvinist Synod of Dordrecht?\nThe Abb\u00e9 of Saint-Cyran, another patriarch of Jansenism, remarked:\n\"Calvin thought justly, but expressed himself ill--_bene sensit,\nmale locutus est_.\" However, there are important differences between\nthe two heresies; but it would take us too much out of our way to\nindicate them in detail. These words of the false Synod of Pistoia\nperfectly express the germinal idea of Jansenism: \"In these latter\ndays a general obscurity prevails in regard to the most important\ntruths of religion.... It is necessary, therefore, to remount to the\npure source of the principles which have been obscured by novelties,\nin order to establish a uniformity of doctrine which shall be a\nsubject of edification for the faithful, and gratify the wishes of\nour most religious prince.... To establish this unity of principles,\nthe enlightened sovereign suggests to the bishops to take for their\nrule the doctrine of S. Augustine against the Pelagians and the\nsemi-Pelagians, who, through their system, have destroyed the spirit of\nthe Christian religion, and preached a new gospel.\"[204] It must needs\nfollow from this that the authority of the church is not an efficacious\nremedy against error, since it was possible for the general belief\nof the faithful to be obscured for centuries in regard to the most\nimportant truths.\n\nIs this in any wise different from what the reformers of the XVIth\ncentury pretended? Did not Calvin, especially, have always in his mouth\nthe name of the great Bishop of Hippo? Jansenius develops the same\nthought in his preliminary work, _De Ratione et Auctoritate_.[205]\nBaius had prepared the way for him.[206] For the authority of the\nteaching church, always youthful and full of life, as S. Iren\u00e6us says,\nthe Jansenists substituted S. Augustine, who was no longer at hand to\nprotest against the abuse that had been made of his words--words often\nrugged and obscure. So much for the general ground; let us now enter\ninto detail.\n\nFollowing Baius, Jansenius sets out with this fundamental axiom, which\nis, as it were, the culminating point whence one takes in his whole\nsystem: The complete man is not a compound of body and soul only (as\nthe Catholic doctrine declares, in consonance with sound philosophy);\nbut a third principle, the Holy Ghost, the sole source of all wisdom,\nof all charity, is necessary, in order to complete the rational\nbeing, and to render him worthy of his Creator and of his natural\ndestiny.[207] Without this grace--for so Jansenius considered it--body\nand soul constitute only a sensual and animal being, defenceless\nagainst all evil desires, and incapable of rising to the knowledge and\nlove of good. The immediate consequence of these principles is that God\ncould not create man without bestowing upon him the Holy Ghost and all\nthe other gifts which faith manifests to us in our first parents.[208]\n\nThese were, no doubt, so many graces, says Jansenius; but these graces\nwere none the less due to human nature, which without them would have\nbeen incomplete.[209]\n\n\"The first man was created in a state of _perfect_ innocence, and\ncould not come forth otherwise from the hand of God. The idea of\nany other state whatever is a chimera which would degrade humanity\nand openly conflict with the perfections of a sovereign Providence.\nFaith teaches us that Adam was established in justice and charity.\nHe therefore loved his Creator, and had within himself no perverse\ninclination.\"[210] Thus speak the sectaries of Pistoia, faithful\ninterpreters of Jansenist thought. The church has condemned this\nconclusion; she teaches us that God could have created man as he is\nborn at present, without sin, to be sure, but still without that\n_perfect_ innocence which consists in the supernatural and purely\ngratuitous gifts of charity and integrity.[211]\n\nHowever, sin entered into the world, and at one blow man lost all\nthe gifts of the Holy Ghost: he had fallen into that abnormal state\nof incompleteness in which God could not have established him in the\nbeginning. \"He hastened from darkness to darkness, from error to error,\nfrom sin to sin: powerless to deliver himself from that love which\nheld him attached to himself.\"[212] But \"the infected root must (by\na physical necessity, as Jansenius says)[213] produce defective and\ncorrupt fruit. He transmits to his children, therefore, in the order of\ngeneration, ignorance of good and a vicious inclination to evil.\"[214]\nThis is original sin, according to the Jansenists.\n\nThe Catholic Church, in whose eyes sin is above all a moral disorder,\nteaches that ignorance and concupiscence are not sins, but the\nconsequence of the first transgression, and the occasion to man in his\nfallen state of voluntarily committing new sins.\n\nJansenius exaggerates from the first the extent of the wound which\nignorance caused in us. The fallen man, according to him, is no longer\npossessed of organs for perceiving the truths which concern the higher\ninterests of the soul; God, the future life, natural right, are so\nmany closed books, which revelation alone can open for us.[215] This\nis a sort of religious scepticism, often revived since, and always\nrejected by sound theology. It is the real source also, we may be sure,\nof the peculiar mysticism which has flourished among the Jansenists\nfrom the beginning. By a natural consequence, Jansenius treats reason\nand science as enemies of faith; he would have them banished afar from\ntheology. It is not intelligence, says he, but memory, and, above all,\nthe heart, which penetrates revelation.[216] Is this the same as to say\nthat the adversaries of the _Augustinus_ have opened the door to modern\nrationalism, as Sainte-Beuve insinuates? By no means. Between the two\nerrors lies the truth as proclaimed by the Scriptures and the fathers,\nmaintained by the sovereign pontiffs, and definitely decided in the\nHoly Council of the Vatican.[217]\n\nIgnorance, the fruit of sin, is itself imputed as sin, say the\nJansenists; in other words, we are guilty before God of the faults\ninto which ignorance causes us to fall unwittingly and in spite of\nourselves.[218] This is also the teaching of Scipio Ricci's false\nsynod. Pelagius, we are told by it, \"could not understand why the\nignorance of good which is born with us, which is _necessarily_\ntransmitted to us in the order of generation, and by which man falls\ninto error without wishing to, and in spite of himself--_invitus ac\nnolens_--ought not to excuse sin.\"[219]\n\nPelagius, who denied the fact of the original fall, would not admit\nthat ignorance, the consequence of the fall, was an evil or a weakness,\nespecially in view of man's supernatural end; but faith, equally with\ngood sense, forbids our maintaining that one can be guilty without\nwilling to be so--_invitus ac nolens_.\n\nThe second wound of man in his fallen state is denominated\nconcupiscence. In the system of Jansenius \"it is a movement of the soul\nwhich leads to the enjoyment of self and of other creatures for some\nother end than God. It is, therefore, an affection of the soul contrary\nto order, and _bad in itself_. Hence it is that man without grace (that\nis, deprived of grace), and under the slavery of sin, since cupidity\nreigns in his heart, whatever effort he may make to withdraw himself\nfrom its influence, refers everything to himself, and by the general\ninfluence of the love which dominates him, _spoils and corrupts all\nhis actions_.\"[220] This error of Jansenius has been stigmatized as it\ndeserves in the bulls directed against Baius and Quesnel.[221] These\nwriters present the error under forms the most various; for example,\n\"All that man does without grace is sin. All the works of infidels are\nsins. The sinner, without grace, is free only for evil.\"\n\nAccording to Catholic doctrine, man by his fall has become the slave of\nsin, and has from himself only sin and falsehood, in the sense that of\nhimself he is for ever incapable of justifying himself from the stain\nof original sin and from the sins he has voluntarily committed; he\ncan do nothing, absolutely nothing, towards his supernatural destiny;\nhis weakness is so great that, without assistance from on high, he\ncannot but fall frequently and grievously, especially when assailed\nby powerful temptations. In these truths there are motives enough for\nhumbling our pride, without needing to go so far as the Jansenists,\nand say that the necessity of our sinning is an absolute and continual\nnecessity. This theory would be less repulsive if, with the fathers,\nthe abundance of grace were also proclaimed. Christ's redemption, the\nlatter tell us, embraces all time; but his grace is more palpable to us\nin these days, and more generally diffused. Divine assistance is always\nat hand, say they unanimously, at the moment it is wanted; so that\nman can at least call upon God for help, and thus obtain the strength\nof which he stands in need. Jansenius, on the contrary, pitilessly\nrestrains the measure of liberating grace. Let us hear what the Synod\nof Pistoia has to say on this subject:\n\n\"The Lord willed that, before this plenitude of time [the time of our\nSaviour's appearance upon earth], mankind should pass through different\nstates. It was his will that man, _abandoned to his own lights_,\nshould learn to distrust his _blind reason_, and that his wanderings\nshould thus lead him to desire the assistance of a superior light.\nThis was the _state of nature_ in which man knew not sin, and suffered\nhimself to be drawn by concupiscence without being aware of it.\"[222]\nThus, then, there was a long series of centuries in which mankind in\ngeneral were abandoned to ignorance and cupidity, and when, without\nknowing it, without wishing it, they fell from sin to sin. Is this not\nfrightful? But what follows is still more cruel: \"God then gave him a\nlaw which brought him to a knowledge of sin. But man, being POWERLESS\nto observe it, became a prevaricator under the law. Sin became even\nmore widespread, either because the law forbidding it heightened the\ndesire for it, or because prevarication--that is, contempt of the\nlaw--was added to its violation.... The law, therefore, was given by\nGod, ... not to heal the wounds of mankind, but to acquaint him with\nthe malady and with the necessity of a remedy.\"[223] Thus viewed, the\nlaw of Sinai is an injustice and a subject of derision.\n\nFinally, \"The Son of God descended from the bosom of his Father and\nbrought salvation.\"[224] Now, at least, grace, like a current of life,\nwill pass into the veins of languishing humanity! Alas! no; the further\nwe advance the more disheartening becomes the doctrine of Jansenius.\nHe acknowledges at the outset that progress in the individual follows\nthe same course as in the species. I will explain his thought: many\nmen, even under the Christian law, have not the gift of faith--they\nare in the _state of nature_; others are enlightened by the rays of\ndivine revelation or by the interior light of grace--they are in a\nstate analogous to that of men under the law. \"While earthly love\nreigns in the heart, the light of grace, if it be alone, produces the\nsame effect as the law.... It is necessary, therefore, that the Lord\nshould create in the heart a holy love, that he should inspire it with\na holy delectation, contrary to the love which reigns there. _This\nholy love, this holy delectation, is, properly speaking, the grace\nof Jesus Christ_; it is the grace of the New Testament.... Dominant\nlove is a holy passion which operates in man, in regard to God, the\nsame effects which dominant cupidity operates therein in regard to\nthe things of earth.\"[225] Millions of men are thus excluded from all\nparticipation in redeeming grace. Jansenius says distinctly that the\ngraces indispensable to salvation are not accorded at all times except\nto the small number of the elect; all others receive nothing, or only\ntemporary and insufficient helps, which serve but to render them more\nguilty. In this sense, the Jansenists refuse to admit that Christ\ndied for the eternal salvation of all men; the predestined alone were\ncomprehended in the great contract by which Jesus, in dying, offered\nhis life, and the Eternal Father accepted his stainless oblation as the\nprice of justifying grace. It is in this sense, also, that the fifth\nproposition of Jansenius has been condemned as heretical: \"It is a\nsemi-Pelagian error to say that Christ died or shed his blood for all\nmen in general.\"[226]\n\nHence arose that horrible Jansenist doctrine of predestination,\nborrowed from Calvin, in which God is made to appear pitiless even in\nhis mercies, the reprobate as a victim less guilty than unfortunate,\nand the elect one as a spoiled child who ought to blush at his immortal\ncrown.[227]\n\nI shall return to this latter point hereafter. Meanwhile, let us point\nout another consequence of the doctrine here laid down. If it be true\nthat man is often abandoned by grace, and if, in consequence of his\nimpotence, he necessarily violates the divine commands, must we, then,\nbelieve that God orders what is impossible? No doubt of it, reply the\nJansenists; Pelagius first dared to deny this consequence--that the\njust themselves do often lack necessary grace.[228] This monstrous\nerror is expressed in the first proposition of Jansenius, as follows:\n\"Some of God's commandments are impossible to the just in the state\nof their present strength, whatever will they may have, and whatever\nefforts they may make; and the grace through which these commandments\nwould become possible to them is wanting.\"[229] Catholics, with the\nCouncil of Trent (session vi. chap. xi.), say quite the contrary.\nIt is a doctrine universally held in the church, and borne out by\nthe unanimous consent of the fathers, that no one is deprived of the\ngraces indispensable to salvation, except through his personal fault.\nTheologians also, for the most part, teach, with reason, that God\nconfers the grace of conversion on sinners the most obstinate and\nhardened.\n\nHow is it that Jansenius was unable to perceive one of the clearest\npoints of Christian revelation--the infinite mercy of God towards the\nsinner? It was the inevitable consequence of his doctrine concerning\nliberty.[230] In his eyes, the equilibrium of the human will has been\nirreparably lost; man naturally follows the attraction which dominates\nhim.\n\nWithout grace, our poor will tends irresistibly to the depths of\nsin; an evil cupidity dominates it. But let the delectation of divine\nlove take possession of this entirely passive and powerless heart,\nand it will be drawn to good by an equal necessity. Now, we see but\ntoo well that this holy passion which operates in man, in regard to\nGod, the same effects which the dominant cupidity operates in regard\nto the things of earth, is the privilege of but a small number. One\nonly explanation is possible--all the rest are without grace. Be it\nobserved that, according to the Jansenists, every grace is charity,\nirresistible, victorious delectation. The _Augustinus_, it is true,\nspeaks of certain _little_ graces which do not at once carry the soul\nto the heights of perfection. Such as they are, they are none the\nless efficacious; if their power is not greater, it is because God\nhas not given them more force than they in effect possess. The grace\ncalled by the theologians _sufficient_ is held in aversion by the\nJansenists; it is a grace which has for them the demerit of not being\nefficacious.[231] The three following propositions from Jansenius on\nliberty and grace have been pronounced heretical:\n\n\"In order to merit or demerit in the state of fallen nature, it is\nnot necessary that man should have a liberty opposed to necessity\n(as to willing); it suffices that he should have a liberty opposed\nto constraint.\"[232] \"In the state of fallen nature, we never resist\ninterior grace.\"[233] \"The semi-Pelagians admitted the necessity of an\ninterior and preventing grace for all actions, even for the beginning\nof faith; they were heretics in so far as they assumed that grace to be\nsuch that the human will could resist it or obey it.\"[234]\n\nQuesnel renewed every one of these errors,[235] and the Synod of\nPistoia gives Quesnel's book an unreserved approbation.[236] Ricci\nand his adherents tell us, with Jansenius, that the equilibrium of\nthe human will is lost, and that \"this idea of equilibrium is a rock\nagainst which the enemies of grace\" (that is, Catholic theologians)\n\"have dashed themselves.\" They themselves ignore every grace from\nJesus Christ, except that which _creates_ in us a holy love, a holy\ndelectation.[237]\n\nThe efficacy of grace, say they, \"does not depend on our will, but\nproduces it by changing us from not willing to willing, _through its\nall-powerful force_.... Far from waiting our consent, grace creates\nit in us.\"[238] In the synod's whole body of doctrine, by means of\nwhich it aims to bring back the faith to its primitive purity, we find\nnot a word in contradiction of the heretical system of Jansenius; it\neverywhere follows, on the contrary, the spirit of that system, but\ncarefully avoids reproducing literally any one of the famous five\npropositions. But we do find in the acts of the synod that celebrated\nconclusion which concentrates in itself the poison of the Jansenist\nheresy in its full force: \"There are in man two loves, which are, as\nit were, the two roots of _all_ our actions--cupidity and charity;\nthe first is the bad tree, which can produce only bad fruit, and the\nsecond the good tree, which alone produces good works. Where cupidity\ndominates, charity reigns not; and where charity dominates, cupidity\nreigns not.\"[239] As if there were not, remarks Pius VI., lying between\nculpable love and divine charity, which conducts us to the kingdom of\nheaven, a legitimate human love![240]\n\nWhen our common humanity is thus debased and disparaged, a distance\nis necessarily placed between it and its sole mediator, Jesus Christ,\nhimself man also, but evidently incapable of taking upon himself a\nnature as incomplete as ours. Hence, the disciples of Jansenius have\ngenerally manifested an antipathy to devotions which bring us into\nintimate relations with the sacred humanity of our Saviour. The tender\nand Christian devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus is especially\nintolerable to them.[241] As to the Blessed Virgin Mary, her title of\nMother of God, so solemnly defined in the Council of Ephesus against\nNestorius, hardly finds favor among them. To the Jansenists, Mary is\ncertainly not the Immaculate One who crushes the head of the infernal\nserpent. They represent her the most frequently as the Virgin depicted\nby Michael Angelo, trembling and almost hiding before the glance of\nChrist the judge, on the last day.[242] _Her greatness is terrible_,\nsaid the Abb\u00e9 de Saint-Cyran to M\u00e8re Ang\u00e9lique. Could it be otherwise?\nCould Jansenist fatalism give more room for confidence than for\nintercession?\n\nMay I be permitted to add a last word to this already long analysis?\nIt is said that Jansenism has had the merit of recalling Catholics\nto a respect for the sacraments.[243] Is this said seriously? Luther\nhad made all spiritual life centre in faith; the sacraments were thus\nnothing but ceremonies proper to excite this principal sentiment. In\nplace of faith, Baius and Jansenius have substituted charity. Redeeming\ngrace, the divine adoption, justice, holiness, all these they identify\nwith love, as Luther identified them with faith. Now, I ask, what is\nit that renders the sacraments so worthy of veneration? Christian\ntradition replies with one accord: it is their efficacy; the sacraments\nare truly the causes and the instruments of grace and charity; they\nare, as it were, vases filled with redeeming blood. But the Jansenists\ndo not so regard them. According to them, the sacraments do not confer\nsanctity; they suppose it.[244] Before baptism, and before penance,\nthe adult must have _dominant_ charity in his heart; without this,\nhis repentance, and even his prayers, would be but movements of the\ndominant cupidity, and, consequently, new sins. It may be thought\nthat I exaggerate; I subjoin, therefore, passages from the Synod of\nPistoia, in which Quesnel and Jansenius speak again: \"When we have\nunequivocal signs that the love of God reigns in a man's heart, we\nmay with reason judge him worthy of participation with Jesus Christ\nin the reception of the sacraments. This is the rule which should\nbe observed in the tribunal of penance (in the question of granting\nabsolution). Works alone afford a morally certain proof of conversion.\nWhen the love of God takes possession of the soul, it becomes active\nand efficacious.\"[245] Again: \"The first disposition for praying as\nwe ought is a perfect detachment from all created things and a kind\nof disgust for all earthly consolations.\"[246] Until the sinner has\nreceived this grace of the Holy Ghost, he is unworthy of absolution\nquite as much as of communion. The words of Saint-Cyran to poor Sister\nMary Clare are well known: \"It is necessary to come, living, to\npenance. This is why I have kept you waiting so long. I have left you\nto live; for five months you have been living a spiritual life.\" So far\nno sacraments. The practice was still worse than the theory, as we well\nknow. And this is the way in which Jansenism would recall Catholics to\na respect for the sacraments! It has, at one blow, narrowed Christ's\nfunctions and those of the church.[247]\n\n                      TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[203] De Potter, in his _Life of Scipio Ricci_, points out the identity\nof the Netherland schismatics with the Jansenists of Pistoia. The\nMarquis of Ricci's whole collection of documents was open to him; but\nhe has not published those which we give further on.\n\n[204] _Synode de Pistoie_, translated by Du Pac de Bellegarde, and\napproved by the Schismatics of Utrecht, p. 239 _et seq._ Pistoia, 1788.\n\n[205] See, especially, chapters xii., xiii., xvii., xxi., xxii., xxiii.\n\n[206] Edition Gerberon, pp. 489, 240, etc. In his first reply to Philip\nMarnix de Sainte-Aldegonde Baius thus expresses himself: \"But because\nHoly Scripture, which can neither deceive nor be mistaken, contains\nwithin itself truth itself; and the church is not enlightened _except_\nby the truth written in the sacred books, and, _left to herself_, could\neasily fall back into her darkness; _therefore_, it is more suitable to\nsay that Holy Scripture gives authority and dignity to the church of\nChrist, than the reverse.\" We know that the project of Jansenius was\nfirst to publish only the _Vindici\u00e6 Mich\u00e6lis Baii_. The _Augustinus_\ntook its source from this.\n\n[207] Baius, _De Prima Hominis Justitia_, b. i. Jansenius, _De Gratia\nPrimi Hominis_, c. 1; _De Statu Prim\u00e6 Natur\u00e6_, b. i. c. iii. _et seq._;\nb. ii. c. i. _et seq._\n\n[208] _Loc. cit._, Quesnel _in II. Cor. 5_, etc.\n\n[209] Jansenius, _De Statu Pur\u00e6 Natur\u00e6_, b. i. c. xx.\n\n[210] _Synode de Pistoie_, p. 242.\n\n[211] _Bull of S. Pius V. against Baius_, prop. 21, 55, 78, 34, 26.\n_Bull of Clement XI. against Quesnel_, prop. 35. _Bull Auctorem Fidei\nagainst the False Synod of Pistoia_, Nos. 16, 17.\n\n[212] _Synode de Pistoie_, p. 243.\n\n[213] _De Statu Pur. Nat._, b. i. Calvin, _Institut._, b. ii. c. i;\nLuther _in Psalm LI_.\n\n[214] _Synode de Pistoie_, p. 244.\n\n[215] _De Ratione et Auctoritate_, c. iv., vii., _et seq._ Baius, _De\nPrima Hom. Just._, b. i. c. viii.; _De Charitate_, c. v.\n\n[216] _Ibid._ For consistent Jansenists, science in the natural order,\nespecially in what appertains to man, is impossible. When one has only\nan incomplete being to study, all of whose harmonies are in disorder,\nhow can we have any certitude as to the nature of that being?\n\n[217] Session III. _De Fide._\n\n[218] Jansenius, _De Statu Natur\u00e6 Laps\u00e6_, b. ii. c. ii.-vii. Quesnel,\n_in Rom._ i. 19 and _II. Thessal._, iii. 18. _Prop. Condemned_, 40 _et\nseq._ _Prop. Condemned by Alexander VIII., 7th December, 1690._\n\n[219] _Synode de Pistoie_, p. 246.\n\n[220] _Ibid._ p. 247.\n\n[221] Jansenius, _De Statu Nat. Laps._, b. ii. c. vii. _et seq._; b.\niii. c. ix. _et seq._; b. iv. c. xviii. Quesnel, _in Luc._, xvi. 3; _in\nJoann._, viii. 34, 36; _Prop. Condemned_, 38, 39, 41, 45, 46, 48, etc.\nBaius, _De Virtut. Impiorum_, c. vi. _Prop. Condemned_, 16, 25, 27, 30,\n35, 36, 37, 40, 61 _et seq._\n\n[222] _Synode de Pistoia_, p. 249 _et seq._ _Prop. Cond._, 18, 19, 21.\nJansenius, _De Gratia Christi Salvatoris_, b. i. Quesnel, _in Hebr._,\nviii. 7; _Galat._, v. 18; _Marc_, xii. 19, etc. _Prop. Cond._, 6, 7,\n64, 65.\n\n[223] _Synode de Pistoie_, _loc. cit._\n\n[224] _Ibid._\n\n[225] _Ibid._, p. 251, 259. _Prop. Cond._, 21, 25. Baius, _De\nCharitate_, c. v. _Prop. Cond._, 16, 38, etc. Jansenius, _De Gratia\nChristi Salvat._, b. v. Quesnel, _passim. Prop. Cond._, 40, 44, 45-67.\n_Protestation du P. Quesnel_ (1715, without any other date), p. 190,\n_et seq._\n\n[226] Jansenius, _De Gratia Christi Salvat._, b. iii. c. xx., xxi.\nQuesnel, _Prop. Cond._, 32, 29. _Causa Quesnelliana_, p. 188 _et seq._\n\n[227] Calvin, _De. Pr\u00e6destinat._, b. iii. v.; _Instit._, b. ii. c. v.\nJansenius, _ibid._, b. ix.\n\n[228] Jansenius, _ibid._, b. iii. c. vii. _et seq._; _De H\u00e6resi\nPelag._, b. iv. c. xvi. _Baius, Prop. Cond._, 54.\n\n[229] Jansenius, _De Gratia Christi Salvat._, b. iii. c. xiii.\n\n[230] Baius, _De Libero Hominis Arbitrio_, c. ii. iv. _et seq._ _Prop.\nCond._, 39. Jansenius, _De Statu Nat. Laps._, b. iv. c. xxi. _et seq._\n_De Gratia Christi Salvat._, b. vi. c. v. _et seq._, xxiv. to the end.\nQuesnel _in Luc_, viii. 24, etc. _Prop. Cond._, 10, 22-25, 38, etc.\n\n[231] Jansenius, _De Gratia Christi Salvat._, b. ii. and vi. Quesnel,\n_in Matth._, viii. 3, etc.; _Prop. Cond._, 9, 10, 11, 19, 20, etc.\n_Protestation du P. Quesnel_, p. 102 _et seq._\n\n[232] Jansenius, _De Statu Nat. Laps._, b. iv. c. xxi. _et seq._, cited\nabove.\n\n[233] Third proposition. See _De Gratia Christi Salvat._, b. ii. and vi.\n\n[234] Fourth proposition. See _De H\u00e6resi Pelag._, b. vii., last chap.;\nb. viii. c. vi., viii. _De Gratia Christi Salvat._, b. ii. c. xv.\n\n[235] See preceding notes and _Causa Quesnelliana_, p. 163-193.\n\n[236] Edit cit., pp. 196 and 547; Appendix (v. ii.), p. 340 _et seq._\n\n[237] _Synode de Pistoie_, p. 242.\n\n[238] _Ibid._, p. 252.\n\n[239] _Synode de Pistoie_, p. 252. _Prop. Cond._, 23, 24, 25. Baius,\n_De Charitate_, c. vi. _Prop. Cond._, 38, etc. Jansenius, _De Gratia\nChristi Salvat._, b. v. c. iii. _Protestation du P. Quesnel_, p. 190\n_et seq._ _Prop. Cond._, 44, etc.\n\n[240] Bull _Auctorem Fidei_, No. 24.\n\n[241] _Synode de Pistoie_, p. 521, 528. _Prop. Cond._, 61 _et seq._\n\n[242] Rivi\u00e8re, _Le Nestorianisme Renaissant_, 2d part (1693). Van der\nSchuur (Utrecht, 1699), _De Kleyne Getyden_. _Synode de Pistoie_,\np. 259 _et seq._ _Prop. Cond._, 69.; _Ibid._, appendix, p. 121 _et\nseq._ Baius, _Prop. Cond._, 73. We know that the Jansenist bishops of\nHolland loudly protested against the proclamation of the dogma of the\nImmaculate Conception. See _Port Royal_, vol. i. p. 233.\n\n[243] _Port Royal_, vol. i. p. 446; vol. ii. p. 189 _et seq._, 154, etc.\n\n[244] Baius, _De Sacramentis in Genere_, c. iii. v. _Prop. Cond._,\n33, 43, 70, 10, 12, 31 _et seq._, 57, etc. Saint-Cyran in _Aurelius_\nfollows the principles of Baius on this point.\n\n[245] _Synode de Pistoie_, p. 257 _et seq._, 376-397. _Prop. Cond._,\n25, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, etc.\n\n[246] _Ibid._, p. 516. See Quesnel, _Prop. Cond._, 59 _et seq._\n\n[247] On this point, to which I can only refer _en passant_, see\nLinsenmann, _Michael Baius und die Grundlegung des Jansenismus_, c. v.\n(Tubingen, 1867).\n\n\n\n\nAN ENGLISH MAIDEN'S LOVE.[248]\n\n\nThe third Crusade had commenced. The cry, \"God wills it,\" had gone\nforth from many a manly breast, and already Frederic of Germany, Henry\nII. of England, and Philip Augustus of France had received the cross\nfrom William, Archbishop of Tyre. But a more powerful monarch than\nSaladin, against whom their combined strength was to be directed,\nstruck Frederic before he reached Palestine, and called Henry II., whom\ndomestic difficulties had detained in England. Death gives not back\nthat which he takes, and, for the want of a leader, the German army was\nbroken up.\n\nRichard, the brave C\u0153ur de Lion, took his royal father's place, both\non the throne and in the Crusade, and, with Philip of France, started\non his glorious mission. Among those brave men who gathered around\nEngland's standard, joying to be led by so bold a king, who, with\nhis lion's heart, dared every danger of sea, land, or fierce and\ncruel Moslem, was one of the oldest and proudest of Norman blood.\nHis forefather, who had fought by the side of William the Conqueror,\nhad distinguished himself by many a daring deed, and had won from\nhis royal master, in recognition of his bravery, an earlship over a\nfair and smiling province of \"merrie England\"; then, renouncing his\nNorman title in behalf of a younger son, and marrying his eldest to\nthe daughter of a Saxon knight, he established his right to the soil\nof his adopted country. Much of his fearless nature seemed to have\ncome down with the blood of Robert de Bracy, who, at the ripe age of\nfifty-five, had found himself unable to resist his monarch's call, and\nto whom C\u0153ur de Lion himself owed much of wise counsel. Robert de Bracy\nwas a man of stern aspect, but withal so compassionate and forbearing,\nthat he won the love of every one who came in contact with him. His\nbravery had already been proved when, as a young man, he fought beside\nHenry II, during the war against France; and, later, in that most\ndreadful invasion of Ireland--dreadful, because of the blow it gave to\nIrish independence, and for the gradual sinking of her people, from\nthat time, from the eminence in erudition and lore for which they were\nrenowned among the nations, and which, be it to their credit said, they\nare using every effort to regain. A man perfectly incapable of the\nleast dishonorable action, he was revered as a knight \"without stain\nor reproach.\" A fervent Catholic, his religion was his pride, and he\nnever was ashamed of kneeling in church beside the poorest beggar, nor\nfelt insulted because poverty's rags touched his velvet robes. But the\ngood earl's heart received a terrible blow when he heard of the murder\nof Thomas \u00e0 Becket. His faith in his king was shaken, and nothing but\nthe stern duty of allegiance could have induced Robert de Bracy to\nremain in England. So when the Crusade was preached, he gladly seized\nthe opportunity to show his love for the crucified King--for him whose\nthrone was a cross, and whose crown was of thorns--and enrolled himself\namong the Crusaders. He was joined by his only son and Sir John de\nVere, who, like himself, was of Norman blood--a brave, honest man, of\nstrict integrity, whose character will be better seen in the unfolding\nof the story. The earl was deeply attached to the young knight, and\nthe highest proof he could give of his love was in his willing consent\nthat, on their return from Palestine, Sir John should wed his daughter,\nAgnes de Bracy, whose heart was no less pure than her face was lovely.\n\"An' we'll make an earl of thee, my lad!\" cried the impetuous King\nRichard when the betrothal was announced to him.\n\nThe court of the earl's castle was crowded with armed retainers,\nknights, and esquires, who formed the retinue of De Bracy and De\nVere. Even on and beyond the lowered drawbridge might be seen bands\nof neighing steeds, their impatience checked ever and anon by their\nriders, who awaited the earl to head and lead them to the rendezvous\nof the Crusaders. Court and castle alike resounded with the clank of\nsteel and tread of armed men, while buxom waiting-maids and merry lads\nhastened to and fro in the bustle attendant on such a departure. Here\nand there stood a page giving the finishing polish to his master's\nsword, and, again, others assisted in the girding on of the armor.\nEvery now and then might be heard the wailing of some fond wife or\nmother, contrasting somewhat strangely with the jests of those who had\nno tie to make the parting a sacrifice in the good cause. Apart from\nall this, in one of the inner rooms of the castle, were gathered the\nearl and his family. Lady de Bracy's loving eyes wandered sadly from\nher honored husband to the manly features of her son, kneeling by her\nside, and back again to the earl, who was soothing the grief of his\nyoungest child, Mary, just old enough to know that her father was going\nover land and sea, and that she might never see him again. In the deep\nembrasure of one of the windows, partly concealed by heavy curtains,\nstood Sir John and his betrothed. Agnes had been weeping, but being\ncalmed by Sir John, whose grief partook more of the nature of joy than\nfear, since on his return he was to claim her as his bride, she rested\nher head quietly against his breast, both her hands clasped around his\nneck, while her uplifted eyes sought to read every expression of his\nnoble face.\n\n\"Beloved,\" he said in a low tone, \"it will not be for long, please God,\nthough I would that thou wert my wife e'en ere I go. And,\" he added,\ncontinuing his whispered tones, \"I were no Christian knight to doubt\nthy faithfulness. I'll prove thee mine on our return from the holy\nwars.\"\n\nAgnes looked steadily at the face so lovingly bent over her, and,\nunclasping her hands, she drew from her girdle a scarf, such as was\nworn in those days, and bound it on Sir John's sword-belt. Then,\nreturning her head to its resting-place, and feeling his arm drawing\nher tightly to him, as though by the very motion to thank her, she said:\n\n\"An' there is thy love's guerdon; thou shalt wear it in battle, and,\nwhen thine eyes fall on it, remember that _one_ is praying for thee in\nbonnie England.\"\n\nAny further discourse was prevented by the earl, who cried:\n\n\"Sir John, we have no time to lose; the men are ready, the steeds drawn\nup, and our presence alone is needed for immediate departure. Come,\nAgnes, my daughter.\" And as he placed one arm around her, with the\nother he drew his wife gently to him. Raising his eyes to heaven, he\nexclaimed: \"O God! protect these dear ones while I am fighting the good\nfight in thy name and for thee. And this child,\" he added, as, tenderly\nkissing his wife and Agnes, he loosened his hold and took Mary in his\narms--\"this child, Mother of God, belongs to thee; keep her pure,\nthat thy name, borne by her, may be ever spotless!\" Then, calling the\nknights, he hastily quitted the apartment, not daring to look back.\nThe son tore himself from his mother's farewell embrace, and quickly\nfollowed; but Sir John still lingered. At last, summoning his courage,\nhe strained Agnes to his breast:\n\n\"Farewell, my beloved! God have thee, my own, in his keeping for so\nlong as it seems best to him that we be parted.\"\n\nAs the drawbridge was raised behind the retreating soldiers, Agnes\nstood at the loophole of the main turret, where, with her mother, she\nwatched till the men, horses, and banners disappeared, shut from sight\nby the declivity of a distant hill, when she sank on her knees, and\nprayed fervently for the loved ones who had started on their perilous\njourney.\n\nWe have said that Agnes de Bracy was lovely; that word can hardly\nconvey the true nature of her charms. Personal beauty she had, and\nmuch: dark eyes, a clear complexion, a perfect mouth, disclosing\nperfect teeth, and breaking into a smile of winning beauty, together\nwith a graceful form; a character of womanly sweetness, and great\nstrength of will. But as Spenser hath it:\n\n    \"Of the soule the bodie forme doth take;\n    For soule is forme, and doth the bodie make.\"\n\nIt was the soul in Agnes de Bracy, rich in God's sweet grace, which\ngave her that wonderful expression; the pure heart, \"without guile,\"\nwhich caused her eyes to gleam with a look that made Sir John once\nexclaim, \"Methinks, Agnes, thine eyes would soften the stony heart of\nthe Mussulman himself, and e'en make a Christian of him.\"\n\nNor was Sir John deficient in those qualities which would be apt to\nwin the admiration and love of such as she. Like the earl, he was a\nmost devout Catholic. With a full, heartfelt appreciation of his holy\nfaith, he could not--as many, alas! do--put it on and off with holiday\nattire, but every word and action proved how thoroughly it was a part\nof himself, and how, without it, in spite of great natural talents, he\nwould be--nothing.\n\nTo follow the Crusaders on their journey, every step of which was\nfraught with danger; to watch the course of events as they shaped\nthemselves during the march of the two armies, is not the province of\nthis story. About three years later, the earl, with wounds scarcely\nhealed and a heavy heart, stood before the drawbridge of his castle,\nwhich was being rapidly lowered at the unexpected blast of his bugle.\nThe clanking of the heavy armor was a joyful, long-looked-for sound to\nthe inmates of the castle, who had assembled in the court to welcome\nback the earl and his followers. Weary and dust-laden, they passed\nunder the portal of the gateway, a sad remnant of their former numbers,\ngreeting those who stood expectant with joy or fear. Suddenly a loud\nwailing arose, as many a mother looked in vain for the well-remembered\nform of her brave lad, who died fighting the Saracen; and the sounds\nof glad rejoicing were hushed in the presence of the angel of sorrow.\nThe earl and his son made their way rapidly to the same room that had\nwitnessed their farewell, and there their loved ones awaited them. A\nthrill of terror passed through Agnes' frame as she missed the features\nof Sir John; and, seeing a strange look in her father's eyes, which\nwere fixed so tenderly but sorrowfully on her, she clasped her hands\ntightly, and cried out: \"My God! my God! thy will, not mine, be done;\nbut, oh! if _he_ is dead!\"\n\n\"Agnes, my child, my precious child!\"--and Robert de Bracy drew his\ndaughter to him--\"God knows my heart is heavy enough with the story I\nhave to tell thee, yet it is not what thou dost expect. Sir John is\nliving, strong and well, but\"--and his lips quivered with emotion--\"but\nhe is Saladin's prisoner; and I fear me greatly that neither gold nor\nsilver will ransom him.\"\n\n\"Saladin's prisoner, my father? Saladin's prisoner? And will nothing\nransom him?\" And bowing her face in her hands, she wept bitterly.\nBut her violent grief was not of long duration; her nature was too\nthoroughly schooled. She checked its first outburst; and, trusting\nto Him who had always given her help in her troubles, she breathed a\nshort, fervent prayer. Then, raising her head, she turned to the earl,\nand in her sweetest voice:\n\n\"Forgive me, my father,\" she said, \"for that I have not been thy\ndaughter, and, in my selfish sorrow for what God has ordained, I have\nforgotten to bid thee welcome home.\"\n\n\"Agnes! Agnes!\" And the old earl nearly broke down under the weight of\nhis sorrow--sorrow all the keener for the suffering of his daughter.\n\"Agnes, we will not give up all hope. I would have begged of Saladin\non my knees for _his_ ransom, but it could not have been; I was ordered\naway, and no respite granted.\"\n\n\"Give up all hope? No, indeed, my father. Far from me be such a\nthought! God will help us, and my beloved shall be ransomed if it is\nhis will; for he gave him to me, and he can take him away.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLo! Damascus is rising before us; not the Damascus of to-day, but\nthe quaint, beautiful Oriental city of the XIIth century. The golden\ncrescents of her domed mosques flash in the light of the Eastern sun.\nHer thoroughfares are crowded with men in their Turkish garb, and women\nveiled after the manner of their nation. Her shops are resplendent\nwith jewels, pearls, and jacinths; fragrant with the perfumes of musk,\nambergris, and aloes-wood; glittering with rustling silks and heavy\nbrocades, interwoven with gold, and scarlet, and silver. Houses,\nbeautiful in their quaint architecture, meet the eye at every corner,\ntogether with palaces, the residences of emir and vizier. But with\nnaught of these have we to do. Our story takes us into the heart of\nthe city to the palace of Saladin, Sultan of the Turks. As we enter,\nwe behold banners unfurled. Shields, helmets, every species of armor\ndecorate the main hall, along whose sides are ivory benches, where the\neunuchs wait their master's orders. A great dome is overhead, and the\nsun, pouring down through its latticed windows, floods the hall with\nlight, and causes the steel of the armor and the jewels of the hall\nto sparkle and flash with brilliancy. At the further end is a heavy\ncurtain of brocade, richly wrought with various kinds of embroidery in\nwhite, red, and gold. Two tall armed men guard the corners. We will\nimagine the curtain lifted for us, and enter. There sits Saladin on\nhis throne. His followers are around him. Rich are the robes which\nfall from his shoulders, well befitting the Sultan of the East. If the\nhall was gorgeous in its beauty, the room of the throne is no less\nso. The hangings on the walls are figured with various wild beasts\nand birds, worked with silk and gold. The sandal-wood work gives out\nits own peculiar perfume. In fact, all betokens a royal presence. And\nof what sort is Saladin? Great talents in him combine for mastery;\ngreat activity and valor. The severity and rigor, so inflexible as to\nmake the bravest heart quail with fear before him, was often replaced\nby such kindness, such generosity, that the poor, the widowed, and\norphaned did not hesitate to appeal to his mercy. And as he sits before\nus, we must draw back and continue our story.\n\nAn eunuch has presented the bowl and vase, and, having performed the\nablution, Saladin turned slowly round, gazing steadily at the stern\nfaces before him. \"By Allah!\" he exclaimed, as his eyes rested on the\none nearest him--\"by Allah! I trow, Moslem chiefs, you are brave, yea,\nvery brave and very skilful. You have beaten back the Christians. You\nhave proved yourselves true sons of Mahomet; but, for all that, I know\na braver man than you. Eunuch! bid the Christian slave come forth.\"\nAt his sultan's orders, the eunuch made a low bow, and retired behind\none of the hangings. In a few moments he returned, followed by a guard\nof men, and Sir John de Vere in their centre. As they approached with\nhim, Saladin waved them back, and bade the Christian only to remain\nbefore the throne. Then suddenly he made a sign--a sign dreaded alike\nby vizier and eunuch. It was obeyed, and a soldier, stepping forward,\nwaved a sharp and gleaming scimitar over the head of the captive;\nbut he did not flinch, nor move a muscle of his face, but continued\ngazing with stern, unshrinking eye straight forward. The sultan, as if\nsatisfied with the courage the prisoner evinced, motioned the soldier\nback. Then he said:\n\n\"John de Vere, thy father's land, thine ancient home, thou shalt see no\nmore; but I have great need of men like thee. I command thee, forsake\nthy Christian faith; and, if thou wilt adore Mahomet and God, there is\nno favor thou shalt ask, by my royal word, that shall not be granted\nthee. I will set thee above all men. I alone will be above thee. I will\nmake thee my son. I will give thee palaces, gold, and precious gems;\nand from all the queenly maidens thou shalt choose one and wed her as\nthy bride. Thou canst not refuse that which my caliphs strive for years\nto obtain, and which to thee is given in one day. I bid thee reply.\"\n\nAs Saladin finished, he sank back on his throne, and a quiet smile\nplayed around his lips as he awaited his captive's answer. Sir John\nlistened to him calmly and patiently. Then having bowed low, he\nraised his head erect, and made the Christian's mark--the sign of the\ncross--upon himself.\n\n\"Saladin,\" he said, \"Sultan of the Mussulmans, since thou dost bid me\nreply, I will first return thanks for all the favors I have received at\nthy hands. From the first day of my captivity till now thou hast loaded\nme with kindnesses; for these I am grateful, though gratitude may not\nseem to be in the answer I make thee. Know, then, I, a Christian,\ncannot renounce my faith. I am a sworn soldier of my God--of him\nwho died for me. Dost thou think that I, who bear the cross upon my\nshoulder, could on that cross bring scorn? Thou dost promise me a\nMoslem wife. In that far-off land--which God grant I may see before I\ndie!--I have a love, whom as my very life I love. To her sweet heart\nI will not be false. Saladin, I cannot bear a Moslem name nor wed a\nMoslem maiden.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" cried the sultan, \"thou dost not know woman's heart. Perchance\nshe whom thou lovest so fondly is the bride of another; nor doubt me,\nthat heart, fickle and false as any woman's, which swore such fealty to\nthee, belongs now perhaps to thy rival. Never yet was woman known to be\nconstant. Ah! John de Vere, thou hadst better remain with me.\"\n\nAs he ceased, the curtain was raised, and two by two came those holy\nmen vowed to ransom Christian captives from the hands of the Turks.\nThey approached Saladin's throne, and, opening their bags, they poured\nout with lavish hand an untold treasure at his feet.\n\nThen the chief monk said:\n\n\"The bride of Sir John de Vere, O Sultan Saladin! sends all she hath,\ngold and gems, and bids thee take them, but to restore to her her\nbetrothed.\"\n\n\"The other captive knights may go with thee,\" replied the sultan; \"but\nas for all these gems and gold, his lady-love would give them for a\ndress. Sir John de Vere may not go with thee. No wealth can ransom him,\nfor I love him with a more than brother's love, and hope to win his in\nreturn. Why, I would give a hundred slaves, if he would renounce his\nChristian faith. So thus to thy lady this answer; for I will prove how\nChristian maidens love. Tell her that, before I yield my thrall, she\nmust cut off her own right arm and hand, and send it hither to ransom\nJohn de Vere!\"\n\n\"Saladin,\" said the captive, \"thy permission for one word to say to\nthese monks before they go. I bid you, brothers,\" he added, turning to\nthem, \"to speak of me as dead. For, O sweet-heart! my betrothed bride,\nwell do I know that not only arm and hand, but even life itself, thou\nwouldst willingly give for me; and I cannot prove thy death, that I may\nlive. Do not tell her the sultan's cruel words. O brothers! I beg you\ndo not!\"\n\nAs sole reply, they gathered up the useless treasure, and, returning to\ntheir ships, they sailed for England. With mournful hearts they landed\non the shore, and travelled day and night till they reached De Bracy's\ncastle. There they laid down their full bags, and told Agnes that for\nneither gold nor silver could Sir John be ransomed; but if it was still\nher heart's wish that he should see his native land again, the sultan\nhad promised that for one gift her betrothed should go free.\n\n\"And that gift?\" said Agnes.\n\n\"Is,\" replied the head monk slowly, \"thine own right arm and hand, cut\noff for his sake. This is the ransom asked. Thou canst not prevail on\nSaladin to take a meaner thing.\"\n\nEvery face grew white at these cruel words. They shuddered as they\nlistened to the monk; only Agnes preserved her usual calmness. The\nearl clutched his sword, and could hardly refrain from vowing death\nto every man of the Moslem race. Little Mary cried out, clasping her\nsister tightly, \"Sure, Agnes, such a wicked man cannot be found.\" But\nquieting the child, she looked at Lady de Bracy. The face of the mother\nwas marked with keen suffering. It was a dreadful moment for the brave\nspirit of Agnes; she knew she must make answer, and that at once. But\nhow could she tell those, who suffered so much at the very thought of\nthe deed, of her resolution? \"My God! it is hard; but as we love in\nthee, thou must help me to do what is right,\" was the prayer which rose\nfrom her heart, as with her lips she framed her answer.\n\n\"My dear ones, your daughter need not say how much she grieves for your\nsakes that she must suffer. Cruel is the ransom asked; who could know\nit better than I? But God loves us, and did he not, because of his\nlove, give his own beloved Son? And do we not see every day how churls\nand nobles give their lives for their king? 'Greater love than this\nno man hath, that a man lay down his life for his friends.' That, my\nfather, we know from the holy Gospels. Wouldst thou have thy daughter\nshrink duty, thou, my lord and father, who hast bled by C\u0153ur de Lion's\nside?\" She hesitated a moment, then, her sweet voice growing clearer\nand stronger, she continued:\n\n\"I am John de Vere's betrothed, and to him I owe my fealty, even though\nit should cost my life. My lord and father, what is my life? Long years\nspent in pleading with God to end the banishment of my love. And at\nlast he has heard, at last my prayer has been granted. Only it must be\nproved that my love is pure; so he sends me pain, and I will take it,\ngrateful to endure; for is not the reward great?\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOnce again the holy friars found themselves in the beautiful city of\nDamascus. Eagerly they threaded their way through its broad but devious\nthoroughfares till they reached the palace of the sultan. Within, in\nthe room of the throne, sat Saladin in royal state. By his side stood\nSir John de Vere. He still retained the badge of slavery, for he was\ntoo true to give up his faith; but to Saladin's councils he was often\nsummoned. When any measure to be taken against the Christians was the\ntheme of debate, he remained respectfully but firmly silent. Against\nhis brothers he could not in conscience speak; to do so for them he\nknew would prove more than useless. But yet many were the subjects on\nwhich his knowledge and fine sense of justice could be brought to bear;\nand Saladin was not the man to fail in taking advantage of his wise\njudgment.\n\nSome such serious business had called around the sultan his advisers,\nand, as usual, Sir John stood foremost among them. They had all but\nfinished the subject under consideration, when the folds of the curtain\nwere lifted, and a herald entered the royal presence.\n\n\"Sultan, our lord,\" he said, \"the monks appointed to ransom the\nChristians stand without. They crave an audience again.\"\n\n\"Let them enter,\" was the command given, and swiftly obeyed. Again the\ncurtain was lifted upon the holy men, and again it fell, shutting them\nfrom the outer hall, as they stood in the presence of Saladin. The\nsuperior stepped forward:\n\n\"We thank thee, sultan, for the favor thou hast accorded us in this\naudience. But we bid thee learn, O monarch! a lesson we bring thee--a\nlesson of how great, in a nobler faith than thine, is love's purity and\npower.\" A dim foreboding seized Sir John at the monk's words, and his\nwhole form shook with ill-suppressed emotion, as he listened to the\nconclusion:\n\n\"Monarch! what are women to thee? Slaves, toys of an idle hour, the\nplaythings of passion. What women of thine would do for thee as Agnes\nde Bracy hath done for him who stands beside thee--him whom thou\ncallest thy slave? Thy cruel words have been heeded. Lo! the answer.\"\nAnd he laid at Saladin's feet a casket, richly wrought in gold and\nsilver. Sir John looked as one frenzied, then seizing the casket\npressed it to his heart:\n\n\"Why did you tell her, O cruel monks? Did I not ask you to speak of me\nas dead? O fair arm! O dear, sweet hand! that thou shouldst cut it off,\nmy beloved, and for my poor sake!\"\n\nSaladin stretched out his hand to take the casket; but Sir John only\npressed it the tighter, and sobbed aloud. At this, the superior of the\nmonks, coming forward, said something in a low voice, which caused the\nyoung knight to lift up his face and look at the brother. Then, turning\nto the sultan, he placed the casket reverently before him. Saladin\ntook it and opened it; as he raised the lid, the perfume of aromatic\nspices escaped therefrom. Lifting the linen, he looked steadily for a\nmoment, then large tears were seen to escape from his eyes and roll\ndown his cheeks. All the higher nature of the man seemed to be aroused.\nCalling his nobles around him, he held the casket silently for their\ninspection. Within it lay embalmed the lily-white right arm and hand of\nAgnes de Bracy. There was no mistaking the delicate form of the arm,\nthe shape of the tapering fingers. Severed from the shoulder of that\nnoble girl, they lay in all their beauty, a reproach to the cruelty of\nthe sultan. In that throne-room not one man but was moved to tears.\nThen Saladin closed the casket, but, still keeping a firm hold on it,\nhe cried out:\n\n\"Mahomet and God witness for me! with a deep brother's love I love\nJohn de Vere, and I thought I might retain him by me if I asked this\nransom. But now I would give my kingdom to recall those words. Haste,\nJohn de Vere, haste to thy noble love. O fair arm! O fair hand! True,\nbrave heart! Oh! that I could claim such love as thine! John de Vere,\ntell that noble woman that Saladin yields his selfish love. Take to her\ngold, gems; load the ship with all of wealth and beauty I have; but\nthey would vainly prove Saladin's grief. She who has proved thee such\na noble love will make thee a noble wife, John de Vere. But thou canst\nnot take with thee this precious casket. Among my treasures I shall\nstore it away. It will prove to future ages how Christian maidens keep\ntheir troth, and how pure is their love.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMore than this the legend tells us not. But it is said that in a church\nin England may still be seen a statue of the knight and his noble,\none-armed lady.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[248] Some years ago, a poem appeared in an English weekly with the\nsame title, \"An English Maiden's Love.\" The author stated that, when\na mere girl, she read the incident in a very stupid old novel founded\nupon the same subject, and which she never could succeed in meeting\nwith again. We have not seen the novel, but have ventured to borrow\nthe incident, and offer it to the readers of THE CATHOLIC WORLD in its\npresent form.\n\n\n\n\nOUR MASTERS.\n\n\nFreedom is the boast of half the civilized world, and the envy of the\nother half. It is the embodiment of the desires of our age, the goal\nof the individual, as well as the collective life of nations. It is\na treasure jealously guarded or a prize passionately longed for, the\npretext for riot and disorder, the burden of diplomatic messages, the\nostensible object of all civic government. England records in the\nwords of a national song, \"Britons never will be slaves,\" her proud\ndetermination to grasp it; America asserts elasticity of personal\nliberty as the chief attraction of her territory; everywhere the cry\nis, \"We will do as we like, and accept no dictation from any man.\" It\nis a somewhat strange commentary on this fierce vindication of one\nman's rights that they invariably clash with the rights of all other\nmen, provided the latter happen to differ in the interpretation of\nfreedom. Again, it is a curious psychological phenomenon that this\nmuch-vaunted freedom generally ends in a frantic appeal to the state\nto force one particular set of principles upon a large majority to\nwhom these principles are repulsive. In some countries \"freedom\"\nmeans expulsion from a quiet retreat deliberately chosen years ago\nby men and women in full possession of their senses: witness the\ndepopulated monasteries and the poor religious thrust out to starve\nor beg. In others it means the minute supervision of state officials\nover the educational and religious interest of thousands--a sort of\ndomestic inquisition in perpetual session on moral subjects, which\nthe individual inquisitors do not pretend even to have studied. In\nconjunction with this species of freedom we have the ravenous appetite\nfor unbelief of all shades, for laxity of morals, for the elasticity\nof the marriage-tie, for a pleasant and dignified way of losing our\nsouls, for decorous but unrestrained indulgence of our passions--in\nshort, for the manifold attractions of the \"broad road.\" This is the\nserious side of the question--the one to be dwelt upon by preachers and\nphilosophers, and that which the heedless actors in the world's drama\nare apt to pass by as a matter of course--a thing taken for granted\nlong ago.\n\nBut there is another aspect, more personal and more intimate, in which\nthis question appears to us. We boast of being free, and at every turn\nthe commonest circumstances of our daily life belie us. Free! why, we\nare tied as fast as we can be to a perpetual pillory; like the prisoner\nof Chillon, we can just walk round and round our post at the length of\nour chain, and wear a groove into the hard stone of our surroundings.\nFree! with a hundred masters: the gout, dyspepsia, the doctor, the\ncook, society, the weather. Free! with the newspaper to dictate our\nideas and opinions, to choose, recommend, and puff our candidates, to\nlay down the law in criminal cases, to patronize the jury and pass\nsentence on the prisoner!\n\nIt would be hard to find a condition in life which is not eminently\na bondage, and a bondage the more galling because the bonds are so\ninsignificant. It is almost equally hard to know where to begin the\nrecord of our abject submission to external trammels. You are tired,\nand want to sleep an extra hour in the morning. Of course, you think\nyou have only to will this, and it is done. But you are not allowed\nto sleep; the noise in the street increases; the bells of the cars\nmingle in determined clangor with the whistle of the steamboat; an\norgan-grinder takes up his position under your window, and serenades\nyou into madness; the \"horn of the fish-man is heard on the hill\"\n(Murray Hill); presently the fire-alarm sounds, and the clatter of\nengines follows close upon it; while all the time the flies are\nindustriously reconnoitring your face, walking over your eyelids,\nlosing themselves in your hair, and, despite your half-unconscious\nprotest, you must own after all that you are awake.\n\nThen the whole tenor of your mind for the day may depend upon the\nexact degree of tenderness in the customary beefsteak or on the extra\nturn given to the crisp buckwheat. So the wire-pulling is done in the\nkitchen, and your vaunted independence as a man and a citizen goes\ndown ignominiously before the fiat of the cook. This kind of thing is\ninterminable. You are at the mercy of your tradesmen, and, for the sake\nof peace, you pay the bills and submit to be cheated with inferior\nprovisions while paying the price of superior ones. The newspaper is\nnot always ready to your hand when you feel inclined to look at the\nnews of the world, and straightway your mind becomes uneasy, your\ntemper rises, and you have again surrendered your freedom. You order\nyour horse, but find he is lame, and so you must forego your plans for\nthe day; you make up your mind to start by the early train to-morrow,\nand enjoy a day in the country, and find, when you open your window\nin the morning, that the rain is pouring with dismal steadiness, and\npromises to do so for many hours to come. Sometimes your wife keeps\nyou waiting fifteen minutes for dinner, and, on sitting down, you find\nthe soup cold and the _entr\u00e9es_ spoiled; and it is well known that not\neven Job could have stood that! The wind and tide wait for no man; and\nso you are hurried out of bed against your will at unseasonable hours\nof the night or morning, and packed on board the steamer bound for\nEurope while yet half asleep and as sulky as a bear, your free-will\npractically gone as much as if you were a bale of goods being shipped\nand checked for Liverpool.\n\nSocial customs are no less a hidden tyranny. If you would not appear\neccentric, you must do as others do--wear a dress-coat when you would\nfain be in your shirt-sleeves, and a smile when you are dying for an\nopportunity to yawn. If you are a silent man, you must nevertheless\njoin in the gossip of your fellow-guests, and laugh at unmeaning\njokes, for fear people should call you a misanthrope, and avoid you\nas a \"wet blanket\" to conversation. If you have any decided opinion,\nyou must keep it to yourself, and avoid the vacant stare of astonished\ngood-breeding which is the penalty of any energetic statement. It\nis vulgar to be too demonstrative or to have any settled opinions;\nenthusiasm is out of fashion, and indifference has at least the\nadvantage of never committing you to anything. If a little deviation\nin manner from the recognized standard is not reprehensible, then it\nis voted amusing, and the self-asserting individual is considered a\ngood butt; but no one dreams of asking his advice or even crediting him\nwith common sense. All his real qualities are lost sight of, and he is\njudged by the mere accident of \"originality.\" No one takes the trouble\nfurther to investigate his character; he is \"odd,\" and people either\ndrop him as a bore, or run after him as a lion.\n\nIf a man has a hundred invisible masters, a woman has five hundred.\nFrom the cook to the dressmaker, from the nurse to the baby, she is\nsurrounded by tyrants. She is at the mercy of the _coiffeur_, who comes\nin an hour behind time, and tumbles her hair into shape in a violent\nhurry, so that she is late at the ball; she lives with the sword of\nDamocles above her head in the shape of the dressmaker, who _will_\nsend in a ball-dress so loosely sewn together that it splits in many\nplaces before the evening is over; if she is poor, she is the slave\nof desire, perpetually tantalized by the splendors she cannot reach,\neating her heart out because Mrs. Jones has got a new bonnet so far\nfiner than her own, or Mrs. Smith's rich uncle gave her a cashmere\nshawl impossible to outrival; if she is married, the regulating of the\ndomestic atmosphere will cost her many an anxious thought, a curtailed\nhour of leisure, an uneasiness regarding a possible storm when Harry\ncomes home and finds his new hat mangled by the pet puppy; if she\nis single, she will be always scheming for an escort, and fretting\nlest she should be overlooked, and so on through every variety of\npossible female situations. To this picture there is a companion. See\nthe unhappy bachelor of moderate means, in a forlorn boarding-house,\npining for the simplest luxuries or the innocent liberty of stretching\nat full length on a lounge without taking off his working-clothes;\nsighing for a variety in the round of his monotonous meals, and\nfor the possibility--without hazard of starvation--of an occasional\nmorning snooze when the inexorable breakfast-bell calls him to the\nrenewed treadmill of existence. But woe to the man who rashly turns\nto matrimony, and surrenders, without mature deliberation and cogent\nreasons, the liberty--such as it is--which still remains to him. His\nchange may be from the \"frying-pan into the fire,\" and the nightly\nfate of the wretched Caudle, of curtain-lecture memory, may claim\nhim for life. Is the rash Benedict \"free,\" when the irreproachable\nwife begins to make her hand felt, and, together with the immaculate\ntable-linen, the punctual and succulent meals, the orderly household,\nthe never-failing newspaper always at hand at the right moment, yet\nsilently conveys to him the awful impression that she is heaping coals\nof fire on his head? A man may be in prison, and, if he can pay for\nthem, may yet enjoy every luxury and attention; still, it would be\nrather stretching the point to say that he was therefore free. So both\nsexes know how to tighten invisible bonds around each other's claims,\nand \"freedom\" is practically as meaningless as the apparent life of a\nstill green tree woven round by the graceful and fatal vine.\n\nThe majority of mankind are quite debarred from any tangible freedom\nby the lack of means with which to procure it. A poor man cannot,\nphysically speaking, be a free agent; but, in compensation, the richer\nand higher placed a man is, the more social and moral trammels will\nhe encounter. Excess of want and excess of possession often end by\nproducing the same result. The poor man cannot move from his post,\nbecause he has not the money to do so; the rich man cannot move from\nit, because he has too much money to watch over. Wealth, too, brings\nits responsibilities; and a conscientious man, in whose hands lie the\nlife and comfort of hundreds of his fellow-creatures, cannot leave\nhis post because his tenants or operatives would suffer through his\nabsence. In fact, no one, in a certain sense, can be \"free,\" except\nan unprincipled man and an unbeliever. Selfishness is the only road\nto such animal freedom as would content a sensualist. A Christian, be\nhe poor or rich, cannot aspire to this worldly freedom, because his\nreligion tells him that he is _not_ free to desert those with whom\nGod has linked his fortunes. Family circumstances fetter one to an\nincredible degree; conscience is a perpetual trammel; and even the\nexigencies of position are sometimes a legitimate restraint on our\nactions. Many persons of narrow minds, not particularly influenced\nby moral forces, fall a prey to Mrs. Grundy, and dare not face the\nopinion and comments of their neighbors. In the most trivial things we\nare slaves to the verdict of society. Who would not rather have danger\nthan ridicule? How many things, whether lawful or unlawful, are we not\nashamed to do, because of what \"people would say,\" quite irrespective\nof the intrinsic right or wrong, expediency or uselessness, of the\nthing itself? It may well be said that it is less a sin in the eyes of\nthe world to break every one of the Ten Commandments than to enter a\nroom with your hat on, or ask a girl to marry you on nothing a year.\nIt would require more pluck to stand up for an unfashionable religion,\nor defend an unpopular person in a cultivated assemblage arrayed on\nthe opposite side of the question, than it would to storm a citadel\nor rescue a sinking ship. To contravene one-quarter of an article of\nthe impalpable code of society entails downright ostracism; and the\nlynch-law administered to social delinquents effectually keeps people\nin this imaginary groove, where the invisible penalties of religious\ncodes are unavailing to enforce good morals. How hollow the system\nis which thus intrenches itself behind such paltry defences we need\nnot say; but how infinitely more galling and more belittling is this\nservitude than the yoke of God which men fly from! Absolute hardships,\nreal privations, men will cheerfully undergo, provided it is with a\nworldly object; nobody minds being a slave when the devil is master and\nthe livery is cloth-of-gold.\n\nOne of the axioms of the day is that marriage should be a profitable\nspeculation. To what lengths do not men and women proceed in order to\nfulfil this inculcation to the letter? The writer once heard the hunt\nafter wealthy marriages likened to the vicissitudes of S. Paul on his\njourneys. The likeness was forcible, though hardly elegant; but, at\nany rate, it was earnestly and not irreverently meant. The best of it\nwas that it was so startlingly true, and that no part of the world, no\nsystem of society, could escape the allusion. Perils by sea and land,\nperils by robbers, perils by false brethren, watchings and hunger,\ncold and nakedness--there was not one detail which did not find its\ncounterpart in the modern race after matrimonial advantages. People\nundergo for the world more hard penances than would suffice to bridge\nover purgatory, did they suffer them for God. Wolsey, in his disgrace,\ncried out that if he had served his God but half so well as he had\nserved his king, he would not now be reaping a meed of contempt and\ningratitude. So with the world; it despises those who toil for it, and\nno one is less respected by it than the very man who has sacrificed\nprinciple to win its life-homage. As to the marriage lottery, there is\nvery little that is not staked for a lucky throw of the dice. Health is\nruthlessly sacrificed; delicate girls brave the night air, the draughts\nin the corridor, the sudden change from a fetid heat to intense cold,\nthe unwholesome meal at abnormal hours, the loss of actual rest, all\nfor the questionable pleasure of attending a ball every night in the\nweek, and being seen \"everywhere.\" Economy is disregarded, and reckless\noutlay on flimsy, temporary dress indulged in without a murmur;\ndelicacy and modesty are tacitly put by as unfit considerations in\nthe present, however useful they may prove in the future; underhand\ninquiries as to a young man's habits and associates, his fortune and\nhis prospects, are unblushingly made, quite as a matter of business;\nsnares and pitfalls are judiciously contrived for the coroneted or\ngilded victim; pride of birth, of which, at any other time, the\npractised diplomatists of the _salons_ are so tenacious, is pocketed\nat the approach of some plebeian prize, and the son or daughter of a\nself-made man is welcomed with admirably simulated rapture when duly\nweighted with the parent's hardly-earned money. Stranger than all,\nthis mania of gambling in marriage--for it is nothing less--seizes\neven persons whom you would naturally suppose would, by instinct or\nprinciple, be averse to any such transactions; but though you will find\nthem proof against every other meanness, the very shadow of this one\nwill unsettle their minds. Good people seem impelled to join this race\nas by an irresistible fatality, and will actually blind themselves to\nthe repulsiveness of such a course by glossing it over as an outgrowth\nof a sacred instinct, parental love, and solicitude. Needy and idle\nmen, seeking a fortune by marriage with an heiress, are not a whit\nbetter--nay, a shade more despicable--than mercenary women on the same\nlookout.\n\nBut it must be confessed that there is a healthier and nobler side to\nhuman nature which is too often obscured by the supposed requirements\nof our worst tyrant--society. There are women who, being rich and\nhigh-minded, view this pursuit of themselves with disgust; and there\nare men, equally high-minded, but poor, who love these women, but, for\nfear of being classed with interested suitors, and sometimes for fear\nof a contemptuous refusal, never come forward and acknowledge their\nlove. The woman who sees this may love such a man, but maidenly dignity\nforbids her making it too plain; and \"society\" thus manages to make\ntwo honest hearts wretched for years, sometimes for life, and perhaps\nin the end to efface in them even the belief in true and disinterested\naffection. And we dare to call ourselves \"free\"!\n\nBusiness and our material interests are so many burdens and trammels to\nour liberty. Say that we are easy-going and indolent, fond of sedentary\npleasures; but a long and uncomfortable journey becomes necessary, and,\nunder the penalty of material losses, we are obliged to choose the\nlesser of the two evils. Or reverses swoop down so suddenly upon us\nthat, having been used to elegant leisure and comparative security, we\nare incontinently thrown on our own resources, and obliged to work, if\nwe would not starve. Even the choice of work is not always open to us,\nor we may happen to choose some unremunerative work, which fate and our\nhard-hearted neighbor will persist in making useless to us. Even with\nprosperity work itself becomes a tyrant; and when the lucky worker\nthinks of enjoying his earnings in peace and retirement, the restless\ndemon of habit steps in to make his very retirement wretched. He is\nallowed no peace, but sighs for the counting-house or the workshop; and\none has heard of such haunted men going about disconsolately beneath\nthe weight of fortune, until solaced by a miniature feint of the old\nwork--a place where, far from the satin, gilding, and ormolu of the\nfashionable mansion, they can plane and turn common chairs and tables,\nor sit in a leathern apron, cobbling their own boots. Poor millionaire!\nare you \"free\"?\n\nOther men are slaves not so much to their passions as their tastes.\nSuch an one undergoes tortures if another's collection of china is\nbetter than his own, or if a rival bids higher than he can afford to\ndo for an old Italian or Flemish picture. This man would give himself\nmore trouble to secure an old carved _secr\u00e9taire_ of English oak or\nIndian ebony than he would to promote some work of charity; another has\na hobby about sumptuous bindings, or rare lace, or any _bric-a-brac_\nof the kind; inartistic furniture is an eyesore to him, inharmonious\ncolors upset his equanimity, and everywhere, even in church, any defect\nof form irritates and repulses him. He is hardly master of his own\nthoughts, and is apt to form hidden prejudices; he lives in the clouds,\nand often makes himself disagreeable to those who do not.\n\nThe tyrannous custom of making funerals and weddings an occasion of\nuseless pomp is perhaps one of the most reprehensible of all. The\nfashion has insensibly grown till one's perverted sense of what is\n\"fitting\" has almost acknowledged it to be a necessity. So the mourners\nare disturbed, their privacy broken in upon, delicacy outraged in\nevery possible way, the curiosity of strangers gratified, an unseemly\nhubbub substituted for the solemn stillness natural to the presence of\ndeath--all in order that the world's fiat may be duly obeyed. People\npretend that all this fuss is to honor the memory of the dead. No such\nthing; it is to feed the vanity of the living. It must not be said\nthat Mr. S--- did not provide as good a table, as handsome any array\nof carriages, as great a profusion of flowers, as richly ornamented a\ncoffin, for his wife's funeral, as did Mr. R---- last year on a similar\n\"melancholy occasion,\" any more than in the lifetime of the two ladies\ncould it have been suffered to have gone abroad that Mrs. S----'s rooms\nwere not as uncomfortably crowded for a reception as Mrs. R----'s, or\nher carriage not of the same irreproachable build.\n\nThe world has undertaken to decide for us, in the privacy of home as\nwell as beyond its walls, exactly the degree of outward respect to\nbe shown to the dead. Such and such a particular texture, and crape\nof such and such a particular width, is the measure of the widow's,\nthe daughter's, or the sister's grief; less would be indecorous, more\nwould be eccentric! The milliner tells us in a subdued voice how much\njet is allowable, and how soon the world expects the appearance of a\nwhite collar in place of a black one, just as the world dictates the\nexact length of a court-train, and mentions the appropriate number\nof feathers to be worn in the hair. In England, a widow's cap is _de\nrigueur_, and not to wear it would be to brand one's self with the\nmark of a flirt and a questionable character. In other countries in\nEurope, it is not in use, and the character of French and Italian\nwidows is not dependent on an extra frill of white crape. How a poor\nand proud woman, unwilling to be behind her neighbors in respect of\ndecorous mourning-robes, can manage the enormous expense of a thing\nso perishable and so dear as crape, in such quantities as to entirely\ncover a dress, is a mystery which the peremptory laws of society do not\ncare to enter into and do not pretend to solve.\n\nWeddings are hardly, under the iron hand of custom, what one might\nreasonably expect them to be--_i.e._, family festivities. They are not\noccasions of personal rejoicing over the happiness of your nearest\nand dearest--oh! no, that is humdrum and \"slow\"; so the wedding-day\nis turned into a gorgeous manifestation of your worldly wealth--a day\nof hollow ostentation and often of hidden sadness. The extravagance\nof your floral decorations, and the judicious display of the bride's\npresents, cost you more thought than the solemn covenant about to be\nmade; the adjustment of the pearl necklace, the graceful folds of the\nbridal veil, the perfect fit of the white kid glove, are of far more\nimportance than the vow pronounced so lightly at the altar. It is the\nreception, not the sacrament, that predominates in most minds. Instead\nof a family gathering, reverently waiting in prayer for the happy\nconsummation of a very solemn and awful contract, you have a mob of\nslight and careless acquaintances, down to the very scourings of your\nvisiting-list, assembled to stare and gape at the show, to talk slang\nand make unseemly jokes, to criticise your hospitality, and make bets\nas to how soon the marriage may be followed by a separation. Everybody\nasks how much money has the bride, what is the standing of the\nbridegroom, what are the settlements, etc. When they go away, they do\nnot even thank you for the lavish expense, whose fruits they, and they\nalone, have enjoyed; but, instead of that, they abuse your champagne\nand rebuke your extravagance. Privacy--a necessary condition of\ndomestic happiness--is impossible on this great day; prayer is almost\nout of the question; reflection is scared away. It might be hoped that\nthe young couple would now be allowed to retire into private life,\nafter this free exhibition of themselves as the central figures of a\npuppet-show. But, no; fashion pronounces otherwise. A wedding-trip,\nthough not deemed quite indispensable by the code of society, is still\nfavorably looked upon, and, if possible, is a still worse thing than\nthe wedding itself. Dissipation is the order of the day; the change\nof toilets becomes the all-absorbing topic of the bride's thoughts\nand conversation; the tour must include the showiest watering-places;\nperpetual motion and a full meed of frivolity are ensured, a\nkaleidoscope of discreet admirers provided, little mild triumphs of\nflirtation enjoyed, with the added zest of perfect security from\nembarrassing proposals, and equal immunity from the new-made husband's\nwrath, since he could not thus early begin to lay down the law; and\na most miserable foundation is laid for the after-comfort of home.\nBesides, what does a wedding-trip imply? That life is a drudgery, and a\nrespite is necessary before taking up the burden. The home is thus made\na vision of imprisonment--scarcely a wise preparation. Then the foolish\nand utterly useless expenditure probably cripples the young couple, in\nordinary cases, for some time to come. The month's trip has swallowed\nwhat would have covered half the year's expenses, and \"going home,\"\ninstead of holding out a bright prospect, is connected with dulness,\nretrenchment, and monotony. This is what society and its tyranny have\nsucceeded in making of marriage. Are such couples \"free\" agents?\n\nWho _is_ free on this earth? Who is not the slave of petty caprices,\neven if he escapes the worse servitude of degrading vices? The\ndrunkard, the sensualist, the gambler, are victims of low passions that\ndestroy health and sap vitality, while they surely lead to a lonely or\na violent end; but with such aberrations we do not propose to deal. But\neven those who pride themselves on their freedom from any vice or bad\nhabit, what are they, often, but puppets swayed by absurd influences\nradiating from such sources as the loss of a night's rest, the delay of\na meal, the failure to reach a certain train?\n\nChildren and pets are well-known tyrants, not only to the mother or the\nmaiden aunt, but to the male creation in general and the old generation\nin particular. The grandfather is ready at all times to be made a\nhobby-horse, the grandmother to drudge for king baby. The children's\ndinner is the event of the day; Harry's destructiveness of his first\npair and all following pairs of trousers is the burden of the household\nlament; little Cissy's first tooth is a matter of deep interest; baby\nMaggie is allowed to pull mother's hair down just before dinner,\nunrebuked--nay, even encouraged. Pet poodles and favorite parrots,\nand, indeed, all tame companions of mankind, absorb a wonderful amount\nof human interest and attention, and often demand it at unseasonable\nhours; compelling idleness, or at least encouraging loss of time. In\nfact, our time and mind are ever occupied with supplementary things,\nforced upon us by custom or caprice; and we secretly but helplessly\nrebel, incapable, we think, of either resistance to our own follies,\nor courage to laugh in the face of Mrs. Grundy.\n\nIt is impossible to stand absolutely free in the world, but there is\nfreedom and freedom. Of all freedoms, that of the free-thinker is the\nnarrowest. Uncertainty is a grievous spirit, doubt a bad master; and\nthe poor free-thinker finds that his mental companion and philosophic\nguide offers him but slight comfort under misfortune. Moral restraints\nare to him but chaff in the wind, religious forms mere dust shaken off\nhis shoes; but what remains? He deems himself king of the world of\nthought, but he finds his kingdom turned into a desert; he acknowledges\nno ties or duties, undertakes no responsibility, works (if he works)\nfor himself alone, and then finds that what he earns he cannot enjoy\nunshared. Temporary human companionship on earth has no charms for him;\nfor he reflects that annihilation follows death, and it is therefore\nuseless to make bosom friends of men who will so soon be less than\nnothing, and whose only memento will be in the richness of the crops\ngrown over their graves. The mental solitude of the free-thinker is\nnot an agreeable or a soothing one; much less is it fruitful in high\nthoughts or heroic actions.\n\nIf any ask in an earnest spirit, where are the fewest masters, and\nwhere freest men?--we would answer, in the cloister.\n\nA startling answer to the worldling; a suggestive one to the thinker.\nLet us examine it, and see whether it can be substantiated. Religious\nare the men supposed to be the most subjected to authority in the\nworld--those whose duty it is to have not only no will of their\nown, but even no individual thought, no opinion of any kind. Even\nso, in a sense; and on that account, not despite it, _but because\nof it_, are they the freest men on earth. The secular clergy are\ncomparatively free, because they have one object only; that is, one\nMaster. Priests are not burdened with family and household cares,\nscarcely with social necessities; but none the less are they sometimes\nvexed by circumstances which they cannot control, and are made to pay\nthe tithe of that slavery which any contact with the world, even for\nthe world's good, and by men who are not of the world, necessarily\nentails. Religious even of active orders are still freer, because they\nare less of the world; but the man who stands before God in silent\ncontemplation, as the eagle pauses before the sun and looks into its\ndepths, is the freest of all. A purely contemplative order, whose\nmission, higher yet than that of the captains of Israel, is that of\nMoses praying with uplifted arms for the triumph of the people of\nGod--such is the home of the highest and truest freedom.\n\nThe ascetic has found the secret that philosophers seek for in vain,\nthat attitude of godlike calm in the midst of all transient storms of\nlife. The supremest exercise of freedom is to surrender that freedom\nitself, with full confidence that the person into whose hands it is\nsurrendered is the representative of a higher power. A king would not\nbe free were he prevented from abdicating his kingship; the religious\nvow is the abdication of a kingdom greater than is constituted by\nso many thousands of square miles. This renunciation once made, no\nearthly event can be of the slightest interest to the disenthralled\nman. No care for his body, no solicitude for his reputation, remains;\nhe has disrobed himself of his earthly belongings, and let slip every\nvestige of the garments of worldliness. A spirit--practically almost\ndisembodied--he looks above for inspiration, comfort, guidance,\nknowledge. The miseries of earth, if poured into his ear by some\ndespairing fellow-mortal, gain from him the divine pity of an angel\nrather than the passionate sympathy of a man; he is raised above the\nwants of nature, the wrangles of society, even the perplexities of the\nintellect. Taught no longer by men or by books, he speaks face to face\nwith God in his long prayers and meditations, and no human interest\never distracts his mind from this exalted colloquy. Insensible to the\ninfluences of time, place, and circumstance, he is still as free as\nair when hunted from his retreat by men to whom his whole life is an\nenigma; the oracle speaks to him in the midst of a crowd, and he no\nmore hears the murmur of those around him than if he were at sea, a\nthousand miles from land; a palace, a prison, or a scaffold are all\nreproductions of his cell, for the same all-filling Presence surrounds\nhim, blinding him to all else. His indifference is so galling to his\nenemies, his freedom so mysterious and so provoking, that they would\nrather put him to death than witness the unutterable calm they can\nneither disturb nor emulate; but that death is only the one more step\nneeded for his perfect bliss--the one veil to be yet lifted between the\nascetic philosopher and the freedom that taught him his philosophy.\n\nSerene land of passionless perfection, which men call the monastic\nlife! How many, even among religious, scale thy furthermost heights?\nYet it is a consolation to mankind to know that there _is_, even on\nearth, a sanctuary where human nature, be it only represented by ever\nso few, can reach to that ideal state of perfect communion with God and\nperfect contempt of all trammels which alone should be dignified with\nthe name of philosophy.\n\n\n\n\nA LOOKER-BACK.\n\n    \"For as he forward mov'd his footing old\n    So backward still was turn'd his wrinkled face.\"--_Faerie Queene._\n\n\nThere are some people in the world who, like the sad mourners that come\nup through Dante's hollow vale with heads reversed, have not the power\nto see before them. Their eyes are always peering into the past, they\ngo groping in the dim twilight of bygone days; they wander off the\nhighway of ordinary life, till they lose their place in its sphere;\nthey have no knowledge but legendary lore, no wisdom but that of past\ngenerations. And when, by some accident, they cross the current of the\npresent age, they grasp at the very first relic of the past as a link\nwith the receding shore.\n\nIt was such a one that found himself adrift on the high tide at Charing\nCross--which Dr. Johnson so loved; and, amazed and confused by the\nincessant, tumultuous flow of a life in which he had no part, took\nrefuge in the thousand sanctuaries of the past to be found in London.\nBelonging by a peculiar grace, as one born out of due time, to the\nancient church--for ever ancient, for ever new!--he turned particularly\nto those old Catholic foundations around which cluster so many\nassociations, at once religious, historical, and poetic. Having read of\nthem from childhood, and learned to connect them with the past glory\nof the church, and familiar with all the romantic and legendary lore\nconcerning them, when he found himself in their midst his heart and\nsoul and imagination were at once aflame. It was then to such places as\nWestminster Abbey, Christ's Hospital, the Charter-House, and the Temple\nthat his heart instinctively turned on his arrival in London.\n\nNot that he actually visited them first. The Divine Presence, alas! no\nlonger dwells in them incarnate; and it was of course, as became one\nwith pilgrim-staff and scallop-shell, to the foot of the Tabernacle\nhe hastened, the first time he issued from his lodgings, to offer\nup his prayer of thanksgiving to _J\u00e9sus-Hostie_ for a safe voyage\nacross the Atlantic. But at his very threshold he could see a spot\nassociated with many terrible memories, marked by a stone: \"Here stood\nTyburn Gate.\" Here the last prior of the Charter-House was executed,\nand Robert Southwell, the Jesuit poet of Queen Elizabeth's time,\nwhose last words were expressive of his attachment to the Society of\nJesus and his happiness to suffer martyrdom. Many others, too, of\nreligious and historic memory, ascended here from earth to heaven.\nClose beside the spot is the Marble Arch of Hyde Park. \"Beyond Hyde\nPark all is a desert!\" said our pilgrim with Sir Fopling Flutter,\nglad to be diverted from memories too sad for one's first impressions\nof a foreign city. Two serene-looking \"Little Sisters of the Poor,\"\nprovidentially crossing the path, directed him to the French chapel--a\nmodest sanctuary, but where such men as Lacordaire, De Ravignan, and\nother distinguished French pulpit-orators have been heard. The way\nthither was through Portman Square, once the property of the Knights\nof S. John of Jerusalem. Here the celebrated Mrs. Montague once lived.\nIn one corner of the square stands apart--in a large yard, a square\nold-fashioned brick house with an immense portico in front, and a\ntwo-story bow window at the end--one of those houses that we at once\nfeel have a history. This is Montague House, where Mrs. Montague used\nto give an annual dinner to the London chimney-sweeps, \"that they might\nenjoy one happy day in the year\"--a house frequented by the literary\ncelebrities of the time--where Miss Burney was welcomed, and Ursa Major\ngrew tame.\n\nA short distance from the French chapel is the Spanish church,\ndedicated to S. James, with its S. Mary's aisle lighted from above,\ngiving a fine _chiaro-oscuro_ effect to the edifice. It was pleasant to\nfind an altar to the glorious Patron of Spain in a city where he was\nonce so venerated, and whose name has been given to one of its social\nextremes. The devotion of the English to S. Jago di Compostella was\nextraordinary in the Middle Ages. So general was it, that the Constable\nof the Tower, in the time of Edward II., used to receive a custom of\ntwo-pence from each pilgrim to Spain going or returning by the Thames.\nRymer mentions 916 licenses to visitors to that shrine in the year\n1428, and 2,460 in 1434. And here, in this modern English church, is a\nstatue of the saint, with the scallop-shell on his cape, first assumed\nby pilgrims to Compostella as a token that they had extended their\npenitential wanderings to that sainted shore. English Catholics of the\nolden time seemed to have had a special love for pilgrimages, and we\nhail a renewed taste for such a devotion as a revival of the spirit of\nthe past.\n\nIt was the good fortune of our modern pilgrim to hear the Archbishop\nof Westminster preach a few days after in the Spanish church on the\nstate of the soul after death--a preacher that harmonizes at once with\nthe past and the present--full of sympathy with the present, full of\nthe spirit of the past. A S. Jerome from his cave, a S. Anthony from\nthe desert! is the first thought, and his wonderfully solemn style of\npreaching is in harmony with his ascetic appearance. Nothing could be\nmore impressive and affecting. Neither did our wanderer forget the\nivy-clad oratory at Kensington, still perfumed with holy memories of F.\nFaber. He felt the need of thanking him here for the thousand precious\nwords he had spoken to his soul through his beautiful hymns and\ninvaluable works on the inner life; soothing it in sorrow, and arming\nit against the transitory evils of life. Such evils follow every one,\neven the pilgrim, and it was good to repeat here Faber's lines:\n\n    \"These surface troubles come and go\n      Like rufflings of the sea;\n    The deeper depth is out of reach\n      To all, my God, but thee!\"\n\nWhat a round of sweet devotions in this church, with the taper-lighted\noratory of Mary Most Pure! Oh! how near to heaven one gets there!--the\nbeautiful shrine-like chapel of S. Philip Neri, and the solemn Calvary\nwhere, between the two thieves, the Divine Image is outstretched on the\nhuge cross, embalming the wood--\n\n                        \"Image meet\n    Of One uplifted high to turn\n    And draw to him all hearts in bondage sweet.\"\n\nMany pious hearts seem drawn here to meditate on the Passion, and, one\nafter another, go up to kiss the blood-stained cross. Oh! how many ways\nthe church has of leading the soul to God! Guido declared he had two\nhundred ways of making the eyes look up to heaven. The church has many\nmore with its multiplied popular devotions, each peculiarly adapted\nto some cast of soul. It would be heaven enough below to have a cell\nsomewhere near this sweet school of S. Philip's sons and the beautiful\naltars they have set up.\n\nWhile thus gratifying the devotional instincts of his heart, some\nreligious monument of bygone ages was constantly falling in our\npilgrim's way. How could he pass S. Pancras-in-the-Fields without\nfalling into prayer, as Windham in his diary tells us Dr. Johnson\ndid, recalling the Catholic martyrs burnt here at the stake in Queen\nElizabeth's time? The bell of S. Pancras--O funeral note of woe!--was\nthe last to ring for Mass in England at the time of the so-called\nReformation. A wonder it did not break in twain as it sounded that last\nelevation of the Host! Has it ever uttered one joyful note since that\nsad morn, when the altars were stripped, the lights one by one put\nsorrowfully out, and the Divine Presence faded away? No, no; it has the\nsaddest tone of any bell in London, at least to the Catholic ear. As\nit was here he was laid away, it is no wonder that faithful Catholics,\ndown to the present century, were in the habit of coming to S. Pancras\nat early morning hour to seek some trace of their buried Lord. Perhaps\nhe sometimes appeared to such devout souls, as of old to his Mother\nand Magdalen. It is certain that, at least, he spoke to their hearts\nas they lingered here to pray--pray that he might rise again! And\nhere they wished to rest after death, till they were again allowed to\nhave a cemetery apart. This was the burial-place of the Howards and\nCliffords, and others of high lineage, both foreign and native. One\nold friend lies here, John Walker--well known from his _Dictionary_,\nonce extensively used in America, a convert to the Catholic Church,\nand a friend of Dr. Milner's, who calls him \"the Guido d'Arezzo of\nelocution, who discovered the scale of speaking sounds by which reading\nand delivery have been reduced to a system.\"\n\nS. Pancras was once a popular saint. The boy-martyr of Rome, whose\nblood was shed in the cause of truth, was regarded in the middle ages\nas the avenger of false oaths. The kings of France used to confirm\ntreaties in his name. The English, with their natural abhorrence of\nlying, so honored him as to give his name to one of the oldest churches\nin London. Cardinal Wiseman has popularized his memory in these days\nthrough _Fabiola_.\n\nAgain, what a flood of recollections comes over the pilgrim in passing\nthrough Temple Bar, or going across London Bridge, first built by the\npious brothers of S. Mary's Monastery in 994. The old bishops and monks\nwere truly the _pontifices_ of the middle ages--not only as builders of\n\n          \"The invisible bridge\n    That leads from earth to heaven,\"\n\nbut good substantial arches of stone over stream and flood. The Pont\nRoyal over the Seine was built by a Dominican. So was the Carraja at\nFlorence. The old bridges of Spain were mostly due to the clergy.\n\nBridge-building was esteemed a good work in those times, and prayers\nwere offered for those engaged in it. At the bidding of the beads, the\nfaithful were thus invited: \"Masters and frendes, ye shall praye for\nall them that bridges and streets make and amend, that God grant us\npart of their good deeds, and them of ours.\"\n\nLondon Bridge was rebuilt of stone nearly two centuries later. Peter\nof S. Mary's, Colechurch, began it. Henry II. gave towards it the\ntax on wool, which led to the saying that \"London Bridge was built\non wool-packs.\" Peter did not live to complete it. That was done by\nIsenbert, master of the schools at Xainctes--a builder of bridges in\nhis own country. He finished London Bridge in 1280. Near the middle\nof it was a Gothic chapel, dedicated to S. Thomas \u00e0 Becket, and under\nthe wool-packs--that is to say, in the crypt--a tomb was hollowed out\nof a pier of the bridge for Peter of Colechurch. When this pier was\nremoved in 1832, his remains were found where they had lain nearly six\nhundred years. On the Gate-house of London Bridge was hung the head of\nSir William Wallace. Bishop Fisher's (of Rochester) was hung here the\nvery day his cardinal's hat arrived at Dover; and two weeks after, that\nof his friend, Sir Thomas More. Here, too, were suspended the heads of\nF. Garnet, of the Society of Jesus, and scores of Catholic priests in\nQueen Elizabeth's time.\n\nYes, London is full of Catholic memories. Bridewell, Bedlam, Mincing\nLane, Tooley St., and many more are names of Catholic origin, now\ncorrupted, the derivation of which it is pleasant to recall as they\nmeet the eye. One strolls through Paternoster Row, and Ave Maria\nLane, and by Amen Corner, out of love for their very names, reminding\nus of the Catholic processions around Old S. Paul's. Shall it be\nconfessed?--profaner thoughts here mingle with such memories. Passing\nthrough Paternoster Row, one naturally looks up, expecting to see\nthe splendid Mrs. Bungay come forth to take her drive with a look of\ndefiance at the chaise-less Mrs. Bacon at the opposite window!\n\nNot far from here is Christ's Hospital, so familiar to us all through\nLamb, Coleridge, and Leigh Hunt. It is at once recognized by the\nbust of Edward VI. over the entrance. It is pleasant to be allowed to\nwander through the arcades and quadrangles at one's pleasure, with no\nguide to disturb the delightful memories evoked by such a place. Going\ninto a quadrangle, surrounded by a kind of cloister hung with memorial\ntablets, the first thing noticed is a marble slab on the wall to the\nright, inscribed:\n\n\"In memory of the Rev. James Boyer, who for many years was head\ngrammar-master of this Hospital. He died July 28, 1814, aged\nseventy-nine years.\"\n\nOne could not help pausing to read and copy this tribute to so old\nan acquaintance. To be sure, \"J. B. had a heavy hand,\" which was\nrather too familiar with a rod of fearful omen, but he ground out some\nfine scholars, and has been immortalized by the great geniuses that\nexpanded under his tuition. I can see Master Boyer now, as Charles Lamb\ndescribes him, calling upon the boys with a sardonic grin to see how\nneat and fresh his rod looked!--see him in his passy, or passionate\nwig, make a precipitate entry into the school-room from his inner den,\nand, with his knotty fist doubled up, and a turbulent eye, single out\nsome unhappy boy, roaring: \"Od's my life, sirrah! I have a mind to whip\nyou\"; and then, with a sudden retracting impulse, return to his lair,\nand, after a lapse of some moments, drive out headlong again with the\ncontext which the poor boy almost hoped was forgotten: \"And I _will_,\ntoo!\"--treating the trembling culprit to a sandwich of alternate lash\nand paragraph till his _rabidus furor_ was assuaged.\n\nLamb, in his delightful essay, _Recollections of Christ's Hospital_,\ndwells on some of his fellow-pupils whose memory one cannot help\nrecalling while lingering under these arches. And chief among them,\n\"Samuel Taylor Coleridge, logician, metaphysician, bard--who in these\ncloisters unfolded in deep and sweet intonations the mysteries of\nJamblichus or Plotinus, or recited Homer in his Greek, or Pindar,\nwhile the walls of the old Grey Friars re-echoed to the accents of the\ninspired charity boy.\" He tells us, too, of Thomas Fanshawe Middleton,\n\"a scholar and a gentleman in his teens,\" but said afterwards to have\nborne his mitre rather high as the first Protestant bishop of Calcutta,\nthough a more humble and apostolic bearing \"might not have been exactly\nfitted to impress the minds of those Anglo-Asiatic diocesans with\nreverence for home institutions and the church which such fathers\nwatered.\" There is a monument to the memory of Bishop Middleton at S.\nPaul's, where he is represented, in his robes of office, in the act\nof confirming two East Indians, but the hand raised over their heads\nhas all the fingers broken off but one. Let us hope what apostolic\nauthority he possessed was centred in that digit!\n\nAbove all, at Christ's Hospital one recalls the gentle Elia himself.\nPerhaps in yonder dim corner he furtively ate the griskin brought from\nthe paternal kitchen by his aunt. \"I remember the good old relative,\"\nhe says (in whom love forbade pride), \"squatting down upon some odd\nstone in a by-nook of the cloisters, disclosing the viands (of higher\nregale than those cates which the ravens ministered to the Tishbite),\nand the contending passions of L. at the unfolding. There was love\nfor the bringer, shame for the thing brought and the manner of its\nbringing.\"\n\nUnder these pillared arches, so shadowy to-day with the heavy London\nfog, Richardson perhaps conceived his first dramatic scenes, and Leigh\nHunt began to weave the delicious fancies that have since charmed us\nall. Yonder was the dormitory the young ass was smuggled into, which\nwaxed fat, and proclaimed his good fortune to the world below, setting\nconcealment any longer at defiance.\n\nWhile thus musing, an instalment of the eight hundred boys at the\nHospital came out to their sports in their quaint costume of black\nbreeches, long yellow stockings to the knees, and a dark-blue gown\ndown to the heels, garnished with bright buttons bearing the likeness\nof Edward VI., and confined by a leather belt. White bands at the neck\ngive them a clerical look by no means at variance with so monastic a\nplace. They had innocent, open faces, such as we find in our monastic\nschools, reminding one of Pope Gregory's well-known exclamation:\n\"_Non Angli sed angeli._\" They tucked up their skirts and betook\nthemselves most heartily to their sports. It was queer to see their\nlong yellow-stockinged legs flying across the quadrangle. They have\ncaps, it is said, about the size of a saucer, which they dislike so\nmuch that they prefer going bare-headed, but they did not mind the fog,\nnow almost amounting to rain. Children, we all know, are, as Lamb says,\n\"proof against weather, ingratitude, meat under-done, and every weapon\nof fate.\" One of them stopped to pump some water for the visitor to\noffer as a libation to the memory of Charles Lamb.\n\n\"Pierian spring!\" scornfully shouted Master Boyer to a young writer of\na classical turn: \"the cloister pump, you mean!\"\n\nThe school-room visited bore marks that would have done credit to\na Yankee jack-knife, and revived pleasant reminiscences of youthful\nachievements in a New England school-house. The chapel, too, with its\nmural tablets, and flag tombstones, and painted window, of Christ\nblessing little children, is interesting. At the right of the chancel\nis a remnant of old monastic charity. An inscription in yellow letters\non a claret-colored ground announces that \"the bread here given weekly\nto the poor of the parish of S. Leonard's is from a bequest of Sir John\nTrott and other benefactors,\" and on the other side in equally glaring\ncharacters: \"Praise be to thee, O Lord God, for this thy gift unto the\npoor!\" There is rather a more amusing inscription of a similar nature\nat S. Giles', Cripplegate, opposite the monument to Milton:\n\n    \"This Bvsbie, willing to reeleve the poore with fire and withe breade,\n    Did give that howse whearein he dyed then called ye Queene's heade,\n    Fovr fvlle loades of ye best charcoales he wovld have brovght each\n        yeare,\n    And fortie dosen of wheaten breade for poore howseholders heare:\n    To see these thinges distribvted this Bvsby pvt in trvst\n    The Vicar and Chvrch wardenes thinking them to be IVST:\n    God grant that poore howseholders here may thankfvll be for svch,\n    So God will move the mindes of moe to doe for them as mvch:\n    And let this good example move svch men as God hath blest\n    To doe the like before they goe with Bvsby to there rest:\n    Within this chappell Bvsbie's bones in dvst a while mvst stay,\n    Till He that made them rayse them vp to live with Christ for aye.\"\n\nThe said Busby is represented above this curious inscription, in\nbold relief, as a be-ruffed man of jovial type, holding a bottle in\none hand, and a death's-head in the other, so that one does not know\nwhether to laugh or cry. It would be more reasonable to cry over the\ngrave of that dreadful prevaricator Fox, called the Martyrologist,\nsaid to be buried in the same church, only one does not know where\nto weep, as the precise spot is not known. So one has to be satisfied\nwith sighing before a huge stone set up to his memory at the end of\nthe church, and thinking with Lessing that \"if the world is to be held\ntogether by lies, the old ones which are already current are as good\nas the new.\" What a pity Fox had not belonged to S. Pancras' parish!\nHowever, that saint seems to have kept an eye on him, and avenged the\ncause of truth. We do not suppose there are many now who are credulous\nenough to accept Fox as reliable authority concerning the history of\nthose sad times. And if we stop to look at his tablet here, it is with\nsomething of the same feeling that we turn down Fetter Lane to see\nwhere \"Praise God Barebones\" and his brother \"Damned Barebones\" lived,\nand wonder how any one house could hold them both.\n\nBut to return to Christ's Hospital. It must not be supposed that,\nmeanwhile, it has been forgotten that this institution was originally\na Catholic foundation. It was the first thought at entering, nor could\nthe pleasant associations of later years prevent a regret that so\nmonastic a building is no longer peopled by the old Grey Friars. Keats'\nlines recurred to memory:\n\n    \"Mute is the matin bell whose early call\n      Warned the Grey fathers from their humble beds;\n    Nor midnight taper gleams along the wall,\n      Or round the sculptured saint its radiance sheds!\"\n\nIt was on the second of February, 1224, during the pontificate of\nHonorius III. and the reign of King Henry III., S. Francis of Assisi\nbeing still alive, that a small band of Franciscan friars landed at\nDover. There were four priests and five lay-brothers. Five of this\nnumber stopped at Canterbury to found a house, and the remainder came\non to London. The simplicity of their manners and mode of life made\nthem popular at once, and they speedily acquired the means of building\na house and church. Among other benefactors, John Ewin, or Iwin, a\ncitizen of London, gave them an estate, as he says in the deed of\nconveyance, \"for the health of my soul, in pure and perpetual alms,\"\nand became a lay-brother in the house, leaving behind him, when he\ndied, a holy memory as a strict and devout observer of the rule. A\nlarge church adapted to their wants was completed in the year 1327, and\ndedicated to \"the honor of God and our alone Saviour Jesus Christ.\" It\nwas three hundred feet long, eighty-nine feet broad, and seventy-four\nfeet high. Queen Margaret gave two thousand marks towards it, and the\nfirst stone was laid in her name. John of Brittany, Earl of Richmond,\nand his niece, the Countess of Pembroke, gave the hangings, vestments,\nand sacred vessels. Isabella, the mother of Edward III., and Philippa,\nhis queen, also gave money for its completion. The thirty-six windows\nwere the gifts of various charitable persons. The western window, being\ndestroyed in a gale, was restored by Edward III., \"for the repose of\nthe soul\" of his mother, who had just been buried before the choir.\nIn 1380, Margaret, Countess of Norfolk, erected new stalls in the\nchoir, at a cost of three hundred and fifty marks. Many nobles were\nburied here--four queens, four duchesses, four countesses, one duke,\ntwo earls, eight barons, thirty-five knights--in all, six hundred and\nsixty-three persons of quality. Among them was Margaret, the second\nwife of Edward I., and granddaughter of S. Louis, King of France. She\nwas buried before the high altar. In the choir lay Isabella, wife of\nEdward II.--\n\n    \"She-wolf of France with unrelenting fangs,\n    Who tore the bowels of her mangled mate\"--\n\nbeneath a monument of alabaster, with the heart of her murdered husband\non her breast! Near her lay her daughter Joanna, wife of Edward Bruce\nof Scotland. Here too was buried Lady Venitia Digby, so celebrated\nfor her beauty, the wife of Sir Kenelm Digby, who erected over her a\nmonument of black marble.\n\nIn the middle ages the great ones of the world, at the approach of\ndeath, the all-leveller, feeling the nothingness of earthly grandeur\nand riches, often sought to be buried among Christ's poor ones, and\nnot unfrequently in their habit, not thinking \"in Franciscan weeds to\npass disguised,\" but as an act of faith in the evangelical counsels,\nand a recognition of the importance of being clothed with Christ's\nrighteousness. It was a public confession that the vain garments they\nhad worn in the world had been as poisonous to them as the tunic\nHercules put on. Dante laid down to die in the cowl and mantle of a\nFranciscan. Cervantes was buried in the same habit. Louis of Orleans,\nwho was murdered by the Duke of Burgundy, was buried among the Celestin\nmonks in the habit of their order. Anne of Brittany, twice Queen of\nFrance, wore the scapular of the Carmelites, and wished it to be sent\nwith her heart in a golden box to her beloved Bretons.\n\nThe Grey Friars' church was destroyed at the great fire, and the\nmonastery greatly injured. There are still some portions of it\nremaining, however, which are at once recognized. Some of the books\nof the old monastic library are still preserved--a library founded by\nSir Richard Whittington, thrice Lord Mayor of London, the hero of\nthe nursery rhyme, to whom the Bowbells sounded so auspiciously. He\nlaid the foundation of this library in 1421, and gave four hundred\npounds towards furnishing it. The remainder of the books were given, or\ncollected by one of the friars.\n\nIt seems that, after all, Edward VI. was not the founder of the modern\ninstitution of Christ's Hospital. He merely gave it its name, and added\nto the endowment. When the monastery was suppressed by his father,\nit was given to the municipality of London, and the city authorities\nconceived the idea of converting it into a refuge for poor children. It\nwas chiefly endowed by the citizens themselves, though aided by grants\nfrom Henry VIII. and Edward VI.\n\n\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\n  THE LIFE OF S. ALPHONSUS LIGUORI. By a Member of the Order of\n    Mercy. New York: P. O'Shea. 1873.\n\n  THE LIFE OF THE SAME. By the Rt. Rev. J. Mullock, D.D., Bishop of\n    Newfoundland. New York: P. J. Kenedy. 1873.\n\nS. Alphonsus has never found a perfectly competent biographer, and\nperhaps never will. F. Tannoja has written full and minute memoirs,\ncontaining all the facts and events of his life, but he wrote under the\nfear of the Neapolitan censorship, and could not speak openly of the\nmiserable infidel Tanucci and the other Jansenists and infidels, or\nfaithless Catholics, of the wretched period in which the saint lived,\nand the corrupt court with which he had to contend. Moreover, Tannoja\nhad not a sufficiently elevated and comprehensive mind to be able to\nappreciate and describe the life and times of S. Alphonsus in their\nhigher and broader relations. The Oratorian translation of his life is\na most wretched and shabby affair in respect to style and accuracy.\nThe religious lady who has prepared the first of the lives placed at\nthe head of this notice has therefore done a very great service to\nthe Catholic public by compiling a careful and readable biography\nfrom the other earlier works of the kind, and adding some interesting\nparticulars concerning the history of the modern Redemptorists.\n\nBishop Mullock's life of the saint is quite brief and compendious,\nbut of the best quality so far as it goes. The publisher has made a\ngreat blunder in omitting the title of Doctor of the Universal Church,\nwhich has been given to S. Alphonsus since Dr. Mullock's life was first\npublished, on the title-page.\n\nArchbishop Manning, who has given, though in brief form, the best\nappreciation of the character and work of the great doctor which we\nhave seen, truly says that S. Ignatius, S. Charles, and S. Alphonsus\nare the three great modern leaders of the church in her warfare. As one\nof this great trio, S. Alphonsus deserves to be universally known and\nhonored among the faithful, and we rejoice in the publication of the\nbiography compiled by the accomplished Sister of Mercy as the best we\nhave in English, wishing it a wide circulation, as a means of promoting\ndevotion to the latest of the doctors and one of the greatest of the\nsaints.\n\n  LIVES OF THE IRISH SAINTS. Vol. I., No. 1. By Rev. John O'Hanlon.\n    Dublin: Duffy & Co.\n\nIt is not often that we have the privilege of noticing such a work\nas this--the labor of a lifetime, the history of a whole nation's\nsanctity. Since Alban Butler, no such hagiographer as F. O'Hanlon\nhas appeared, nor has any work on hagiology so full of interest and\nimportance been given to the world. Up to this time the saints of\nIreland, with few exceptions, were hidden saints; of the three or four\nthousand souls who have shed upon her the light of their sanctity,\nand earned for her the glorious title of the \"Island of Saints,\" the\nworld knew scarcely anything. It was in vain that the ancient annalists\ncompiled voluminous records for the benefit of posterity; those that\nescaped the hands of the spoiler were left unexamined, and the learned\nof the nation seemed to have forgotten that their country had a holy\nand heroic past, whose history it was their sacred duty to look into\nand perpetuate. No attention was given to traditions of bygone days; no\nlight was thrown upon them; they were fast becoming dim and obscure,\nand what was, in reality, fact, the rising generation was beginning\nto regard as fable. This neglect, so ruinous, and even criminal,\nmight have gone on till it became irreparable, had not this learned\nand devoted priest undertaken the great task of redeeming the past of\nErin's sanctity from the oblivion into which it was rapidly sinking.\nHow carefully he prepared himself, and how well qualified he is to\nperform this labor of patriotism and love, the first number of his work\ngives ample proof. His acquaintance with Irish lore, his erudition and\nresearch, his fine style, all combine to make him the fittest person\nthat could have engaged in so great a work.\n\nWere we disposed to find fault with him at all, we should say he is\nrather critical; at least, we fancy we perceive in him a tendency to\nconform to the critical spirit of the age, which perhaps is prudent,\nafter all, and may enhance the historical value of the work, though it\nwill mar somewhat, we think, the poetic beauty it ought to possess.\n\nNo literary effort has yet been attempted that appeals so strongly to\nthe national and religious sentiments of the Irish people; and none\nshould receive so large a share of their interest and support. F.\nO'Hanlon's _Lives of the Irish Saints_, when completed, will be a noble\nmonument to Erin's faith and Erin's glory, to which his countrymen in\nevery land should feel proud to contribute; the appreciation that he\nmeets with may encourage others to enter the comparatively unexplored\nmine of Irish history, and bring to light the treasures it contains.\n\nWe learn that F. O'Hanlon, who is a citizen of the United States,\nhas copyrighted the work here, and it is to be hoped will make\narrangements for its reissue in this country. Meanwhile, intending\nsubscribers may address the author directly, or order the book through\n\"The Catholic Publication Society,\" New York. It will be published\nserially, and the American price is fifty cents per number.\n\n  JESUITS IN CONFLICT; OR, HISTORIC FACTS illustrative of the Labors\n    and Sufferings of the English Mission and Province of the Society\n    of Jesus in the Times of Queen Elizabeth and her Successors. By a\n    Member of the Society of Jesus. London: Burns & Oates. 1873. (New\n    York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\nAnother publication throwing light on the period of the Elizabethan\npersecution of Catholics, and more especially on the part borne by\nthe Jesuits themselves in this heroic struggle. So many books have\nappeared lately on this subject that we may almost say that a new\nbranch of Catholic literature has been opened in the English language.\nThe \"getting up\" of this book is worthy of the subject, and we rejoice\nthat it is so; for, to take a simile from a passage in this very\nvolume, we may say with truth of the outward appearance of a book\nin these times what the holy lay-brother, Thomas Pounde, considered\nhis rich dress in prison to be: \"A means of inspiring Catholics with\ngreater courage, and conciliating authority\" (p. 42). The history of\nthe three confessors of the faith, Thomas Pounde, George Gilbert,\nand F. Darbyshire, is very interesting. In the two former we have\nexamples of lay sanctity and constancy, as distinguished from that of\npriests, though both saints were in heart members of the Society of\nJesus, to which one was affiliated by extraordinary dispensation of the\nordinary novitiate, and the other received the habit and pronounced\nhis vows _in articulo mortis_. Thomas Pounde, of Belmont, a man of old\nfamily and high connections, had all the burning zeal of a convert\nwhose soul had narrowly escaped the everlasting infamy of the life\nof a court minion. Not only his fearlessness and constancy, but his\nhigh intellectual attainments, claim our attention. Thirty years of\nperpetual imprisonment had not enfeebled his mind, and his one desire\nwas a public disputation with his adversaries, nay, \"with Beza and all\nthe doctors of Geneva,\" if it pleased his foes to reinforce themselves\nwith such noted aid. In a lengthy paper, written in 1580 to show that\nthe Bible alone is not the true rule of faith, he brings forward\nthe same reasons which we hear so much about in our day, and after\nspecially dwelling on the many articles of universally held Christian\nfaith that are _not_ directly and plainly traceable to Scripture, he\nsays pointedly: \"Do not these blind guides, think you, lead a trim\ndaunce towards infidelitie?\" He could not have spoken otherwise had he\nmeant his apology for the XIXth instead of the XVIth century.\n\nGeorge Gilbert, also of a good English family, was one of those rich\nmen who, in truth, make themselves the stewards of the Lord. With him\noriginated the useful and ingenious Catholic Association, in which\nyoung men of the world bound themselves to become the temporal guides,\nhelpers, couriers, furnishers of the priests who labored spiritually\nfor the conversion of England. The companion of F. Parsons, as Pounde\nhad been of F. Campion, he, too, was a convert not only from courtly\nvanities, but from actual Calvinism. Ardently desiring martyrdom,\nhe nevertheless embraced obediently and lovingly the cross of a\n\"sluggish death in bed\"; but at least the pain of exile had been added\nto imprisonment, for he was banished from his native land, and died\nat Rome in 1583. His whole substance was offered to the service of\nGod, and what little remained at his death he left to the Society for\nthe spiritual needs of his country. It was not till he lay upon his\ndeath-bed that he pronounced his vows.\n\nF. Darbyshire was as learned as he was zealous. While in France\npreparing for his perilous English mission, he refused the honors of\nthe pulpit and the professorial chair, and confined himself to giving\ncatechetical instruction; but God so rewarded his humility that grave\nscholars and theologians would flock to hear him, and make notes of\nthe wonderful learning he displayed, while they admired the eloquence\nhe could not hide. He and his friend, F. Henry Tichborne, might well\ncongratulate themselves, later on, on the holy efficacy of persecution,\nwhich had caused the \"confluence of the rares and bestes wittes of our\nnation to the seminaries,\" and of the happy increase in the number\nof fervent inmates of the foreign seminaries They descant, too, on\nthe unwise policy of persecution, and the fact that no religion was\never permanently established by the sword. The faith might have been\nreft of one of its greatest glories in England had not a short-sighted\nfanaticism resorted to violent means to uproot it. F. Darbyshire died\nin exile in France in 1604, in the very same place, Pont-\u00e0-Mousson,\nwhere he had so signally distinguished himself for learning and for\nmodesty in the beginning of his apostolate.\n\nThis book is written in simple, Saxon style. The author trusts rather\nto facts than to rhetoric, just as of old the acts of the martyrs were\nchronicled without much comment, whether descriptive or panegyrical.\nThe volume bears \"First Series\" on its title-page, as a promise that\nit is but the prelude to other biographies as interesting. Let us hope\nthat the promise will be speedily fulfilled.\n\n  THE LIFE OF THE BLESSED JOHN BERCHMANS. By Francis Goldie, S.J. (F.\n    Coleridge's Quarterly Series, Vol. VII.) London: Burns & Oates.\n    1873. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\nAt last we have in English a biography of this angelic imitator of S.\nAloysius, as charming as himself. The other lives we have seen are\nedifying but tedious. This one is equally edifying, but as fascinating\nas a romance, and published in an attractive style. It is specially\nadapted for the reading of young people.\n\n  LECTURES UPON THE DEVOTION TO THE MOST SACRED HEART OF JESUS\n    CHRIST. By the Very Rev. T. S. Preston, V.G. New York: Robert\n    Coddington. 1874.\n\nWe cannot do more than call attention to the publication of this work,\njust issued as we go to press. It embraces stenographic reports of four\nextempore lectures by the pastor of St. Ann's, New York, upon a subject\nof special interest at this time. In an appendix is given the pastoral\nof the archbishop and bishops, announcing the consecration of all the\ndioceses of this province to the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus; together\nwith a Novena, from the French of L. J. Hallez.\n\n\n\n\nTHE\n\nCATHOLIC WORLD.\n\nVOL. XVIII., No. 108.--MARCH, 1874.[249]\n\n\n\n\nJOHN STUART MILL.[250]\n\n\nIn 1764, Hume met, at the house of Baron d'Holbach, a party of the\nmost celebrated Frenchmen of that day; and the Scotchman took occasion\nto introduce a discussion concerning the existence of an atheist, in\nthe strict sense of the word; for his own part, he said, he had never\nchanced to meet with one. \"You have been unfortunate,\" replied Holbach;\n\"but at the present moment you are sitting at table with seventeen of\nthem.\"\n\nWhether or not the leading men among the positivists and cosmists of\nEngland to-day are prepared to be as frank as the Baron d'Holbach, we\nshall not venture to say; at all events, John Stuart Mill, to whom they\nall looked up with the reverence of disciples for the master, has taken\ncare that the world should not remain in doubt concerning his opinions\non this subject, which, of all others, is of the deepest interest to\nman. Among those who in this century have labored most earnestly to\npropagate an atheistic philosophy, based on the assumption that the\nhuman mind is incapable of knowing aught beyond relations, he certainly\nholds a place of distinction, and, as a representative of what is\ncalled scientific atheism, the history of his opinions is worthy of\nserious attention.\n\nIt was known some time before his death that he had written an\nautobiography; and when it was announced that his step-daughter, Miss\nTaylor, whom he had made his literary executrix, was about to publish\nthe work, the attention of at least those who take interest in the\nprofounder controversies of the age was awakened.\n\nAs an autobiography, the book has but little merit; though this should\nnot be insisted on, since success in writing of this kind is extremely\nrare. If it is almost as difficult in any case to write a life well as\nto spend it well, when one attempts to become the historian of his own\nlife, there is every probability that he will either be ridiculous or\nuninteresting. Mill, too, it must be conceded, had but poor material\nat his command. His life was uneventful, uninviting even, in its\nsurroundings; and when the patchwork of his philosophical opinions is\ntaken away, there is little left in it that is not wholly commonplace.\n\nHe was born in London, in 1806, and was the eldest son of James Mill,\nwho was a charity student of divinity at the University of Edinburgh,\nbut, becoming disgusted with the doctrines of Presbyterianism, gave up\nall idea of studying for the ministry, and in a short while renounced\nChristian faith, and became an avowed atheist, though his atheism was\nnegative; his belief in what is called the relativity of knowledge\nnot justifying him in affirming positively that there is no God, but\nonly in holding that the human mind can never know whether there be a\nGod or not. He, however, did not stop here, but, scandalized by the\nsuffering which is everywhere in the world, forgot his own principles,\nand maintained that it is absurd to suppose that such a world is the\nwork of an infinitely perfect being, and was rather inclined to accept\nthe Manichean theory of a good and evil principle, struggling against\neach other for the government of the universe. But of God, as revealed\nin Christ, he had a hatred as satanical as that of Voltaire.\n\n\"I have a hundred times heard him say,\" writes his son, \"that all ages\nand nations have represented their gods as wicked, in a constantly\nincreasing progression; that mankind have gone on, adding trait after\ntrait, till they reached the most perfect conception of wickedness\nwhich the human mind can devise, and have called this God, and\nprostrated themselves before it. This _ne plus ultra_ of wickedness\nhe considered to be embodied in what is commonly presented to mankind\nas the creed of Christianity.\"[251] In other words--for Mill can mean\nnothing less--he held that the character of Christ, as portrayed in the\nGospel, is the highest possible conception of all that is depraved and\nrepulsive; that Christ, instead of being incarnate God, is the essence\nof wickedness clothed in bodily form; that, compared with him, or at\nleast with the God whom he called his father, Moloch, Astarte, Jupiter,\nVenus, Mars, and Bacchus are pure divinities; and from the manner in\nwhich the son narrates these opinions of his father, he evidently\ndesires that we should infer that they are also his own.\n\nThe elder Mill, who seems to have been a natural pedagogue, took the\neducation of his son exclusively into his own hands, and was most\ncareful not to allow him to acquire any impressions contrary to his own\nsentiments respecting religion. Instead of teaching him to believe that\nGod created the heavens and the earth, he taught him to believe that we\ncan know nothing whatever of the manner in which the world came into\nexistence, and that the question, \"Who made you?\" is one which cannot\nbe answered, since we possess no authentic information on the subject.\n\nTo show, however, his father's conviction of the logical connection\nbetween Protestantism and infidelity, he records that he taught him\nto take the strongest interest in the Reformation, \"as the great and\ndecisive contest against priestly tyranny for liberty of thought.\"\n\n\"I am thus,\" he adds, \"one of the very few examples in this country of\none who has not thrown off religious belief, but never had it; I grew\nup in a negative state with regard to it.\"[252]\n\nHow he could grow up in a negative condition with regard to religion is\nnot easily understood when we consider that his father instilled into\nhis mind from his earliest years the doctrine that the very essence of\nreligion is evil, since it is, and ever has been, worship paid to the\ndemon, the highest possible conception of wickedness; though he was\nat the same time careful to impress upon him the duty of concealing\nhis belief on this subject; and this lesson of parental prudence was,\nas the younger Mill himself informs us, attended with some moral\ndisadvantages.[253]\n\nThese moral disadvantages, in his own opinion at least, were without\npositive influence upon his character, since through the whole book\nthere runs the tacit assumption of his own perfect goodness. I am an\natheist, he seems to say, and yet I am a saint; and he is evidently\npersuaded that his own life is sufficient proof that the notion that\nunbelief is generally connected with bad qualities either of mind or\nheart is merely a vulgar prejudice.\n\n\"The world would be astonished,\" he informs us, \"if it knew how great a\nproportion of its brightest ornaments, of those most distinguished even\nin popular estimation for wisdom and virtue, are complete sceptics in\nreligion.... But the best of them (unbelievers), as no one who has had\nopportunities of really knowing them will hesitate to affirm, are more\ngenuinely religious, in the best sense of the word religion, than those\nwho exclusively arrogate to themselves the title.\"[254]\n\nThis is probably not more extravagant than the assertion that the God\nof Christianity is the embodiment of all that is fiendish and wicked.\n\nWe cannot, however, pass so lightly over this portion of Mill's book,\nor dismiss without further examination the assumption that the best\nare they who refuse to believe in God, and hold that man is merely an\nanimal.\n\nThe real controversy of the age, as thoughtful men have long since\nrecognized, is not between the church and the sects. Protestantism,\nfrom the beginning, by asserting the supremacy of human reason, denied\nthe sovereignty of God, and in its postulates, at least, was atheistic.\nHence Catholic theologians have never had any difficulty in showing\nthat rebellion against the authority of the church is revolt against\nthat of Christ, which is apostasy from God. To this argument there is\nreally no reply, and the difficulties which Protestants have sought to\nraise against the church are based upon a sophism which underlies all\nnon-Catholic thought.\n\nThe pseudo-reformers objected that the church could not be of Christ,\nbecause in it there was evil; many of its members were sinful; as the\ndeists hold that the Bible is not the word of God, because of the many\nseeming incongruities and imperfections which are everywhere found in\nit; as the atheists teach that the universe cannot be the work of an\nall-wise and omnipotent Being, since it is filled with suffering and\ndeath; and that love cannot be creation's final law, since nature, \"red\nin tooth and claw with ravin,\" shrieks against this creed.\n\nIf the imperfections and abuses in the practical workings of the church\nare arguments against its divine institution and authority, then\nundoubtedly the \"measureless ill\" which is in the world is reason for\ndoubting whether a Being infinitely good is its author.\n\nHence the traditional objections of Protestants to the church are,\nin the ultimate analysis, reducible to the atheistic sophism, which,\nbecause there is evil in the creature, seeks to conclude that the\ncreator cannot be wholly good; not perceiving that it would be as\nreasonable to demand that the circle should be square as to ask that\nthe finite should be without defect.\n\nThe church is, both logically and historically, the only defensible\nChristianity; as Jean Jacques Rousseau long ago admitted in the\nwell-known words: \"Prove to me that in matters of religion I must\naccept authority, and I will become a Catholic to-morrow.\" There is\nno controversy to-day between the church and Protestantism which is\nworthy of serious attention. All that is important has been said on\nthis subject, and Protestants themselves begin to understand that it is\nfar wiser for them to try to hold on to the shreds of Christian belief\nwhich still remain to them than to waste their strength in attacks on\nthe church, which, as they are coming to recognize, is after all the\nstrongest bulwark of faith in the soul and in God.\n\nThe ground of debate to-day is back of heterodoxy and orthodoxy; it\nlies around the central fact in all religion--God himself.\n\nThe scientific theories of the present time, if they do not deny the\nexistence of God, are at least based upon hypotheses which ignore him\nand his action in the world; and the few attempts which have been made\nto construct what may be called a philosophy of science all proceed\nupon the assumption that, whether there be a God or not, science cannot\nrecognize his existence.\n\nThe faith which the elder Mill taught his son--that of the manner in\nwhich the world came into existence nothing can be known--is that\nwhich most scientists accept. The desire to organize society upon an\natheistic basis is also very manifest and very general.\n\n      \"Reorganiser, sans Dieu ni roi\n    Par le culte systematique de l'Humanit\u00e9.\"\n\nThe idealistic philosophy of Germany, invariably terminating in\npantheism, is another proof of the atheistic tendency of modern thought.\n\nMill, in his _Autobiography_, has of course made no attempt to prove\nthat there is no God. On the contrary, as we have already stated,\nhe has admitted that this proposition cannot be proved; but he\nbelieves there is no God, fails to perceive any evidence of design\nin the universe, and, from a morbid sense of the evil which abounds,\nfeels justified in concluding that the cosmos is not the work of an\ninfinitely good and omnipotent Being.\n\nDr. Newman, in his _Apologia_, a work of the same character as the\n_Autobiography_ of Mill, but which will be read with delight when Mill\nand his book will have been forgotten, has seen this difficulty, and\ngiven expression to it in his own inimitable manner. \"To consider\nthe world,\" he writes, \"in its length and breadth, its various\nhistory, the many races of man, their starts, their fortunes, their\nmutual alienation, their conflicts; and then their ways, habits,\ngovernments, forms of worship; their enterprises, their aimless\ncourses, their random achievements and acquirements, the impotent\nconclusion of long-standing facts; the tokens, so faint and broken, of\na superintending design; the blind evolution of what turn out to be\ngreat powers or truths; the progress of things, as if from unreasoning\nelements, not toward final causes; the greatness and littleness of man,\nhis far-reaching aims, his short duration, the curtain hung over his\nfuturity, the disappointments of life, the defeat of good, the success\nof evil, physical pain, mental anguish, the prevalence and intensity of\nsin, the pervading idolatries, the corruptions, the dreary, hopeless\nirreligion, that condition of the whole race so fearfully yet exactly\ndescribed in the apostle's words, 'having no hope, and without God in\nthe world'--all this is a vision to dizzy and appall, and inflicts upon\nthe mind the sense of a profound mystery which is absolutely beyond\nhuman solution.\"[255]\n\nBut, as Dr. Newman expresses it, ten thousand difficulties do not\nmake one doubt. Difficulty and doubt are incommensurate. When we\nhave sufficient reasons for accepting two seemingly contradictory\npropositions, the fact that we are unable to reconcile them should not\nbe a motive for rejecting them. The human race has accepted, in all\ntime, the existence of God with an assent as real as that with which\nit has believed in the substance that underlies the phenomenon. To a\ncountless number of minds, the difficulty to which Mill has given such\nemphasis has presented itself with a force not less than that with\nwhich it struck him.\n\nMillions have approached the mystery of evil, and have asked themselves\n\n    \"Are God and nature, then, at strife,\n    That nature lends such evil dreams?\"\n\nBut they have not weakly refused to believe in God because they\ncould not comprehend his works. They saw the evil; but the deepest\ninstincts of the soul--the longing for immortal life, the craving for\nthe unattainable, the thirst for a knowledge never given, the sense\nof the emptiness of what seems most real; the mother-ideas of human\nreason--those of being, of cause, of the absolute, the infinite, the\neternal, the sense of the all-beautiful, the all-perfect--made them fall\n\n    \"Upon the great world's altar-stairs\n    That slope through darkness up to God,\"\n\nand stretch hands of faith, and trust the larger hope.\n\nWe do not propose to offer any arguments to prove that God is, or to\nshow that his existence is reconcilable with the evil in the world,\nsince Mill has not attempted to establish the contradictory of this;\nbut we wish merely to state that his apprehension of the difficulties\nwhich surround this question is not keener than that of thousands\nof others who have seen no connection between apprehending these\ndifficulties and doubting the doctrines to which they are attached.\nWhilst admitting that science can never prove that there is no God,\nMill evidently intended his _Autobiography_ to be an argument against\nthe usefulness of belief in God for moral and social purposes;\n\"which,\" he tells us, \"of all the parts of the discussion concerning\nreligion, is the most important in this age, in which real belief in\nany religious doctrine is feeble and precarious, but the opinion of\nits necessity for moral and social purposes almost universal; and when\nthose who reject revelation very generally take refuge in an optimistic\ndeism--a worship of the order of nature and the supposed course of\nProvidence--at least as full of contradictions and perverting to the\nmoral sentiments as any of the forms of Christianity, if only it is as\nfully realized.\"[256] Confessing the inability of the scientists to\nprove that there is no God, he thinks that they should devote their\nefforts to the attempt to show that belief in God is not beneficial\neither to the individual or to society. We shall, therefore, turn to\nthe question of morality, which is enrooted in metaphysics, out of\nwhich it grows, and to which it is indebted both for its meaning and\nits strength.\n\nCan the atheistic philosophy give to morality a solid basis? To deny\nthe existence of an infinitely perfect Being is to affirm that there is\nno absolute goodness, no moral law, eternal, immutable, and necessary,\nno act that in itself is either good or bad, no certain and fixed\nstandard of right and wrong.\n\nHence atheistic philosophy can give to morality no other foundation\nthan that of pleasure or utility:\n\n    \"Atque ipsa utilitas justi prope mater et aequi,\n    Nec natura potest justo secernere iniquum.\"\n\nAnd, in fact, this has been the doctrine, we may say, of all those who\nhave denied the existence of God.\n\nEpicurus, Lucretius, Hobbes, Helvetius, Volney, and the whole\nVoltairean tribe in France, have all substantially taken this view\nof the question of morality; and Mill's opinion on the subject did\nnot, except in form, differ from theirs. His father was the friend\nof Bentham, an advocate of the utilitarian theory of morality, which\nhe applied to civil and criminal law; and young Mill became an\nenthusiastic disciple of the Benthamic philosophy.\n\n\"The principle of utility,\" he writes, \"understood as Bentham\nunderstood it, and applied in the manner in which he applied it through\nthese three volumes, fell exactly into its place as the keystone which\nheld together the detached and fragmentary component parts of my\nknowledge and beliefs. It gave unity to my conceptions of things. I now\nhad opinions, a creed, a doctrine, a philosophy; in one among the best\nsenses of the word, a religion; the inculcation and diffusion of which\ncould be made the principal outward purpose of a life.\"[257]\n\nBentham sought to save the ethics of utility by generalizing the\nprinciple of self-interest into that of the greatest happiness; and it\nwas this \"greatest-happiness principle\" that gave Mill what he calls\na religion. Though less grovelling than the theory of self-interest,\nyet, equally with it, it deprives morality of a solid foundation,\nsubstitutes force for right, and consecrates all tyranny.\n\nIf there be no God, and interest is the sole criterion of what is good,\nin the name of what am I commanded to sacrifice my particular interest\nto general interest? If interest is the law, then my own interest is\nthe first and highest. If happiness be the supreme end of life, and\nthere be no life beyond this life, in order to ask of me the sacrifice\nof my happiness, it must be called for in the name of some other\nprinciple than happiness itself.\n\nAnd if \"the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns,\n\n    \"What is that to him that reaps not harvest of his youthful joys,\n    Tho' the deep heart of existence beat for ever like a boy's?\"\n\nBesides being false, this \"greatest-happiness principle\" is impossible\nin practice. Who can tell what is for the greatest good of the greatest\nnumber? It is very difficult, often impossible, when we consider only\nour individual interest, to decide what actions will be most conducive\nto our happiness, in the utilitarian sense of the word. How, then, are\nwe to decide when the interests of a whole people, of humanity, and for\nall future time, are to be consulted? Would any atheist of the school\nof Mill, who is not wholly fanatical, dare affirm that the greatest\nnumber would be happier, even in a low and animal sense, without faith\nin God and a future life? And yet, according to his own theory, unless\nhe is certain of this when he attempts to destroy the religious belief\nof his fellow-beings, his act is immoral.\n\nWas it not in the name of, and in strict accordance with, the\nprinciples of this theory that Comte planned what Mill calls \"the\ncompletest system of spiritual and temporal despotism which ever\nyet emanated from a human brain, unless, possibly, that of Ignatius\nLoyola--a system by which the yoke of general opinion, wielded by\nan organized body of spiritual teachers and rulers, would be made\nsupreme over every action, and, as far as is in human possibility,\nevery thought of every member of the community, as well in the things\nwhich regard only himself as in those which concern the interests of\nothers\"?[258]\n\nThere is yet another vice in this system. If the good is the greatest\ninterest of the greatest number, then there are only public and social\nethics, and personal morality does not exist. Our duties are towards\nothers, and we have no duties towards ourselves. Thus the very source\nof moral life is dried up.\n\nLet us come to considerations less general and more immediately\nconnected with Mill's life.\n\nOf his father's opinions on this subject he says: \"In his views of\nlife, he partook of the character of the Stoic, the Epicurean, and the\nCynic, not in the modern but the ancient sense of the word. In his\npersonal qualities the Stoic predominated. His standard of morals was\nEpicurean, inasmuch as it was utilitarian, taking as the exclusive\ntest of right and wrong the tendency of actions to produce pleasure\nor pain. But he had (and this was the Cynic element) scarcely any\nbelief in pleasure, at least in his later years, of which alone, on\nthis point, I can speak confidently.... He thought human life a poor\nthing at best after the freshness of youth and of unsatisfied curiosity\nhad gone by.... He would sometimes say that if life were made what\nit might be by good government and good education, it would be worth\nhaving; but he never spoke with anything like enthusiasm even of that\npossibility.\"[259]\n\nThis certainly is a gloomy, not to say hopeless, view of life, and one\nwhich, in spite of Mill's attempt to produce a contrary impression,\npervades the whole book. The thoughtful reader cannot help feeling\nthat Mill's state of mind was very like that described by the apostle:\n\"having no hope, and without God in the world.\" A deep and settled\ndissatisfaction with all he saw around him, the feeling that all was\nwrong--society, religion, government, the family, human life, the\nphilosophic opinions of the whole world except himself, together with\nan undercurrent of despair, which made him doubt whether they would\never be right, gave a coloring of melancholy to his character which he\nis unable to hide. Life was no boon, and not even the faintest ray of\nlight pierced the black gloom of the grave.\n\nOf his father he writes: \"In ethics, his moral feelings were energetic\nand rigid on all points which he deemed important to human well-being,\nwhile he was supremely indifferent in opinion (though his indifference\ndid not show itself in personal conduct) to all those doctrines of the\ncommon morality which he thought had no foundation but in asceticism\nand priest-craft. He looked forward, for example, to a considerable\nincrease of freedom in the relations between the sexes, though without\npretending to define exactly what would be, or ought to be, the precise\nconditions of that freedom.\"[260]\n\nHere we have an instance of the truth of the inference which we have\nalready drawn from the principles of the utilitarian ethics--that they\ntake no account of personal purity of character, and teach that man's\nduties are towards others, and not towards himself. There is a still\nmore striking example of this in Mill's _Autobiography_.\n\nHe early in life made the acquaintance of a married lady, for whom\nhe conceived a very strong affection. He spent a good deal of his\ntime with her, and says: \"I was greatly indebted to the strength of\ncharacter which enabled her to disregard the false interpretations\nliable to be put on the frequency of my visits to her while living\ngenerally apart from Mr. Taylor, and on our occasionally travelling\ntogether\"; though their relation at that time, he tells us, was only\nthat of strong affection and confidential intimacy. The reason which\nhe assigns for this is certainly most curious: \"For though,\" he says,\n\"we did not consider the ordinances of society binding on a subject so\nentirely personal, we did feel bound that our conduct should be such\nas in no degree to bring discredit on her husband, nor therefore on\nherself.\"[261]\n\nIn other words, Mill recognizes no obligation of personal purity,\neven in the married, but holds that unchastity is wrong only when it\nbrings discredit on others; though he was unfaithful even to this\nloose ethical code, since, according to his own account, his conduct\nwas such as to be liable to misinterpretation, and, therefore, such as\nmight bring disgrace upon the husband of the woman with whom he was\nassociating.\n\nHis hatred of marriage and of the restraints which it imposes is seen\nin several parts of the work before us.\n\nOf the Saint-Simonians he says: \"I honored them most of all for what\nthey have been most cried down for--the boldness and freedom from\nprejudice with which they treated the subject of the family, the\nmost important of any, and needing more fundamental alterations than\nremain to be made in any other great social institution, but on which\nscarcely any reformer has the courage to touch. In proclaiming the\nperfect equality of men and women, and an entirely new order of things\nin regard to their relations with one another, the Saint-Simonians, in\ncommon with Owen and Fourier, have entitled themselves to the grateful\nremembrance of future generations.\"[262]\n\nA man who puts himself forward as the advocate of free-love should not,\none would think, insist especially on the moralities, or give himself\nprominence as a proof that belief in God is not useful either to the\nindividual or to society.\n\nMill's social ethics are of the same character. He is a socialist of\nthe most radical type, and considers the great problem of the future to\nbe how to unite the greatest individual liberty of action with a common\nownership in the raw material of the globe, and an equal participation\nof all in the benefits of combined labor; though the \"uncultivated\nherd who now compose the laboring masses,\" as well as the mental and\nmoral condition of the immense majority of their employers, convince\nhim that this social transformation is not now either possible or\ndesirable. Still, his ethics lead him to hope that private property\nwill be abolished, and that the whole earth will be converted into a\nkind of industrial school, in which every man, woman, and child will be\nrequired to do certain work, and receive in remuneration whatever the\ncontrollers of the general capital may see fit to give them. Thus, in\nthe name of the greatest good of the greatest number, personal purity,\nthe family, private property, society, are all to be no more, and the\nhuman race is to be managed somewhat like a model stock-farm, in which\neverything, from breeding down to the minutest details of food and\nexercise, is to be under the control of a supervisory committee.\n\nAs we have already seen, Mill, after reading Bentham, got what he\ncalled a religion: he had an object in life--to be a reformer of the\nworld.\n\nThis did very well for a time; but in the autumn of 1826, whilst, as\nhe expresses it, he was in a dull state of nerves, he awakened as\nfrom a dream. He put the question to himself: \"'Suppose that all your\nobjects in life were realized; that all the changes in institutions and\nopinions to which you are looking forward could be effected at this\nvery instant; would this be a great joy and happiness to you?' And an\nirrepressible self-consciousness distinctly answered, 'No!' At this\nmy heart sank within me; the whole foundation on which my life was\nconstructed fell down.... I seemed to have nothing left to live for.\n\n\"At first I hoped that the cloud would pass away of itself; but it did\nnot.... I carried it with me into all companies, into all occupations.\nHardly anything had power to cause me even a few minutes' oblivion of\nit.... The lines in Coleridge's 'Dejection'--I was not then acquainted\nwith them--exactly describe my case:\n\n    \"'A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,\n    A drowsy, stifled, unimpassioned grief,\n    Which finds no natural outlet or relief\n    In word, or sigh, or tear.'\"[263]\n\nHe now felt that his father had committed a blunder in the education\nwhich he had given him; that the habit of analysis has a tendency\nto wear away the feelings and dry up the fountains of pleasurable\nemotions; that it is a perpetual worm at the root both of the passions\nand of the virtues; and, above all, fearfully undermines all desires\nand all pleasures which are the effects of association.\n\n\"My education, I thought, had failed to create these feelings in\nsufficient strength to resist the dissolving influence of analysis,\nwhile the whole course of my intellectual cultivation had made\nprecocious and premature analysis the inveterate habit of my mind. I\nwas thus, as I said to myself, left stranded at the commencement of my\nvoyage, with a well-equipped ship and a rudder, but no sail; without\nany real desire for the ends which I had been so carefully fitted out\nto work for; no delight in virtue or the general good, but also just as\nlittle in anything else.... I frequently asked myself if I could, or if\nI was bound to, go on living, when life must be passed in this manner.\nI generally answered to myself that I did not think I could possibly\nbear it beyond a year.\"[264]\n\nThis sad state of mind was the protest of the soul against the skeleton\nof intellectual formulas into which it had been cramped. A man is\nnot going to live or die for conclusions, opinions, calculations,\nanalytical nothings. Man is not and cannot be made to be a mere\nreasoning machine, a contrivance to grind out syllogisms. He is a\nseeing, feeling, contemplating, believing, acting animal. We cannot\nconstruct a philosophy of life upon abstract conclusions of the\nanalytical faculty; life is action and for action, and, if we insist\non analyzing and proving everything, we shall never come to action.\nHumanity is a mere fiction of the mind, and can be nothing, whilst God,\nto most men at least, is a living reality, to be believed in, hoped in,\nloved. Were it possible for us to accept the doctrines of Stuart Mill,\nwe should feel the same interest in his humanitarian projects that we\ndo in Mr. Bergh's society for the prevention of cruelty to animals. We\npity the poor brutes, but we butcher them and eat them all the same. If\nthere is nothing but nature and nature's laws, it is perfectly right\nthat the few should live for the many, and that thousands should sweat\nand groan to fill the belly of one animal who is finer and stronger\nthan those he feeds upon. Neither the law of gravity, nor that of the\nconservation of forces, nor that which impels bodies along the line\nof least resistance, nor that which causes the fittest--which means\nthe strongest--to survive, can impose upon us a moral obligation not\nto do what we have the strength to do. These infidels talk of the\nintellectual cowardice of those who believe. Let them first be frank,\nand tell us, without circumlocution or concealment, that there is\nnothing but force; that whatever is, must be; and that nothing is\neither right or wrong. If we are permitted to swallow oysters whole, to\nbutcher oxen and imprison monkeys in mere wantonness; and if these are\nour forefathers, why may not the strong and intelligent members of the\nhuman race put the weak and ignorant to any use they may see fit; or\nwhy may we not imitate the more natural savage who roasts or boils his\nman as his civilized brother would a pig?\n\nIt is easy to make a show of despising the argument implied in this\nquestion; but, admitting the atheistic evolutionary hypothesis, it\ncannot be answered.\n\nCannibals hold that it is for the greatest happiness of the greatest\nnumber that their enemies should be eaten; and, after all, what is\nhappiness, in the utilitarian and animal sense, but an affair of taste,\nto a great extent even of imagination? Have not slave-owners in all\ntimes held that it was for the greatest good of the greatest number\nthat slavery should continue to exist? Or has the greatest-happiness\nprinciple had anything to do with the abolition of slavery among the\nChristian nations or elsewhere?\n\nMen appealed in the name of right, of justice, of the inborn dignity of\nthe human soul, of God-given liberty, and the conscience of the nations\nwas awakened. They gave no thought to the idle theories of brains, from\nwhich the heart and soul had been strained, about a greatest-happiness\nprinciple. What have atheists ever done but talk, and mock, and\ncriticise, and seek their own ease whilst discoursing on the general\ngood?\n\nMill takes the greatest care to record, in more than one place, that\nhe and his father occasionally wrote articles for the _Westminster\nReview_ without receiving pay for them; thinking it, evidently, worthy\nof remark that an atheist should even write except for money. Here we\nmay note a vice inherent in atheism, which proves at once its untruth\nand its impotence. It leaves man without enthusiasm, without hope,\nwithout love, to fall back upon himself, a wilted, shrunken thing, to\nmix with matter, or to vanish in lifeless, logical formalism. It has\nno heroes, no saints, no martyrs, no confessors. Its advocates either\nabandon themselves to lust and the senses, or, making a divinity of\ntheir own imagined superiority, worship the ghost they have conjured\nup, whilst looking down upon the rest of mankind as a vulgar herd still\nintellectually walking on four feet. Mill makes no effort to conceal\nhis contempt for the mass of mankind; and contempt does not inspire\nlove, which alone renders man helpful to man.\n\nThe gloom which settled around the life of John Stuart Mill, when he\nonce fully realized that, holding the intellectual opinions which he\nheld, nothing was worth living for, and that he was consequently left\nwithout a motive or an object in life, never really left him. He tells\nus, indeed, that the cloud gradually drew off, and that, though he had\nseveral relapses which lasted many months, he was never as miserable\nas he had been; but it is quite evident, from the whole tone of this\n_Autobiography_, that his disappointed soul, like the wounded dove,\ndrew the wings that were intended to lift it to God close to itself,\nand, hopeless, sank into philosophical despair. Happiness he considered\nthe sole end of life; and yet he says that the enjoyments of life,\nwhich alone make it worth having, when made its principal object, pall\nupon us and sicken the heart. \"Ask yourself whether you are happy, and\nyou cease to be so. The only chance is to treat, not happiness, but\nsome end external to it, as the purpose of life.\"\n\nIn other words, in Mill's philosophy, the end of life is happiness,\nwhich can be possessed only by those who persuade themselves that\nthis is not the end of life. The doctrine of philosophical necessity,\nduring the later returns of his despondency, weighed upon him like an\nincubus: \"I felt as if I was scientifically proved to be the helpless\nslave of antecedent circumstances; as if my character and that of all\nothers had been formed for us by agencies beyond our control, and was\nwholly out of our own power. I often said to myself, What a relief\nit would be if I could disbelieve the doctrine of the formation of\ncharacter by circumstances!\"[265]\n\nHe tries to escape from the fatal web in which his soul hung helpless;\nbut sophisms and quibbles of the brain cannot minister to a mind\ndiseased or pluck sorrow from the heart.\n\nBut the saddest part of Mill's _Autobiography_ is the portion devoted\nto the woman whose friendship he called the honor and chief blessing of\nhis existence. The picture which he has drawn of his childhood is at\nonce painful and ludicrous.\n\nHe does not even incidentally allude to a single fact which would lead\none to suppose that he had a mother or had ever known a mother's love.\n\nThe father, as described by the son, was cold, fanatical, morose,\nalmost inhuman, acting as though he thought children are born merely\nfor the purpose of being crammed with Greek roots and logical formulas.\nJohn Stuart was put at Greek vocables when only three years old. His\nfather demanded of him not only the utmost that he could do, but much\nthat it was utterly impossible that he should do. He was guilty, for\ninstance, of the incredible folly of making him read the _Dialogues_\nof Plato when only seven years old. He never knew anything of the\nfreshness or joyousness of childhood, or what it is to be \"boy\neternal.\" He grew up without the companionship of children, blighted\nand dwarfed by the abiding presence of the narrow and unnatural man who\nnipped the flower of his life in the bud, and repressed within him all\nthe sentiments and aspirations which are the spontaneous and healthful\nproduct of youth. He was not taught to delight in sunshine and flowers,\nand music and song; but even in his boyish rambles there strode ever\nby his side the analytical machine, dissecting, destroying, marring\nGod's work with his lifeless, hopeless theories. The effect of this\ntraining was, as we have already seen, that when the boy became a man,\nhe found himself like a ship on the ocean without sail or compass, and\nthere gathered around his life the settled gloom of despair, which his\nphilosophical opinions tended only to deepen.\n\nWithout a mother's love, without a father whom it was possible to love,\nwithout friends of his own age, without God, dejected, despondent,\nhopeless, he met the wife of a friend of his father, who, from the\nmanner in which she controlled her first and second husbands, must\nhave been a clever woman, and he became an idolater, giving to her the\nadoration which his father had taught him to withhold from God. That\nthere is no exaggeration in this statement every one who will take the\ntrouble to read the seventh chapter of Mill's _Autobiography_ will be\nready to confess.\n\nHe married this woman in 1851, when he was forty-five and she but\ntwo years younger, and seven years later her death occurred. Mill\nwishes the world to believe that this woman was the prodigy of the\nXIXth century, surpassing in intellectual vigor and moral strength\nall men and all other women; that to her he owed all that is best in\nhis own writings; and that he is but the interpreter of the wonderful\nthoughts of this incomparable woman, whom others have deemed merely a\ncommonplace woman's rights woman.\n\n\"Thus prepared,\" he writes, \"it will easily be believed that when\nI came into close intellectual communion with a person of the most\neminent faculties, whose genius, as it grew and unfolded itself in\nthought, struck out truths far in advance of me, but in which I could\nnot, as I had done in those others, detect any mixture of error, the\ngreatest part of my mental growth consisted in the assimilation of\nthose truths; and the most valuable part of my intellectual work was in\nbuilding the bridges and clearing the paths which connected them with\nmy general system of thought.\"[266]\n\nMill seems to have been incapable of a healthful sentiment of any kind.\nThe same quality in his stunted and warped moral nature which caused\nhim to have a false and exaggerated sense of the evil that is in the\nworld, leading him to atheism, made him a blind and superstitious\nworshipper of the imaginary endowments of his wife. But one must read\nthe book itself to realize how far he carried this idolatry.\n\nWhen she dies, he again sinks into the gloom which his superstition had\nseemed to cause him partially to forget; and if he continues to work,\nit is only with the feeble strength \"derived from thoughts of her and\ncommunion with her memory.\" Her death was a calamity which took from\nhim all hope, and he found some slight alleviation only in the mode of\nlife which best enabled him to feel her still near him.\n\nShe died at Avignon, and he bought a cottage as close as possible to\nthe place where she was buried; and there he settled down in helpless\nmisery, feeling that all that remained to him in the world was a memory.\n\n\"Her memory,\" he writes, \"is to me a religion, and her approbation the\nstandard by which, summing up, as it does, all worthiness, I endeavor\nto regulate my life.\"[267]\n\nHe did not believe in God, in the soul, in a life beyond life; he had\nscarcely any faith in the practical efforts of the age to improve the\ncondition of the masses, upon whom he looked as the common herd; his\nown countrymen especially he despised as selfish and narrow above all\nother men, grovelling in their instincts, and low in the objects which\nthey aim at; happiness he held to be the sole end of existence; and at\nthe close of his life, an old man, in a foreign land, in immedicable\nmisery, he stood beside a grave, and sought with feeble fingers to\nclutch the shadow of a dream, which he called his religion; and so he\ndied.\n\nWe have never read a sadder book, nor one which to our mind contains\nstronger proof that the soul longs with an infinite craving for God,\nand, not finding him, will worship anything--a woman, a stone, a memory.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[249] Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by\nRev. I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at\nWashington, D. C.\n\n[250] _Autobiography._ By John Stuart Mill. New York: Holt & Co. 1873.\n\n[251] P. 41.\n\n[252] P. 43.\n\n[253] P. 44.\n\n[254] P. 46.\n\n[255] _Apologia_, p. 268.\n\n[256] P. 70.\n\n[257] P. 67.\n\n[258] P. 213.\n\n[259] P. 48.\n\n[260] P. 107.\n\n[261] P. 230.\n\n[262] P. 167.\n\n[263] P. 134.\n\n[264] P. 140.\n\n[265] P. 169.\n\n[266] P. 243.\n\n[267] P. 251.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FARM OF MUICERON.\n\n\n                            BY MARIE RHEIL.\n\n                  FROM THE REVUE DU MONDE CATHOLIQUE.\n\n\nXVI.\n\nHowever, our good friends at Muiceron had not become, believe me, so\nentirely perverted by vanity as to lose all remembrance of the past.\nThey could not have lived twenty years with a boy as perfect in conduct\nand affection as Jean-Louis without missing him as the days rolled on.\n\nI acknowledge, nevertheless, that the first week passed so quickly\nin the midst of the flurry and fuss of the marriage contract and\npresents--bought on credit--that the absence of the good child was\nscarcely felt; but, towards the end of the second week, one evening\nPierrette asked Ragaud if the time had not nearly expired that\nJean-Louis had been lent to Michou for the clearing of the forest of\nMontreux; \"for,\" said she, \"I cannot live any longer without him, he\nwas of so much use to me, and the house is so empty without him.\"\n\n\"I gave him for a fortnight,\" replied Ragaud, \"and I would not\ndisoblige Michou by reclaiming him before; but I think we will see him\nnext week, and then I hope he will be over his little miff.\"\n\n\"What miff?\" asked Pierrette.\n\n\"Bless me! wife, you are a little too simple if you have not noticed\nlong before this how sullen the boy has become.\"\n\n\"He never says much,\" replied Pierrette, \"and we have all been so very\nbusy lately, it has made him more silent even than usual.\"\n\n\"That is precisely it,\" said Ragaud. \"You have petted him so much,\nhe fancied everything was his; and when he saw us so occupied with\nJeannette's marriage, he took it in dudgeon, and became offended.\"\n\n\"That would be very wrong in him,\" replied La Ragaude, \"and I don't\nbelieve Jeannet capable of such wicked sentiments. Jealousy is not\none of his faults; on the contrary, he always thinks of others before\nhimself.\"\n\n\"That may be, that may be, but you cannot judge of wine, no matter how\nold you may know it to be, before tasting; and, in the same way, you\ncannot answer for any quality of the heart until it has been tried.\nSo it was very easy for Jeannet not to be jealous when there was no\nsubject for jealousy; but, if you were not always blind and deaf to his\ndefects, you would acknowledge that from the day that Isidore put his\nfoot in this house he has changed as much as milk turned into curds.\"\n\n\"That may all be,\" said Pierrette, who could not answer her husband's\nobjections.\n\n\"That may all be so easily that it is positively so,\" replied Ragaud,\n\"and Jeannet will not re-enter this house until I have spoken very\nplainly to him, and made him promise to treat Isidore as a brother.\"\n\n\"That is just what I think,\" replied good Pierrette, who loved peace\nabove all things, \"and you always speak wisely.\"\n\nJeannette, for her part, had a little secret annoyance that she\ncarefully concealed, but which made her more irritable and less docile\nthan usual, greatly to the astonishment of Pierrette, who thought\nher to be at the summit of happiness. After being rather sullen with\nJeannet, because he did not appear delighted with her marriage, and,\nabove all, with her intended, she was now displeased to see Isidore\nparading before every one--and to her the first--his great satisfaction\nat the departure of Jean-Louis. He even seemed to seek every occasion\nto speak injuriously of him before her parents, and allowed no one\nto praise him in his presence. The child was not very patient, we\nalready know, and, as Solange truly said, her head alone was dazzled;\nher heart was not spoiled enough to make her lose her good sense.\nStill further, she began to feel very uneasy on a subject which she\nwished to understand clearly before finally engaging herself--it\nwas that of religion. She had felt the ground around Perdreau, and,\nalthough he was as hypocritical as the devil, he had attempted several\nvery disagreeable jokes about the church and her ceremonies which, I\nmust say, provoked Jeannette to such a degree, she openly showed her\ndispleasure. Thereupon Isidore, seeing that he had gone too far, and\nthat he must be more careful or he would lose her dowry, tried to play\nthe part of a saint in his niche; but it was a comedy in which he was\nnot well skilled from want of practice, and Jeannette, more and more\nworried and unhappy, commenced to regret that the good and wise Jeannet\nwas no longer at her side to aid her with his advice, of which she had\nnever before felt such urgent need.\n\nSo she, in her turn, hazarded the same request as Pierrette, and asked\nher father when they might expect the return of Jean-Louis.\n\nRagaud made her nearly the same reply as he had done to his wife,\nwithout mentioning his ideas in relation to Jeannet's supposed\njealousy; and Jeannette patiently awaited him.\n\nBut the fortnight went by without any sign of the boy, and it could\nbe easily perceived that Jeannette was becoming nervous--a kind\nof sickness little known in the country even by name, but which\nmademoiselle's example had taught Jeannette to attempt whenever\nthings did not go on exactly as she wished. However, affairs went on\nprecisely as those rascally Perdreaux desired. The marriage-contract\nwas prepared, and, after an immense scrawl of big words, which Ragaud\ndid not understand, it concluded by making the good man abandon all\nhis personal and landed property to his daughter, only reserving for\nhimself a moderate annuity. Ragaud was ashamed to avow that all this\nwaste paper was entirely above his comprehension. He tried to look\nvery wise, but proved by his questions that he was caught in a trap;\nfor, after the reading of the knavish document, which stripped him of\neverything, he innocently asked if he would retain the right to manage\nMuiceron, and live there as master during his life.\n\n\"Undoubtedly,\" replied the notary; \"your children would be unnatural to\nlet it be otherwise. I have done all for the best, for I suppose you do\nnot wish to oblige my son to marry under the _dotal law_?\"\n\n\"What is the _dotal law_?\" said Ragaud.\n\n\"It is the greatest disgrace that can be imposed on a man,\" gravely\nreplied the notary.\n\n\"Oh! I beg pardon, M. Perdreau; and so in your paper there is no\nquestion of that?\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" said the notary. \"I have drawn up the papers for the\ngood father and honorable man that you are.\"\n\n\"Then it is all right, and I have nothing more to do but to thank you,\"\nsaid the honest farmer.\n\n\"We could both sign it this evening,\" said the head rascal.\n\n\"There is no hurry,\" said Ragaud; \"we will do that when all the family\nare present, before my wife and the children. I wish Jeannet to sign it\nalso.\"\n\n\"Sign? Your Jean-Louis can't sign it,\" said the notary, \"as he has no\nname; the law, M. Ragaud, does not recognize illegitimate children.\"\n\n\"Really! That is cruel for the boy, monsieur; at least, I would like\nhim to hear the paper read.\"\n\n\"For what reason?\"\n\n\"To please him, that is all; he has been like a child to us for twenty\nyears, and has never deserved to be driven from the family.\"\n\n\"As you please; I think it useless. In business, you see, there is no\nsuch thing as sentiment; however, if you prefer it....\"\n\n\"I certainly do prefer it,\" replied Ragaud firmly. \"I have been a just\nman all my life, monsieur, and I do not wish now to act unjustly toward\na child who has always served me so faithfully.\"\n\nThe notary did not reply, but his ugly weasel-face showed such bitter\ndispleasure that Ragaud, already dissatisfied with the conversation,\nsuddenly remembered Jacques Michou's remarks, and promised himself to\nkeep his eyes open.\n\nFortunately, the good God gives to honest men a sense of distrust\nwhich is easily sharpened. The peasant, in particular, is never\nentirely at ease when spoken to in more difficult language than two and\ntwo make four. Now, Ragaud, on account of his vanity, did not wish to\nacknowledge before others that he understood nothing of all the fine\nwriting on the stamped paper, but he avowed it to himself, and, putting\non a perfectly innocent air, he said to Perdreau:\n\n\"Will you have the kindness to let me have the papers for a few days? I\nwould like to read them over again when I have time.\"\n\n\"Very willingly,\" replied the notary, well convinced--and there he was\nright--that good Ragaud could not decipher the handwriting, and that it\nwould be all Greek to him. \"I was even going to propose it to you. Take\nthem, M. Ragaud, and read them at your leisure; but I need not tell you\nthat it must remain a secret between us until the day the contract is\nsigned.\"\n\n\"I understand,\" replied Ragaud. \"I know how to be discreet, monsieur,\nand I am not more desirous than you that my daughter's affairs should\nbe known all over the neighborhood.\"\n\nHe did not speak falsely in promising it; for to a Christian the word\nof a priest is sacred, and he only intended to let the _cur\u00e9_ read the\ncontract under the seal of confession.\n\nThe next day it so happened that M. Perdreau went to the city, where he\nexpected to pass two days, to plan an affair still worse than the rest,\nwhich you will know in due time. Ragaud, thus having the field clear,\nhurried off to Val-Saint, with the papers carefully folded under his\nblouse.\n\nThat morning Jeannette was not in good humor. Three weeks had gone\nby without any news of Jeannet, who did not even return to sleep\nat Muiceron. She received her loving Isidore like a spoiled child,\nshrugged her shoulders when he told her she was charmingly pretty, and\nended by telling him he must find out something about Jean-Louis, and\nbring him back to her as quickly as possible, or else she would not\nbelieve he loved her.\n\nIsidore, who had every defect--above all, the silly vanity to think\nthat he was fully capable of turning the heads of all the girls, which\nis, in itself, a proof of presumptuous folly--pretended at first to\ntake it as a joke, imagining that Jeannette wished to provoke his\njealousy. But seeing her serious and resolute, he replied in an angry\ntone that such a commission was not to his taste.\n\n\"In that case,\" she replied, \"it is not to mine to talk to you to-day.\"\n\n\"Then I will take my leave,\" said he, touching his hat.\n\nShe did not detain him, and contented herself with smiling, which he\nthought another little coquettish trick.\n\n\"You are like all women,\" said he slowly, \"who do not mind sacrificing\ntheir hearts for a whim.\"\n\n\"What do you call a whim?\" replied Jeannette. \"Is the desire to see my\nbrother again a whim? Very well, then, I declare to you that I will\nregard nothing decided as to our marriage until Jean-Louis has returned\nhome.\"\n\n\"Do you think, my little beauty,\" said he, turning red with anger,\n\"that I will let you call that vagabond of a foundling brother after\nyou become my wife?\"\n\n\"We will see,\" replied she; \"but, meanwhile, I do not intend to\nchange, and neither will I allow Jeannet to be insulted in my presence;\nit is not the first time I have told you so, M. Isidore.\"\n\n\"And so you are capable of becoming seriously angry with me, who adores\nyou, on account of your pretended brother?\"\n\n\"If you are unreasonable and unjust,\" said she resolutely, \"I will no\nlonger love you.\"\n\n\"You scarcely love me now,\" said he sullenly. \"I did not believe that\nthe day would ever come when you could think so little of me.\"\n\n\"I have always thought,\" she replied, \"that husband and wife should\nagree upon all points. Ever since I can remember, I have always had\na respect and friendship for Jean-Louis, and never has he behaved\notherwise than well in this house, where he is looked upon as a son. I\ndon't know why my marriage should change my feelings in regard to him;\nand that is a question I confess we had better settle at once before\ngoing any further.\n\n\"Very well,\" said M. Isidore, speaking like one who had suddenly\ndecided upon some plan. \"I am very sorry to be obliged to pain you, but\nI will not bother myself about this bast--about this Jean-Louis, and\nthat because it is time you should know the truth about him; he is far\nfrom being worthy of your esteem, my dear Jeanne.\"\n\n\"Oh! indeed!\" said she. \"Here is something very new; and the proof, if\nyou please?\"\n\n\"You insist upon knowing it?\"\n\n\"Absolutely and quickly,\" replied Jeannette, who began to grow\nimpatient.\n\n\"You will certainly be grieved, and there is reason for it,\" said\nIsidore in a sad tone. \"Know, then, that this Jean-Louis, whom you\nfancy dying with grief because he no longer sees you, is all the while\nenjoying himself immensely.\"\n\n\"How can he amuse himself?\" asked Jeannette. \"You are telling stories.\nJeannet is in the wood of Montreux, where he has too much to do, in\nclearing out the forest, to think of anything else; besides, he is not\nnaturally very gay, poor boy!\"\n\n\"_Poor boy!_ Don't pity him so much; he would laugh if he heard you.\nClearing the wood of Montreux--he? It is a mere pretence to hide his\ngame; he wishes to be more at ease to court Solange Luguet.\n\n\"M. Isidore,\" cried Jeannette, starting up, pale with anger, \"keep on\nspeaking ill of Jean-Louis--he is a man, and can defend himself; but to\nspeak thus of my cousin Solange is a cowardly falsehood!\"\n\n\"How pretty you look!\" said Isidore insolently. \"Anger is so becoming\nto you, I would always like to see you so, if it were not so painful\nto me to excite you thus. No, Jeanne, I do not lie. M. Jean-Louis, who\nowes his life to your parents, and whom you call brother, at this very\ninstant ridicules the whole household. He is going to marry Solange,\nand I don't believe he will even inform you of it.\"\n\n\"Who told you so?\" asked Jeannette, amazed. \"People will gossip so.\"\n\n\"I had it from Pierre Luguet. It is true it is common talk, but I would\nnot have believed it, if Solange's own brother had not said it.\"\n\n\"Can you swear it to me?\" said she.\n\n\"I can swear to it positively. Ask Pierre; you see I am not afraid of\nbeing proved a liar.\"\n\n\"I believe you,\" said Jeanne, who sought in vain to keep back the\ntears that filled her eyes. \"Never, I confess, would I have believed\nthat of Jean-Louis.\"\n\n\"You understand now why I did not care to start in search of that\ngentleman. I am indignant at his conduct; it is frightful ingratitude.\nTo think that he had here a father, a mother, a sister, and that he\nabandons all to go off and be secretly married! Is it not proof in\nitself that he renounces and despises you?\"\n\n\"Oh! it is very wrong, very wrong!\" said Jeannette, much excited. \"You\nwere right--I can no longer call him brother.\"\n\n\"I hope not; it would be affection very badly bestowed, and which would\nmake you the laughing-stock of the village. Are you still angry with\nme, my dear Jeanne?\"\n\n\"Pardon me,\" said she, extending her hand; \"you see, I have had good\nreason for sorrow.\"\n\nAnd then she burst into tears, no longer able to restrain them, but\nwithout exactly knowing the cause of so real a pain.\n\nIsidore did not expect to succeed so well. This time he had not lied;\nhe really believed Jeannet would be married, as that giddy-brained\nPierre had announced the fact to him. And yet he did not like to\nsee Jeanne weep for such a little thing. It made him think that the\naffection of these two children, who had lived together as brother\nand sister for so many years, was much stronger than he had believed,\nand he was more determined than ever to put a stop to it after he was\nmarried, and even before, if he could.\n\nHe left Muiceron very much dissatisfied. Jeannette was sad; she let him\ngo off without scarcely noticing him. When she was alone, the wish to\nseek some consolation led her to go after her mother, to see if she had\nheard the news, and to talk with her about it.\n\nBut, behold! just as she left the room she ran against some one, and\nwho should it be but Jean-Louis, who had come after some changes of\nclothes to carry off to the wood, and who, knowing that she was with\nher intended, did not wish to disturb her.\n\nAt the sight of her brother all the readiness of her character came\nback and took the place of her vexation. She assumed an air so haughty\nthat Jeannet, all ready to embrace her, stepped back, dumb with\nastonishment.\n\n\"_You there?_\" said Jeannette, with a frown on her brow.\n\n\"You there? Why do you speak so to me?\" asked he, astonished.\n\n\"You must not forget,\" continued Jeanne, who proudly raised her head as\nshe spoke, \"that I am engaged to Isidore Perdreau.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know it,\" said Jean-Louis.\n\n\"Consequently,\" she replied, \"it is no longer possible for me to treat\nyou as formerly. You know why?\"\n\n\"I know it,\" answered he, lowering his head.\n\n\"It is no longer proper,\" said she, \"for us to behave as brother and\nsister, since we are not so really.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" said Jeannet, his heart aching with mortal agony.\n\n\"That is all I have to say,\" added Jeannette in a still haughtier tone;\n\"and now, Jean-Louis, I wish you much joy and happiness--this I say in\nremembrance of our friendship!\"\n\n\"Are you bidding me farewell?\" asked he.\n\n\"I will see you later--and--and your wife also; but you understand?\"\n\n\"My wife?\" said Jeannet.\n\n\"Enough,\" replied Jeanne; \"I do not wish to know your secrets. It is\nuseless for you to seek my father and my mother.\"\n\nAnd with that she rapidly crossed the room, and hurried off; for,\nbetween ourselves, this great anger was not very real, and the longer\nshe looked at the pale, beautiful face of her brother, whom she had\nnot seen for such a long time, the more she felt like throwing her\narms around his neck, instead of ill-treating him. But her words had\nbeen too cruel; they had entered the soul of Jean-Louis like so many\nsword-thrusts. It was all ended for him. Proud as he was, and always\noverwhelmed with the secret grief of his birth, to have it recalled to\nhim by so dear a mouth was deadly suffering. He remained an instant as\nthough his senses had left him, not knowing what to do or to think;\nthen all at once his reason returned. He had just been driven out, and,\nafter all, they had the right to do it. He made the sign of the cross\non his heart, and left the house, with the intention of never returning.\n\nHe went back to Michou, and passed the evening with him at the\nLuguets'. He said nothing of what had happened to any one. Dear,\ngood Solange noticed that he was sadder than usual, but that was not\nastonishing; she knew he had been that day to Muiceron, and she very\ntruly thought he had possibly heard things which could not contribute\nto lighten his heart and make him gay.\n\nIt is now time to tell you that old Perdreau was one of the leaders of\na band of ruffians who assembled in a lonely field every week in our\ncity of Issoudun, where, after taking the most frightful oaths, they\nplotted, murder, arson, and the robbery of the ch\u00e2teaux and churches.\nIt was what is called a secret society, and was known by the name of\n_la Martine_; and some weeks afterwards, when the Revolution of 1848\nbroke out, which caused such havoc among us, there was a well-known\nman, so I have been told, who bore the same name, and who placed\nhimself at the head of the insurgents, believing them, in good faith,\nto be the most honest men in the world. This man, who was as good\nas any one you could find, and even a passable Christian, my father\nassured me, bit his thumbs until the blood came when he saw himself\ndespised and his counsel disregarded. But it was too late; the evil\nwas done. Undoubtedly you know much more about it than I, and so I\nscarcely dare venture to say any more on the subject. You must only\nknow that the cursed notary had used all the money of M. le Marquis to\npay the rabble of _la Martine_, with the understanding that, when they\npillaged the ch\u00e2teau, he should have half the estate, including the\ndwelling-house.\n\nAs for Isidore, he was fully up to the business, and worked at it\nassiduously, as much at Paris as elsewhere. The men who worked in the\nwood of Montreux belonged to the gang; he knew them all by name, and\nkept them all near Val-Saint, so as to be ready for the contemplated\ninsurrection. But in case the thing should not succeed, or would be\ndelayed, he did not think it beneath him to provide himself with a pear\nto satisfy his thirst, and that was his marriage.\n\nOur good Ragaud returned from his interview with M. le Cur\u00e9 rather\ndepressed in spirits. The contract, as read by the holy man, did\nnot appear to him as captivating as when explained by the notary.\nHe had learned still further, from a few words discreetly uttered,\nthat it would be well not to place implicit faith in Master Perdreau,\nand believe him the personification of honor, as until then he had\ninnocently imagined. What now could be done to arrange, or rather\ndisarrange, affairs so far advanced? The poor man was devoured with\ncare and anxiety. He dared not speak to his daughter, whom he thought\nto reduce to desperation at the mere mention of the word rupture; and\nthen to withdraw from the contract now would lower him tremendously\nin the eyes of the world around. No longer able to see clearly,\nRagaud kept quiet, locked the documents safely in his chest, and\nwaited--which, in many circumstances, is the wisest policy.\n\nA long week passed; then came the festivals of Christmas and New Year.\nOld Perdreau was half dead with impatience, but nevertheless dared not\nsay a word, or even appear too anxious. What bothered him, besides,\nwas that the rascally gang in the wood of Montreux were constantly\nreceiving messages from their infernal society to hurry up affairs,\nand, therefore, they threatened to commence the dance before the\nviolins were ready, which would have spoiled all the plans. Pushed to\nextremity, he determined, one fine day, to send his son secretly to\nallay the storm by speaking to his worthy companions in roguery.\n\nIsidore, who feared nothing and no one, ridiculed his father's anxiety.\nHe promised to quiet them that very night, and about eleven o'clock, in\nspite of the bad weather--for it was snowing, and the wind was very\nhigh--he left for Val-Saint.\n\nThe place they were clearing was quite far from M. Michou's little\nhouse, where Jean-Louis slept, together with the game-keeper. The men,\nas is customary among wood-cutters, had constructed a large retreat\nformed of the trunks of trees, cemented with mud and moss. It was\ntowards this spot that young Perdreau directed his steps; and never did\na stormier night fall upon an uglier traveller.\n\n\nXVII.\n\nIt is not difficult to conjecture that Jeannet, in spite of his\nheart-troubles and sorrows, had not been--sharp as he was--blind to\nthe character of the men who worked under his orders in the wood of\nMontreux. In the first place, Michou warned him from the beginning\nto be watchful, and not to allow the slightest infringement of\ndiscipline or drunkenness among men, who were unknown and of decidedly\ndoubtful appearance. One warning sufficed; he observed for himself,\nand caught at random more than one stray expression which he chanced\nto overhear. And then, what could be expected from men who seemed\nto be without family or friends, who never frequented the church,\nand shunned the places where the honest people of the commune were\naccustomed to assemble? Certainly, our good Jean-Louis was not wanting\nin penetration, and old Michou, who prided himself upon seeing very\nfar into everything, was as distrustful as he; consequently, they\nagreed that every night one or the other should take a turn around the\nretreat of the wood-cutters, and see what was going on in this nest\nof mischievous rascals. To do this, Jeannet had skilfully managed\nto make an opening in the angle opposite to that where the men had\nestablished their fireplace, so that, the room being well lighted\ninside, everything could be clearly seen outside.\n\nUsually, and for many nights, all was quiet and orderly; the greater\npart of the band of _la Martine_, tired out with the day's labors,\nslept soundly all the evening, stretched pell-mell upon heaps of dried\nleaves strewed over the floor of their bivouac. Only a few remained\ndrinking by the hearth; so that the watchers, after a glance around,\nwent off to sleep in their turn.\n\nOn the night of which I speak, Michou should have made the round, but\nJean-Louis, who since the scene at Muiceron had been miserably unhappy,\nand could not sleep, asked leave to fulfil the extra duty.\n\n\"It is very stormy,\" said he to his old comrade. \"Remain at home, M.\nJacques; I will go to Montreux in your place.\"\n\n\"Be off, then,\" said the keeper, without waiting to be asked twice,\n\"you are young and not rheumatic; and I will smoke my pipe while\nwaiting for you.\"\n\nJeannet threw over his shoulders a heavy brown wrapper, and was off in\na flash.\n\nWhen he reached the retreat, he was surprised to see light shining\nthrough the two or three little windows under the roof, and a big\ncolumn of smoke coming out of the chimney. Just at this moment Isidore\nentered from his side; he made them open the door, by means of a signal\nwell known among men of that stamp; they received him with much honor,\nand rekindled the fire, which was burning rather low.\n\nJeannet looked through the opening; judge of his astonishment when he\nrecognized Jeannette's intended, and saw the cordial welcome extended\nto him by the men, who grasped him by the hand, and made room for him\namong them. He was dumfounded, almost fancied himself in a dream, but,\nat the same time, shook with anger, shame, and sorrow.\n\nBut this was only the beginning of his surprise. If the inside could\neasily be seen, the conversation was as plainly heard through the\nwooden walls, lined with moss; and what he heard froze the blood\nin his veins. Isidore first spoke, and made an eloquent discourse,\nwhich was several times interrupted by the bravos of his audience; in\nwhich speech he showed precisely what he was--a pagan, an agrarian,\na complete villain, without either faith or justice. He encouraged\nhis friends, the ruffianly crew before him, to proceed to arson and\npillage--to murder, if necessary--for the one purpose, said he, of\ngaining the triumph of the _holy cause_. This word _holy_, which he did\nnot scruple to repeat, sounded so horribly in his blasphemous mouth\nthat poor Jean-Louis shuddered while listening to him; not from fear,\nbut from the furious desire to avenge the name of holy, which he had\ndared to pollute with his tongue.\n\n\"O my God!\" thought he; \"that the husband of Jeannette! And is it on\naccount of such a vagabond that I have been treated so harshly? Poor,\npoor Jeanne!\"\n\nAfter Isidore had finished his frightful speech, his companions began\nto curse and swear all at once. Glasses of brandy were passed around,\nand their heads, already heated by wicked passions, became still more\nexcited; so that they began to dispute among themselves as to whom\nshould belong this and that piece of the estate of Val-Saint. This one\nwanted the fields, another the wood, a third such or such a farm, and\nso on with the rest, until Isidore, commanding silence, reminded them,\nwith threats and oaths, that the ch\u00e2teau should belong to his father,\nand that whoever failed to comply with his promise would be answerable\nto him personally.\n\n\"Come, come,\" said one of the men, \"we will see a little about that;\nhe is going rather too far. Is it because he is going to marry a\ndevotee--eh, Isidore?\"\n\nPerdreau turned livid with anger at being thus addressed--not that he\nrespected Jeannette or her principles, but because he was as proud as a\npeacock; and as he held every one around him in sovereign contempt, he\ndid not recognize their right to meddle in his private affairs.\n\n\"I will marry whom I please,\" said he haughtily; \"and the first one\nthat finds fault has only to speak.\"\n\n\"Bah! bah! Isidore, don't be angry,\" said an old wood-cutter, who went\nby the name of _Blackbeard_, on account of his savage look. \"What they\nsay is only for your good; we have heard tell of your marriage, and it\nalarms us. The truth is that if the thing is true, you will be tied for\never to that Ragaud, who belongs to the sacristy clique.\"\n\n\"Ha! ha!\" replied Isidore, somewhat pacified; \"the moment you talk\nsense, I am willing to answer. Tell me, then, what would you do if a\nchestful of gold came under your hand?\"\n\n\"What nonsense even to ask such a question! Why, I would pick it up,\nof course.\"\n\n\"That is just what I am doing,\" replied Isidore, laughing; \"and as for\nthe piety and all that stuff, I don't bother myself. When I will have\nthe principal, I am capable of regulating the rest.\"\n\n\"Do it, and joy be with you,\" said Blackbeard; \"we understand each\nother. So no one will be allowed to interfere with Isidore; he is\nworthy of our esteem!\"\n\nThe rascals applauded, and recommenced their shameful jokes and\ninfernal proposals. Isidore, once more master of the assembly, spoke\nat greater length, and ended by exacting an oath that no one should\nmove in the cause until a given signal from Paris. They all swore as he\nwished, and, as the night was far advanced, honest Perdreau took leave\nof his good friends, fearing that daylight might surprise him before he\ncould regain his house.\n\nJean-Louis needed all the strength mercifully granted by the good God\nin such a trying moment to listen until the end to all these horrors.\nThe blood boiled in his veins; he felt neither the snow, nor the biting\nnorth wind, and more than once his indignation was so great, he stepped\nforward and clenched his fist, as though he would throw himself in the\nmidst of those demons, without reflecting that a solid wall separated\nthem from him. Happily, he restrained himself; for courage is not\nimprudence, and, if he had failed in coolness, he would have lost all\nthe results of the important discovery he had just made. He went back\nto Michou's cabin, whom he found awaiting his return, according to his\npromise, and who had commenced to feel very anxious about his long\nabsence.\n\n\"M. Jacques,\" said he, on entering, \"I came very near not returning....\"\n\nAnd in a few words he recounted all he had heard and seen.\n\nMichou said not a word. He relighted his pipe, and paced the floor,\nplunged in thought.\n\n\"I knew the Perdreaux were famous scamps,\" said he at last, \"but not\nquite so bad as that!\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Jeannet, \"if my death could have saved Jeannette from that\nrascal, I would have broken in the door and fallen in the midst of them\nwithout hesitation.\"\n\n\"A very stupid thing you would have done, then,\" replied Michou; \"they\nwould have killed you, and to-morrow announced that you had fallen from\na tree. That would have been a lucky thing for Perdreau.\"\n\n\"God watched over me,\" replied Jean-Louis. \"And now, what shall we do?\"\n\n\"That little Ragaud,\" said Michou, \"deserves it all for her frivolity\nand vanity; and, as a punishment, we should let her go to the end of\nthe rope with her Isidore.\"\n\n\"Never, never!\" cried Jean-Louis. \"You are not speaking seriously? The\ndaughter of your old brother-in-arms?\"\n\n\"Ha!\" replied the old fellow, \"my old brother-in-arms! Ten years ago I\npredicted what would be the end of his nonsense.\"\n\n\"This is not the time to wish it now,\" replied Jeannet. \"Let us save\nthem, M. Michou; I can do nothing without you.\"\n\n\"Why not? You have a tongue like me; more than that, you saw and heard\nall; go to-morrow to Muiceron.\"\n\n\"Impossible,\" said Jeannet, much embarrassed.\n\n\"Impossible? There is something behind that!\"\n\n\"But was it not you yourself who made me promise not to return to my\nparents?\"\n\n\"Most certainly, my child; but the case is urgent, it seems to me, and\nthey should know in time, so as to change their minds before it is too\nlate.\"\n\n\"I will lose my self-control if I meet Isidore face to face.\"\n\n\"Jeannet,\" said Michou, \"you have a good heart. I know all, my boy;\nthey drove you from Muiceron. Marion heard that little magpie of a\nJeannette dismiss you, and she related the story to me, weeping all\nthe while, good fat girl that she is. I wished to see how far your\ngenerosity would carry you. Evil be to them who treated you in that\nmanner; they deserve what has happened.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Jean-Louis, \"they are blinded, that is all; and now I have\nforgotten those words, said without reflection. M. Jacques, I beg of\nyou help me to save Jeannette.\"\n\n\"You will have a fine reward, eh?\"\n\n\"Oh! what is it to me? After all, can I, for a few cruel words, lose\nthe memory of twenty years of tenderness and kindness?\"\n\n\"If you do not have your place in heaven,\" said the keeper, raising his\nshoulders and voice at the same time, to conceal his emotion, which was\nvery visible, \"I think our _cur\u00e9_ himself cannot answer for his. Come,\nlet us see what we can do to save this hare-brained Jeannette. In the\nfirst place, to-morrow, at the latest, I intend that M. le Marquis'\nplace shall be cleared of those rascals that encumber it. The thing\nis easy; I will tell them that, owing to the bad weather, we will\npostpone the clearing of the forest until spring, as the work advances\ntoo slowly, and give them two weeks' pay ... no, I won't; one week is\nenough. And then you--you must write; do you hear? _Write._ Writing\nremains, and scenes and conflicts are avoided; you will therefore\nwrite six lines, carefully worded, to Perdreau. You will tell him you\nwere at the meeting in the wood that night. How? That is none of his\nbusiness--it is enough that you were there; then you will add: 'I give\nyou three days to disappear, after which I will warn the police.' And\nfor the explanation at Muiceron, I will see to it.\"\n\nJean-Louis saw at once the good sense of this arrangement, and obeyed\nimmediately. In reality, it was the only means of bringing things to\nthe best possible conclusion.\n\nThe next day Michou went to the wood, as usual. He found the men at\ntheir work, as though nothing had happened, and taking aside old\nBlackbeard, who appeared to have some control over his companions,\nhe told him very quietly of his intention. Now, you will have no\ndifficulty in seeing that for men who reckoned upon dividing a domain\nworth five hundred thousand crowns in a few days, to be free from work\nand receive a week's pay was a clear and enticing advantage. Michou\nwas applauded; and, but that it went against the grain, he would have\nhad the happiness of shaking hands with the whole crew. But as he was\nnot very desirous of that pleasure with such a set, he was entirely\nrewarded for his pains by seeing them file past him arm-in-arm, and\nwatched them as they went down the road, singing at the top of their\nlungs.\n\nThat same morning Jean-Louis' letter left for its destination, and in\nthe evening the letter-carrier deposited it at the notary's house.\n\nIt has been remarked that villains are not brave. The good God,\nwho protects honest men because they scarcely think of defending\nthemselves, has put cowardice in the hearts of their enemies, and it\nserves as a rampart always raised before virtue, which prevents the\nwicked blows of vice from piercing it to death. Do not be astonished at\nthat beautiful phrase; I acknowledge I am not capable of inventing it;\nbut, in order that I might repeat it to you, I carefully copied it from\na big book, full of wise sayings, formerly lent to me by the Dean of\nAubiers.\n\nIf the lightning had fallen upon the notary's house, it would not have\nproduced a greater shock than Jeannet's simple letter. The Perdreaux,\nas they were better educated than the mass of the poor people, whom the\nringleaders of the revolution use for their own purpose, did not doubt\nbut there would be great trouble and an overthrow of thrones, but were\nnot the less sure of the universal division of property, which they\nlooked forward to with such eagerness. But the safest and strongest\nplank of salvation for them was the marriage of Isidore, and it was\nmost important that it should take place now, or else the prison-doors\nwould soon be opened. Old Perdreau was annihilated. For thirty years\nhe had had the boldness to calumniate his neighbors on every occasion;\nhe was on the eve, if he could, of causing the ruin, and perhaps the\ndeath, of our good lord by delivering up his property and betraying\nhis secrets; but before this paper, which contained only a few lines\nwithout threats or anger, written by a foundling, he turned livid\nand trembled with fright, and his ugly face, ordinarily so bold, was\ncovered with a cold sweat. Isidore also was as pale as he; from time to\ntime he read Jean-Louis' letter, crushed it in his hand, trampled it\nunder foot, swore by the holy name of the Lord, and struck the tables\nand chairs with his clenched fist. But that did not help the matter.\nThe father and son dared not speak to each other. At last Isidore took\nthe paper up again; and as if that scare-crow, by disappearing, could\nmend affairs, he tore it into a thousand pieces.\n\n\"We are lost, lost!\" repeated old Perdreau, clutching his gray hair\nwith both his hands.\n\n\"That remains to be seen!\" cried Isidore. \"Father, instead of sinking\ninto such despair, you had better think of some plan. It was by your\norder I went to Montreux. I knew there was no need of such hurry.\"\n\n\"What could I do?\" asked the unhappy old man, ready to humiliate\nhimself before his son. \"We were menaced on all sides.\"\n\n\"It was only you who saw all that,\" replied Isidore harshly; \"I always\nlistened to you too much.\"\n\n\"We can deny it all,\" ventured Perdreau.\n\n\"That is easy to say. But I am not sure of our men, if they should be\nquestioned. That cursed foundling will be believed before all of us.\"\n\n\"Lost! lost!\" repeated the notary, in the last state of despair.\n\n\"We won't give up,\" said Isidore. \"Go to bed, father; you are in no\ncondition to talk. I will reflect for both.\"\n\n\"Ah! think of something, no matter what; we must avert the blow,\" said\nold Perdreau, as he staggered to his room.\n\n\"Avert the blow!\" repeated Isidore; \"the devil himself would not\nsucceed--unless--unless....\"\n\nHe paused, as if some one would listen to his thought. A frightful\nidea entered his head, and all that night the notary, who groaned and\nshivered with fever in his bed, heard him walking about, taking great\nstrides across the floor, whilst he uttered disconnected words.\n\nThe next day the servant found her masters in a sad state; one sick,\nalmost delirious, the other asleep, all dressed, in a chair, with a\nface haggard from the effects of the terrible night that had just\npassed.\n\nBut two hours afterwards, affairs resumed their accustomed train.\nIsidore bathed and changed his clothes, drank a bowl of hot wine, in\nwhich he poured a good pint of brandy. He swallowed this comforter,\nate a mouthful, and appeared fresh and well. But an experienced person\nwould easily have seen that his eyes looked like balls of fire under\nthe red lids, and that every moment he made a singular movement with\nhis shoulders; you would have thought he shuddered, but doubtless that\nwas owing to the heavy frost the night before.\n\nHe went to see Jeannette, as usual, and was wonderfully polite; the\nlittle thing was sad, but gentle and quiet. She willingly spoke of the\nmarriage, of the contemplated journey, and the presents she wished. But\nyet it was easy to see that each one of the betrothed was playing a\npart in trying to appear at ease, and scarcely succeeded. Jeannette, in\nthe midst of a fine phrase, would stop and look out of the window, and\nIsidore would profit by the opportunity to fall into a reverie, which\ncertainly was not suitable at such a time. The reason was that the\nslight friendship that was felt on one side had taken wings and flown\naway; whilst on the other that which perhaps might begin threatened to\nbe cut short by circumstances: but whose fault was it?\n\n\"As you make your bed, so you must lie,\" said our _cur\u00e9_, and Isidore,\nwho had stuffed his with thorns, should not have been surprised if he\nfelt them. No one can describe, because, very fortunately, no one can\nunderstand, the disordered state of this unhappy young man's mind. He\nhad formed a resolution whose result you will soon see; and on whatever\nside he looked, he saw a bottomless abyss open before his eyes. He was\nafraid--this yet can be said in his favor, for indifference to crime\nis the state of finished scoundrels--and he would not now have gone so\nfar, if, as we hope, he had not previously lost his senses.\n\nHe prolonged his visit to Muiceron as long as he could. Little\nJeannette was tired out and did not attempt to conceal it, which\nsufficiently showed how much pleasure she took in the presence of her\nfuture husband. She even yawned two or three times, which any other day\nhe would have resented; but now it escaped his notice.\n\nAt nightfall he at last decided to leave, and then it could be seen, by\nhis pallor and the manner that he passed his hand across his brow, that\nthe great deep pit of which I spoke caused him a greater vertigo than\never.\n\nNevertheless, he started resolutely on the road for the wood of\nMontreux, and, when he was near the wood-cutters' retreat, he looked\nas if he wished to enter it; but suddenly he retraced his steps, and\nafterwards appeared so absent and buried in his own reflections, he did\nnot notice that the cabin was empty, and no work going on inside.\n\nOne man, however, was walking among the huge piles of timber, half\nready for delivery; it was Michou. He at once perceived Isidore, and\nfollowed him with his eyes a long distance; but it was not necessary to\naccost him, and he let him pass on, with the idea that he was seeking\nthe high-road to Issoudun, in obedience to the letter of Jean-Louis.\n\n\"The hawk is caught,\" said he to himself. \"Well, let him go in peace,\nthat he may receive his last shot elsewhere.\"\n\nDuring this time, Perdreau directed his steps towards the game-keeper's\nhouse. He easily entered, as the door was only closed by a latch;\nMichou, in his isolated abode counting more on his gun, which he always\nkept loaded at his bedside, than on the protection of bolts.\n\nIsidore knew that each night Jeannet came to eat and sleep in the\nlittle house; but he also knew that he worked until late in the night,\nand that there was no risk of meeting him at this early hour.\n\nAs he expected, he found the idiot Barbette alone in the house. The\npoor girl was preparing the soup Jean-Louis was accustomed to eat on\nreturning home, and near her was her dog, who never left her, not even\nat night, when both went out together to sleep with the sheep.\n\nShe knew Isidore, as she had seen him roaming around the country.\nExcept to say good-morning and good-evening, she scarcely knew how to\nspeak, and therefore showed neither astonishment nor fear, as is the\ncase with children deprived of reason, who are not conscious either of\ngood or evil.\n\nIsidore sank into a chair without speaking; Barbette nodded to him, and\ncontinued stirring her stew-pan.\n\n\"What are you making there?\" asked Perdreau, after a few moments'\nsilence.\n\nThe idiot burst out laughing, as though the question was very funny.\n\n\"Soup,\" she replied, still laughing loudly.\n\n\"Is it for your uncle?\"\n\n\"No, my uncle has dined.\"\n\n\"Who is it for, then?\"\n\n\"For the other one.\"\n\n\"The other one? Is it for Jean-Louis?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"You are very sure?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes!\" said she, laughing louder than ever.\n\n\"Very good,\" muttered Isidore between his teeth. He suddenly arose, and\ngave the dog a furious kick.\n\nBarbette uttered a shrill scream. Her dog was her only friend; she\nthrew herself between Isidore and the poor beast, which she clasped in\nher arms.\n\nDuring this movement, which was very quick, the wretched Perdreau\nsprang towards the stove, threw into the soup a paper of white powder,\nwhich he had kept hidden in his hand, and disappeared in a second, like\none who feels his clothes catching fire.\n\nSoon all was again quiet and silent. Little Barbette understood\nnothing, except that the wicked man who had beaten her dog without\nany cause had left, and that she could return to her cooking. She\nrecommenced stirring her soup, laughing softly to herself, but taking\ncare, however, that her dog was close to her side.\n\nMichou entered about a quarter of an hour later. He was fatigued with\nhis day's work, and thought no more of Isidore, whom he believed far\naway. Besides, if he had given him a thought, the idea would never have\nentered his head to question Barbette, who was not in a condition to\nrender an account of anybody or anything.\n\nThe game-keeper had his bed and Jeannet's also (straw mattresses, laid\non trestles) placed in a recess at the end of the room, so that, upon\nretiring, they could draw the curtains, and be as private as though in\nanother room. He undressed quietly, and stretched himself upon the bed\nto take his much-needed rest, knowing well that Jean-Louis often came\nin late, but made so little noise he was never disturbed.\n\nA long time passed. Michou was sleeping soundly, when he heard Barbette\ncall him.\n\n\"What do you want?\" he asked, raising himself up in his bed.\n\n\"Uncle,\" said the poor idiot, \"Jean-Louis has not returned.\"\n\n\"Well, what of that?\"\n\n\"I am hungry,\" she replied, for she never ate supper until her work was\nfinished.\n\n\"Eat,\" said Michou. \"What is there to prevent you?\"\n\n\"Can I eat Jean-Louis' soup?\" she asked.\n\n\"Faith,\" thought the game-keeper, \"he must have supped with the\nLuguets. Yes,\" said he aloud, \"eat, and be off to bed.\"\n\nBarbette did not wait to be told twice. She emptied the soup into a\nbowl, swallowed half of it with a good appetite, and gave the rest to\nher dog.\n\nThen she went out, fastening the latch as well as she could, and Michou\nturned over in his bed, where he was soon asleep again, and nothing\nelse happened to disturb him, as Jeannet that night did not return home.\n\n\nXVIII.\n\nThe night was terribly cold, and the following morning the sky was dark\nand heavy from the snow that fell unceasingly; so that our superb wood\nof Val-Saint, so delightful in summer, looked horrible and desolate\nenough to make one think of death and the grave, all around was so\nstill and quiet in its white winding-sheet. Michou, who had nothing to\ndo after he sent off the workmen, rose later than usual, and was rather\nastonished to see Jeannet's bed still vacant. It was the first time the\ndear boy had slept away from home without giving warning. He knew him\ntoo well to think that it was from want of attention: what could have\nhappened?\n\nHe thought again of Perdreau, whom he had seen roving around the\npremises the night before; and for the first time in his life the\ngame-keeper felt a thrill of terror.\n\n\"The good-for-nothing is capable of anything,\" thought he; \"he may have\nwatched for Jean-Louis in some out-of-the-way place to harm him.\"\n\nBut after this reflection, he reassured himself by thinking of\nJean-Louis' extraordinary strength and great height, which surpassed\nIsidore's by at least a head.\n\n\"That puppy has no more nerve than a chicken,\" said he. \"Jeannet could\nknock him down with one blow; and as for drawing a pistol, he would be\nafraid of the noise.\"\n\nHowever, good Jacques hurried with his dressing, so that he might go to\nthe Luguets', to inquire after Jean-Louis. While doing so, he looked\nat his big silver watch, which hung on a nail by his bedside, and saw\nwith astonishment that it was nine o'clock.\n\n\"This is something strange!\" said he; \"it is the first time in ten\nyears I have slept so late.\"\n\nHe went to the door, but, as he put out his head, he was driven back by\na whirlwind of snow which struck him in the face, and at the same time\na man presented himself upon the threshold.\n\n\"M. Michou,\" said the new-comer, who was no other than the\nletter-carrier of the commune, \"it is unfortunate you have some\ncorrespondent in this awful weather.\"\n\n\"That is true! You are not very lucky,\" replied the game-keeper; \"for\nthis is the first letter you have brought me in two years.\"\n\nIt was from Jean-Louis, and contained but a few words:\n\n\"M. JACQUES: Do not be uneasy about me. I am in good health, but I\nwill not return before three days, as I am going to Paris on important\nbusiness.\n\n  \"Your ever-faithful\n                  \"JEAN-LOUIS.\"\n\n\"What the devil can that child have to do in Paris?\" thought Michou.\n\"Never mind, this letter is a great relief; I would rather know he was\noff there than here.\"\n\nHe gave the carrier a warm drink, and conversed with him some time\nbefore the hearth, upon which burned a good armful of vine-branches.\nThen, when he had taken his departure, the thought of Barbette suddenly\nentered his head.\n\n\"What is she doing?\" said he. \"The poor child has forgotten my\nbreakfast; I suppose she has also slept late.\"\n\nHe opened the door; the snow was not falling quite so thick and fast,\nand the sky appeared less sombre.\n\nHe left the house, and went to the sheepfold, to see what had become of\nhis idiotic niece.\n\nAlas! If you have listened to me until now, you can well guess what had\ntaken place in that gloomy night! And yet, upon entering the enclosure,\nnothing at first foreboded the misfortune which was about to startle\nthe good game-keeper. The sheep bleated and tumbled pell-mell, climbing\non one another's backs, browsing contentedly upon the hay scattered\nhere and there; but down at the end of the sheepfold, in a little\ncorner, poor Barbette was extended, stark dead and already cold, the\nmouth half-opened and the face rigid from its terrible struggle. Close\nto her, with his head laid across her feet, her dog also slept, never\nmore to be awakened.\n\nIt was evident the innocent child had suffered fearfully. Her poor body\nseemed longer by three inches than before, as though the limbs had been\nstretched in her dreadful death-struggle. Her little, shrivelled hands\nstill clutched bunches of wool that she must have torn from the sheep\nin her agony. With all that, she looked tranquil and at peace, as if an\nangel of the good God had come at the supreme moment to bear away her\nsoul, exempt from sin.\n\nMichou fell on his knees beside the little dead body. He tried to raise\nher, but she was so stiff he had to move her like a wooden statue.\nCertainly, many hours must have elapsed since her death; the dog, also,\nwas frozen to the touch, and as hard as stone. There was no doubt these\ntwo creatures, so attached to each other during life, had met together\na violent death. Nothing more remained to be done but to make the\nnecessary declarations and hold the inquest usual in such cases. The\ngood man bent over the agonized face of the child a few minutes; one\nor two tears fell upon his gray beard, and, while wiping them off with\nhis coat-sleeve, he recited a Pater and a De Profundis; then he brought\nseveral planks and bundles of straw, which he placed around the poor\ncorpse, so that the sheep should not injure it while playing around.\nHe left the dog lying on the feet of his mistress, Barbette; and mere\ncreature, without soul, as the good God had made him, he deserved this\nrespect, having died faithful as he had lived.\n\nJacques Michou left the sheepfold, his otter-skin cap in his hand, and\non the threshold turned again and made another sign of the cross. His\nold heart was heavy with pain from the shock; but he did not dream\nfor an instant of what we know, and at that you must not be too much\nastonished. The good man was perfectly honest, and could not at first\nconjecture that a great crime had caused this extraordinary death.\nHe rather imagined that Barbette, who had been given to wandering\naround like all innocents, had gathered some poisonous weed, or drank\nby mistake from a vessel in which remedies were prepared for the\nsheep when afflicted with the mange, which are always composed of a\ndecoction of tobacco or other noxious preparation; which cures, if\napplied externally, but is certain death when taken internally, if the\ndirections are not followed. Thus plunged in sad and bitter meditation,\nhe arrived, almost before he knew it, at the village of Val-Saint, and\nthought to continue still further, to warn Dr. Aubry. \"He will be able\nto tell me,\" thought he; \"with his learning he can say what killed the\npoor child.\"\n\nJust then he raised his head, and saw that he was before the notary's\nhouse, and recognized the doctor's horse and wagon before the door.\n\n\"This is lucky!\" thought he. \"I will find out all the sooner.\"\n\nHe entered without having to knock, probably because M. Aubry, who was\nalways absent-minded, had neglected to close the door, ordinarily shut\ntight; so that the game-keeper found himself standing in the middle of\nPerdreau's dining-room before any one had given notice of his entrance.\n\nIsidore was there, so wan, and haggard, and wild-looking, you would\nhave doubted, at the first glance, whether it was himself or his\nshadow. There was nothing terrifying in Michou's aspect; he appeared\nsad and quiet, and only wished to meet the doctor, that he might relate\nhis lamentable story. But criminals see in every one and everywhere\njustice and vengeance ready to fall upon them. Isidore no sooner\nrecognized the honest game-keeper, than he uttered a cry of terror, and\nendeavored to escape.\n\nThat movement, the terrified face, and, still further, we must believe,\nthe inspiration of the good God, made Michou divine, in the twinkling\nof an eye, what he had not even suspected the moment before. You will\nunderstand me if you will only recall some remembrances of the past;\nfor surely you must once or twice in your life have experienced the\nsame effect. An event takes place--no one knows which way to turn; all\nis dark; suddenly a light breaks forth, shedding its brilliant rays on\nall around, and in an instant everything is clear to the mind: is it\nnot so? To explain how this great secret fire is lighted I cannot, but\nto affirm that it happens daily you must acknowledge with me, no matter\nhow poor your memory may be.\n\nThe presence of Perdreau the evening before in the neighborhood of\nthe wood of Montreux, his sombre and agitated look at the time, the\npreceding letter of Jean-Louis, finally, that soup, destined for\nanother than Barbette, and eaten by her--all this passed in a second\nbefore the eyes of the game-keeper, like so many actors playing in the\nsame piece. As the truth, in all its horror, flashed before him, his\nface became terrible, and Isidore, whose eyes, starting from his head\nwith terror, glared fixedly upon him, saw this time, without mistake,\nhis judge and the avenger of his crime.\n\nThe two men looked at each other a moment. Isidore advanced a step,\nin the vague hope of reaching the door. Michou stepped back, his arms\ncrossed, and barred his passage.\n\n\"Let me go out,\" at last gasped Isidore between his closed teeth.\n\n\"Wretch!\" said the game-keeper in a deep voice, \"whom did you come to\npoison at my house last night?\"\n\n\"Michou, you are crazy!\" replied Isidore; \"let me out, or I will call.\"\n\n\"Call as loudly as you please,\" answered Michou, standing straight\nand firm with his back against the door; \"call Dr. Aubry, who must be\nsomewhere about. You will tell him that I have come in search of him to\nprove the death of Barbette, whom you killed, cowardly villain that you\nare!\"\n\n\"Barbette! What do you mean? You are drunk, Michou,\" stammered\nIsidore, becoming each moment more and more livid.\n\n\"Neither drunk nor crazy, you know well, accursed wretch,\" replied\nJacques. \"Your insults do not harm me. Ha! you were not very skilful in\nyour crime, but you were also mistaken. Jean-Louis is safe and sound;\nyou only killed a child deprived of reason, and you will finish on a\nscaffold; for if I were allowed to kill you with my own hand, I would\nnot, so as not to stain the hand of an honest man.\"\n\n\"Michou,\" said Isidore, his teeth chattering with fear, \"have mercy on\nme; I will explain myself later. I am sick.... My father is dying....\nYou are not cruel.... Let me go out.\"\n\n\"Ha! ha! you are a coward.... Faith, I am glad of it; it takes from me\nthe slightest compassion for you. Traitor! scoundrel! you were not so\nmuch afraid yesterday, when you thought of killing a brave, defenceless\nboy. To-day it is not repentance that makes you tremble, but the\njustice of men, who will not spare you. You feel them on your heels;\nyou are not deceived. I have you; try to stir.\"\n\nAnd he seized him by the arm with so vigorous a hand, the wretch felt\nhis bones crack.\n\n\"You hurt me; let me go!\" yelled Isidore, writhing under that iron hand.\n\n\"Shut up! Avow your crime; did you come, yes or no, to poison\nJean-Louis?\"\n\n\"He had provoked me. I was wild, I was mad--let me go....\"\n\n\"You avow it, then; what poison was it?\"\n\n\"I don't know; I know nothing further.... Michou, in the name of God,\nlet me go....\"\n\n\"Do you dare pronounce the name of God?\" cried Michou, grasping\nhim still more firmly. \"Do you believe, then, in him, whom you have\nblasphemed since you were able to speak? You don't know what poison you\nused? After all, it matters little; M. Aubry will know--yes, he and the\njudge also. The case is clear, and, if I could drag you myself before\nthe police, I would only leave hold of you at the door of the prison.\"\n\nIsidore, prostrated and speechless from pain--for Michou, whose\nstrength was trebled, crushed his arm with redoubled force--fell to the\nground in the most miserable state that can be imagined.\n\n\"There,\" said Michou, pushing him aside with his foot, \"if I did not\nstill respect the mark of your baptism, I would wish to see you die\nthere like a dog. Ah! you can weep now! See to what your life of\ndebauchery and idleness has brought you; but you are not capable of\nunderstanding my words. Listen; it is not you that I pity, but the\nremembrance of an honest girl, who, to the eyes of the neighborhood,\nwas your betrothed, the unfortunate creature! In the name of Jeanne\nRagaud, I will save you from the scaffold that you deserve; but on one\ncondition....\"\n\n\"Speak, speak! I will do whatever you wish,\" cried the wretch, raising\nhimself upon his knees. \"I promise you, Michou; but save me!\"\n\n\"Miserable coward!\" said the game-keeper with disgust, \"your prayers\nand your tears cause me as much horror as your crimes. You have not\neven the courage to play the part of a murderer! But what I have said\nI will do. Get up, if you have still strength to stand on your legs.\nMark what I say. You must disappear. I give you, not three days, like\nJean-Louis, but two hours, in which I will go and remove the body of\nyour victim, and warn the police. In two hours I will have declared\non oath that Barbette was poisoned by you, and the proofs will not be\nwanting. Do what you please--hide yourself in a hole or fly. In two\nhours, I repeat, the police will be on your track, and, if the devil\nwishes to save you, that is his affair.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" said Isidore, rising.\n\n\"Your thanks is another insult,\" said Michou. He opened the door\nhimself, and pushed the wretch outside with such a tremendous blow of\nhis fist that he stumbled and fell across the threshold.\n\nOwing to the bad weather, the village street was deserted. Michou\nsaw Isidore disappear with the quickness of a deer. He closed the\ndoor again, and sat down, resting his head upon his hands, to gather\ntogether his ideas.\n\n\"My God,\" said the excellent man, raising his eyes to heaven with the\nhonest look of a Christian, \"perhaps I have done wrong, but thou art\npowerful enough to repair the effect of my too great mercy, and I have\nsaved from a disgrace that could not be remedied thy servants, the poor\nRagauds.\"\n\nAll this had not taken much time, and Michou was meditating upon the\nevents of that terrible night, when he felt some one strike him on the\nshoulder; it was M. Aubry.\n\n\"It is you, M. Jacques?\" said the doctor. \"What are you doing here, old\nfellow?\"\n\n\"I was waiting for you, monsieur,\" replied he quietly, for he had\nentirely recovered his self-possession. \"Is any one sick here?\"\n\n\"Eh?\" said the doctor. \"It is the old man, who was seized with a fever\nyesterday, and is now delirious. His brain is affected. It is an attack\nwhich I anticipated; I don't think he will recover.\"\n\n\"So much the better!\" said Michou.\n\n\"What do you say? So much the better? It can be easily seen he is not\nin your good graces. Faith! I must say, if I were not his physician, I\nwould think the same. I don't generally believe all the gossip floating\naround; we can take a little on credit, and leave the rest; but, in my\nopinion, M. le Marquis did not place his confidence within the pale of\nthe church when he gave it to that old ape; he may yet have to repent\nof it. Well, and you--what can I do for you?\"\n\n\"Come with me to the wood of Montreux,\" said the game-keeper, \"and I\nwill tell you on the way.\"\n\n\"Is the case urgent? Between ourselves, Michou, if your patient is\nnot in danger I would like to put it off until to-morrow. My carriage\nis open, and Cocotte is not rough-shod. It is beastly weather to go\nthrough the forest.\"\n\n\"Alas! monsieur,\" replied Jacques, \"the patient who requires you can\nwait until the last judgment, for she is dead. But I must carry you off\nall the same, as this death does not seem natural to me, and I wish\nyour opinion.\"\n\n\"Let us be off,\" said M. Aubry, without hesitating; \"you can tell me\nthe whole story as we go along.\"\n\nWhich Jacques Michou did, whilst Cocotte, with her head down, trotted\nalong, not very well pleased to receive the snow full in her face.\n\nThe poor beast excepted, neither of the travellers in the wagon felt\nthe horrible weather. The doctor, while listening to the game-keeper,\nlooked serious and severe, which was not at all his usual custom.\nMichou had nothing to hide. He related every detail of the mournful\nstory, without omitting any fact or thought necessary to enlighten M.\nAubry. When he came to speak of his terrible explanation with Isidore\nand the wretch's crime, the doctor swore a round oath, which marked his\ndisapproval, and Cocotte received such a famous cut with the whip, she\nstarted off on a furious gallop.\n\n\"I did not think you were, at your age, such a snivelling, sentimental\nbaby as that,\" said he in a rage. \"What were you dreaming about? To\nhave had your hand on the villain, and then to let him go! You deserve\nto be locked up in his place!\"\n\n\"Monsieur,\" replied Michou, \"what I did I would do again. Have you\nthought that it would also have been a frightful trial for the Ragauds?\nWould they not all have been called upon to testify? And think for a\nmoment what a disgrace it would have been for that unfortunate young\ngirl, who was on the eve of marrying the scoundrel. No, no, M. Aubry,\nin the bottom of your soul you cannot blame me. Believe that the good\nGod will bring it all right; but such a scandal in our province, an\nexecution, perhaps, in the square of Val-Saint--what shame, what\nmisery!\"\n\n\"Jeanne Ragaud and her family owe you a fine taper,\" replied the\ndoctor, a little softened. \"There is some truth in what you say; but,\nfor all that, I would have been better pleased to have seen that\ndangerous animal caged!\"\n\n\"Be easy,\" replied Michou; \"he will never hurt any one else unless\nhimself. Without wishing to excuse him, I am inclined to believe he\nwas out of his mind--pushed to extremity by the great danger in which\nJeannet's discovery had placed him. When a man is accustomed to crime,\nmonsieur, he bears the consequences more boldly. I saw Isidore Perdreau\nso completely demoralized, his crime was written on his brow, where I\nread it at the first glance, and which any one else could have done as\neasily in my place. So be convinced, neither God nor man can blame me\nfor letting him go, and I certainly do not regret it.\"\n\n\"All very well,\" said the doctor; \"but that would not prevent me from\nacting very differently if I should catch him this evening.\"\n\n\"Nor I either,\" replied Michou; \"for if he should fall under my hand\nthis evening, I would see clearly that the good God did not wish him to\nbe saved, at least in this world.\"\n\nAs he finished speaking, they stopped before the sheepfold, and the\ndoctor, together with Michou, entered, their heads uncovered. All was\nas Michou had left it, only that the cold and the hours which had\nelapsed had rendered the little body still stiffer than at the moment\nof discovery. The effects of the poison began to appear, as great black\nspots were visible on the face of the dead girl, which gave her such a\nsuffering and pitiful look, the tears fell from their eyes.\n\nM. Aubry had not to examine very much to be convinced that the poor\nidiot had been poisoned by taking a dose of arsenic capable of killing\nthree men. As this poison is infallible against rats, nearly all the\ncountry people obtain permission to keep a small quantity on hand; and\nnothing had been easier than for Isidore to take a little from his\nfather's own kitchen, where the servant complained of the ravages of\nthe mice among the cheeses and other provisions. Thus, step by step,\neverything was terribly brought to light, and yet with much simplicity,\nas is always the case with events incontestably true; therefore, it\nwas easy for M. Aubry to prepare his statements, affirmations, and\ndeclarations according to his conscience, in the report which he read\nbefore the official authorities.\n\nOne very sad thing, but which they scarcely thought of at the moment,\nwas to give a rather more decent bed than the straw of the sheepfold\nto the poor innocent victim. But this they could not do, as they were\nobliged to let her lie as she was until the arrival of the district\nattorney, the sheriff, and the chief of police.\n\nMichou would willingly have watched by her side, but this was not\npossible either. M. Aubry aided him to construct a solid barrier\nof planks; then they covered the body with a blanket; and on the\nbreast the game-keeper placed, with profound respect, a cross made of\nbranches. This devout duty accomplished, Jacques Michou locked the\nsheepfold, put the key in his pocket, and left with the doctor to warn\nthe authorities.\n\nYou can imagine that in all this coming and going much more time had\nelapsed than the two hours accorded to the fugitive. Michou, who\ndesired it from the bottom of his heart, for the good reasons we\nalready know, and which he did not regret, was not sorry at the delay.\nM. Aubry, on the contrary, growled and stormed, whipped Cocotte with\nthe full strength of his arm, and tried to hurry up affairs with the\ngreatest diligence. But impossibilities cannot be performed, and, with\nall his efforts, the usual formalities in these sad circumstances were\nnot fulfilled until late in the afternoon.\n\nThen the news spread from mouth to mouth as rapidly as the waves of our\nriver during an inundation. The curious assembled in the public square,\nwhere the servants of M. le Marquis, who never were bothered with too\nmuch work, were the first to appear. They talked, they gesticulated,\nsaid heaps of foolish things, mixed with some words of common sense.\nOur master learned from public rumor that young Perdreau was suspected,\nand that he had disappeared. It can be easily understood that he was\nindignant at such a calumny, and generously offered to guarantee his\ninnocence. Mademoiselle wept, Dame Berthe imitated her, and these\ntwo excellent ladies wished immediately to rush off to Jeannette,\nto console her in this great trial. But poor mademoiselle had to be\ncontent with her benevolent wishes, for neither coachman nor footman,\nnor even a simple groom, could be found; all had run off to the wood of\nMontreux in search of news.\n\nAs they were obliged to pass Muiceron to reach the wood, you may\nwell imagine that more than one of the hurried crowd lagged behind\nto talk to the Ragauds, and thus they, in their turn, heard of the\nterrible affair. The consternation was unparalleled, for there, as at\nthe ch\u00e2teau, no one would believe the wicked rumors afloat concerning\nIsidore. Jeannette, who cared but little for her intended husband, and\nhad desired to be freed from her engagement, was indignant as soon as\nshe thought he was in trouble, and defended him warmly, which made\npeople believe she loved him devotedly. The truth was, this little\ncreature's soul was generous and high-strung, and, like all such\nnatures, she defended him, whom she willingly would have sent off the\nnight before, only because she thought he was unfortunate.\n\nBut days passed, and each one brought new and overwhelming proofs of\nthe truth. The police searched the neighborhood in vain, and soon\nall hope of seeing Isidore reappear (which would have pleaded in his\njustification) faded from the eyes of those who wished to defend him.\nM. le Marquis, after having conversed with M. Aubry, Michou, and the\njudicial authorities, was overcome with grief, and acknowledged that he\ncould not conscientiously mix himself up with the affair. As for old\nPerdreau, he never recovered his consciousness, and died shortly after.\nThey placed the seals on his house, where, later, they discovered\nthe documents and correspondence which revealed his wicked life; and\nnow you can judge if there was anything to gossip about in a commune\nas peaceable and tranquil as ours. In the memory of man there had\nnever been such a terrible event, and nothing will ever happen again\napproaching to it, I devoutly wish.\n\nMademoiselle, who was not very well, was seriously injured by all this\ntrouble; and as M. le Marquis loved her dearly, and, besides, heard the\nrumbling of the revolution in the capital which he had so long ardently\ndesired, packed up, and was soon off, bag and baggage, for Paris,\nwhere he hoped to distract poor mademoiselle, and drive off mournful\nrecollections.\n\n                            TO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE CHAPEL.\n\n\n    It stands within a narrow, quiet street,\n      And well-worn steps ascend at either side,\n    Where, all day long till twilight, pious feet\n      Softly and silently forsake the tide\n    Of feverish life, to rest a little space\n    Within its calm, and gaze upon his face.\n\n    The dead Christ, lying on his Mother's breast,\n      May not uplift those lifeless, closed eyes:\n    O helplessness divine! O sweet behest!\n      Rigid and white beneath the cross he lies,\n    That here, before this holy altar-stone,\n    Our miserable pride be overthrown.\n\n    The dull, gray walls with simple Stations hung,\n      The stain\u00e8d windows, blending liquid rays\n    Of red and gold in lucent amber, flung\n      Across the chancel like a hymn of praise\n    From spirit-voices flowing--all of these\n    Make endless peace and wondrous harmonies.\n\n    And when at evening hour the solemn strain\n      Of some quaint _Tantum Ergo_, strange and sweet,\n    Tunes the full soul to perfect chords again,\n      And from the beaten pathway weary feet\n    Turn heavenward once more, unchained and free,\n    It is a dear and blessed place to be.\n\n    Slowly the heavy waves of incense rise,\n      Parting amid the arches overhead.\n    Start, fervent tears of peace from burning eyes!\n      Mount, happy prayers! Despair, lie prone and dead!\n    Open, ye perfumed clouds, and give them room,\n    While _Benedicite_ pierces the gloom.\n\n    It is a quiet spot--the busy feet\n      Of toil and turmoil pause before its gates,\n    And turn aside, with reverent steps, to greet\n      The Holy One of Ages--him who waits,\n    With patient hands outstretched, to love and bless\n    The lowliest soul that craves his tenderness.\n\n\n\n\nPHILOSOPHICAL TERMINOLOGY.\n\n\nIII.\n\nTO THE EDITOR OF THE CATHOLIC WORLD:\n\nIn my last letter, while criticising an incorrect definition of the\nword _act_, I made the remark that \"the gravity of bodies is not\na _power_, as some unphilosophical scientists imagine.\"[268] When\nwriting these words, I had to confine myself to a mere statement of\nthe scientific error; but it occurs to me that in an age in which\nmost of the so-called men of science are so little acquainted with\nphilosophy as to mistake effects for causes, and yet so proud of\ntheir achievements as to aspire to the leadership of the public mind,\nsome precautions must be taken, lest our philosophical terminology be\ninfected with such improprieties as are now too leniently tolerated\nin the language of science. It is the abuse of one word that does the\ngreatest mischief in the department of physics. This word is _force_.\nIts frequent misapplication tends to confound and falsify the whole\ndoctrine of physical causation. It is therefore of great importance,\neven in a scientific point of view, to determine within what limits the\nuse of such a word should be restricted in accordance with the laws\nof philosophical terminology. Such is the main object of my present\ncommunication.\n\nThe theory of physical causation deals with natural causes, powers,\nactions, forces, movements, and the results of movements. When these\nterms are properly defined, all relations between agents and patients,\nbetween causes and effects, and consequent phenomena, can be easily\nexpressed with philosophical precision; but when the causes, the\npowers, the actions, and the movements themselves are all confounded\nunder one common name of _force_, as it is now the fashion in the\nscientific world to do, no one need be surprised if such a course\nends in philosophical inconsistencies. To show what great proportions\nthis evil has taken, innumerable passages of modern writers might be\nadduced. But, not to perplex the reader with conflicting quotations\nfrom different sources, I will give only a few extracts from one of\nthe best representatives of modern science. I have before me the\n_Correlation of Physical Forces_, by Mr. Grove. It is a well-known\nlittle work, much esteemed by physicists, and one which certainly\ntranscends the average merit of many modern productions of the same\nkind. Now, what is Mr. Grove's notion of cause, of force, of power,\nas compared with one another and with the phenomena of nature? The\nfollowing passages will show. He says:\n\n\"In each particular case, where we speak of cause, we habitually refer\nto some antecedent power or force; we never see motion or any change in\nmatter take effect, without regarding it as produced by some previous\nchange\" (p. 13).\n\nHere _force_, _power_, and _cause_ are taken as equivalent; moreover,\n_motion_, or a change in matter, is considered as \"produced\" by a\nprevious change; which implies that a previous change or movement\nis the efficient cause of a subsequent change or movement. Hence,\naccording to such a terminology, movement, force, power, and cause\nshould be accepted as synonymous. But philosophy cannot admit of such a\nwholesale confusion.\n\n\"A force,\" says he, \"cannot originate otherwise than by devolution from\nsome pre-existing force or forces.... The term 'force,' although used\nin very different senses by different authors, in its limited sense may\nbe defined as that which produces or resists motion.... I use the term\n'force' as meaning that active principle inseparable from matter, which\nis supposed to induce its various changes\" (p. 16).\n\nHere _force_ is again confounded with _power_ and with _cause_,\ninasmuch as \"active principles\" are _powers_, and \"that which produces\nor resists motion\" is a _cause_. We are told at the same time that\nthe active principle is not a primordial and essential constituent of\nmaterial substances, but an accidental result of devolution from other\nactive principles residing in other substances. Philosophy cannot admit\nof such a phraseology; for, as the active principle of a substance is\na constituent of its nature, if the active principle of any substance\nwere thus communicated to it by accidental devolution, such a substance\nwould have no definite nature of its own, and would be nothing; and, in\nspite of this, it would also be capable of becoming anything, according\nas its active principle might originate from different pre-existing\nforces. Now, we know that the first elements of any given substance\nhave a definite nature, and a definite active principle independently\nof devolution from other substances; and that, according to the results\nof a constant and universal experience, they are not liable to exchange\ntheir nature for anything else, but keep it permanently and unalterably\namidst all the vicissitudes brought about by the interference of\nsurrounding bodies. It is, therefore, plain that the \"active principle\ninseparable from matter\" cannot originate in devolution from other\npre-existing forces. But let us proceed.\n\n\"The position which I seek to establish in this essay,\" says Mr.\nGrove, \"is, that the various affections of matter which constitute the\nmain object of experimental physics--viz., heat, light, electricity,\nmagnetism, chemical affinity, and motion--are all correlative, or have\na reciprocal dependence; that neither, taken abstractedly, can be said\nto be the essential cause of the others, but that either may produce,\nor be convertible into, any of the others\" (p. 15).\n\nEvery one, of course, will admit that heat, light, electricity,\netc., are \"correlative.\" I also admit that they are not \"essential\ncauses\" of one another; but the fact is that they are no causes at\nall; since heat, light, electricity, etc., are only modes of motion\nand \"affections of matter,\" as the author acknowledges, and are\ntherefore to be considered as mere phenomena or effects, of which the\none can be the condition, but not the cause, of the other. I know\nthat the popular language admits of such expressions as \"heat causes\ndilatation,\" \"light causes an impression on the retina,\" \"chemical\naffinity causes combination,\" \"movement causes a change of place.\"\nBut these and other similar expressions, though used by scientific\nwriters, and even by philosophers, are by no means philosophically\ncorrect. We shall see presently that substances alone have efficient\npowers, and therefore no mode of being and no affection of matter can\ndisplay efficient causality. Hence light, heat, electricity, and the\nrest, are neither efficient causes nor efficient powers; and, inasmuch\nas they are affections of matter, they cannot even be called _forces_\nin a philosophical, but only in a technical, sense, as we shall explain\nhereafter.\n\nAs to the mutual \"convertibility\" of these various affections of\nmatter into one another, I would observe that, although the expression\nmay be correctly understood, yet, as interpreted by Mr. Grove and\nby other physicists, it cannot be admitted. What do we mean when we\nsay that progressive motion, for instance, is converted into heat?\nWe mean that in proportion as the progressive movement of a body is\nresisted and _extinguished_, a correspondent amount of heat, or of\nmolecular calorific vibrations, is _produced_ by mutual actions and\nreactions. In this sense the conversion of one mode of being into\nanother is perfectly admissible, no less indeed than the passage from\na state of rest to one of movement. But Mr. Grove does not understand\nit so. He thinks that the progressive movement of a body is never\nextinguished, but only transformed by subdivision into molecular\ncalorific vibrations; and, therefore, that the same accidental entity\nwhich was to be found in the progressive movement is still to be found\n_identically_, though subdivided, in the calorific motion. Let us hear\nhim:\n\n\"It is very generally believed that, if the visible and palpable\nmotion of one body be arrested by impact on another body, the motion\nceases, and the force which produced it is annihilated. Now, the\nview which I venture to submit is that force cannot be annihilated,\nbut is merely subdivided or altered in direction or character\" (p.\n24). \"_Motion_ will directly produce _heat_ and _electricity_, and\nelectricity, being produced by it, will produce magnetism\" (p. 34).\n\"Lastly, _motion_ may be again reproduced by the forces which have\nemanated from motion\" (p. 36).\n\nSuch is Mr. Grove's theory of the \"convertibility of forces.\" It\nis nothing but a wrong interpretation of the old theory of the\n\"conservation of _vis viva_\" by the modern conception of \"potential\nenergy,\" which admits \"forces stored up\" in bodies, and ready to show\nthemselves in the form of velocity, heat, light, or any other kind of\nmovement. This notion and others of a like tendency constitute the\nmarrow of the new physical theories, and are the pride of our men of\nscience. Let us hope that a time will come when these able men will see\nthe vanity of such fashionable doctrines, and blush for their adoption\nof them in their scientific generalizations.\n\nThe conservation of _vis viva_ is, within certain limits, that is\nwith regard to ponderable bodies impinging on one another,[269]\nan established fact; but its interpretation as given by advanced\nphysicists is a huge blunder. \"It is very generally believed,\" says Mr.\nGrove, \"that if the visible motion of one body be arrested by impact\non another body, the motion ceases.\" Of course, it is believed; and,\nwhat is more, it is demonstrably true, whatever Mr. Grove may say to\nthe contrary. Yet it is not true, nor is it very generally believed,\nthat \"the force which produces it (the motion) is annihilated.\" When\nthe movement of a body is arrested, its velocity is _extinguished_;\nbut that velocity was not the force which _produced_ the movement.\nWhen a stone falls to the ground, its movement is produced, not by\nits velocity, but by the action of the earth on it. Velocity is only\nthe formal principle of movement, and is itself included in movement\nas a constituent, not as an efficient power. To say that velocity\nproduces movement is, therefore, to confound formal with efficient\ncausation, and to admit that movement produces itself. This is one of\nthe conclusions for which I hope, as I said, physicists will blush\nhereafter.\n\nBut the force, we are told, \"is not annihilated, but merely subdivided\nor altered in direction or character.\" This cannot be. The word\n_force_ here means a quantity of movement, which is nothing but\nthe product of the velocity into the mass of the body. Now, the\nvelocity of a body is not subdivided when the movement is arrested,\nbut is really extinguished. I say _extinguished_, not _annihilated_;\nbecause annihilation, as well as creation, regards substances, not\naccidents. Velocity is an accident; it is therefore neither created nor\nannihilated, but originates in a determination produced by an agent,\nand ends by exhaustion or neutralization under the influence of an\nantagonistic agency. I say, then, that the movement of the body, though\nnot annihilated, is extinguished and not subdivided. It is impossible\nto conceive of divisions where there is nothing divisible. On the other\nhand, nothing is divisible which has no extension and no material\nparts. Now, where are the material parts or the extension of velocity?\nVelocity in each primitive particle of a body is a simple actuality,\nwhich can increase or decrease by degrees of intensity, but cannot be\ntaken to pieces in order to be apportioned among the other particles of\nthe body, and therefore the pretended subdivision of velocities is a\nmere absurdity.\n\nNor does it matter that force can be \"altered in direction or\ncharacter.\" We must not forget that _force_ is here a sum of\nvelocities, and accordingly cannot change direction or character\nunless such velocities are intrinsically changed. But they cannot be\nchanged with regard to either character or direction without some new\ndegree of velocity being produced or extinguished by some efficient\ncause. For the character of velocity is to actuate the extension\nof the movement in proportion to its own intensity. This, and no\nother, is its character; and, therefore, velocity cannot be altered\nin character without its intensity being increased or diminished by\naction. And the same is to be said of the change of direction, which\ncannot be conceived without action. Now, if action can modify motion,\nand diminish to any extent its velocity, it remains for our scientists\nto explain how a certain action cannot stifle movement and velocity\naltogether.\n\nThey will say that the \"indestructibility of force\" is the only\nhypothesis consistent with the theory of the conservation of _vis\nviva_, and consequently that the two must stand or fall together.\nBut the truth is that the conservation of _vis viva_ needs no such\nhypothesis, since it depends on a quite different principle, viz., on\nthe equality of action and reaction.\n\nWhen two billiard-balls impinge on one another, they act and react.\nTheir molecules urge one another (by their mutual actions of course,\nnot by their velocity), and become compressed. All the work they do up\nto the _maximum_ of compression is styled _action_. But reaction soon\nfollows; for, as compression brings the neighboring molecules into an\nunnatural position where they cannot settle in relative equilibrium,\nthe molecular exertions tend now to restore within the bodies the\noriginal molecular distances; which work of restoration is properly\ncalled _reaction_.[270] And since reaction must undo what the preceding\naction had done, hence the amount of the reaction must equal the amount\nof the action, and thus no energy is lost; for the same quantity of\nmovement is produced in one ball as is extinguished in the other.\n\nI do not wish to enlarge on this topic, which is of a physical rather\nthan metaphysical nature. I only repeat that the mistake of our\nphysicists lies in supposing that the quantity of movement which is\nlost by one body still exists in nature, and passes _identically_ into\nanother body; whilst the fact is that the quantity of movement lost by\nthe first body is altogether extinguished, and the quantity acquired by\nthe second body is a new production altogether. To send an accidental\nmode, such as velocity, travelling about from one substance to another\nwithout support, as an independent and self-sufficient being, may be a\nbright device of modern progress; but when the time comes for repenting\nof other scientific blunders, this bright delusion will, I am sure, be\nreckoned among the most grievous philosophical sins that science will\nhave to regret and to atone for in sackcloth and ashes.\n\nThese remarks go far to show that the terminology of our modern\nscientists concerning physical causation is philosophically incorrect.\nI have more to say on this same subject; but to make things plainer\nI wish to give beforehand what I consider to be the true distinction\nbetween cause, power, action, and force, as implied in the causation\nof natural phenomena. To do this in the most simple and intelligible\nmanner, I lay down the following propositions:\n\nI. It is a principle philosophically certain that the substance of all\nnatural things has been created by God for his extrinsic glory--that\nis, for the manifestation of his power and other perfections.\nAccordingly, every created substance has received a natural aptitude\nand fitness to manifest in some manner and in some degree the power and\nperfection of its Creator.\n\nII. Therefore, every creature naturally, _per se_, not accidentally,\nbut by the very fact of its creation, is destined to act; for\nmanifestation is action, and consequently possesses permanently and\nintrinsically such an _active power_ as is proportionate to the kind\nand degree of the intended manifestation. In other terms, every created\nsubstance is destined to be the _efficient cause_ of determined effects.\n\nIII. The power of created substances is finite, and its exertion is\nsubject to definite laws. All finite power, according as it is exerted\nunder more or less favorable conditions, gives rise to effects of\ngreater or less intensity. Hence different effects may proceed from one\nand the same cause, and equal effects from different causes, acting\nunder different conditions.\n\nIV. The exertion of power is called _action_, and its intensity, in the\nmaterial world, depends on the distance of the agent from the patient.\n\nV. The amount of the exertion, or the quantity of the action, is\nmeasured by its true effect, which is the only true exponent or\nrepresentative of the degree of the exertion; for, all matter being\nequally indifferent to receive motion, the amount of its passion must\nalways agree with the amount of the action received; and thus the one\nis the natural and necessary measure of the other.\n\nVI. The amount of the exertion, as measured by the effect it is able\nto produce, is what in the scientific language can be styled _force_\nproperly.\n\nVII. The amount of the effect, as measuring the amount of the exertion\nfrom which it arises, or by which it is neutralized, is again called\n_force_, but improperly, and only in a technical sense, as it is in\nfact a mere measure of force.\n\nThese propositions are so logically connected with one another that,\nthe first of them being admitted, all the others must follow. I might,\ntherefore, dispense with all discussion with regard to them; yet, to\nhelp the scientific reader to form a philosophical notion of forces, I\nwill endeavor to throw some additional light on my sixth and seventh\npropositions.\n\nAnd, first, I observe that since forces can only be measured by their\neffects, the mathematical expression of a force always exhibits the\nquantity of the effect which such a force is competent to cause; and\nas such an effect is a certain quantity of movement, hence forces are\nmathematically expressed in terms of movement. So long as physicists\npreserved their old philosophical traditions, a distinction was kept up\nbetween force and movement. A quantity of movement was indeed called _a\nforce_, inasmuch as it was the true measure of the action from which it\nhad originated, or by which it could be destroyed; but such a _force_\nwas not confounded with the action itself. The action was called _vis\nmotrix_, a motive force, whilst the quantity of movement was called\n_vis_ simply, and was not considered as having any efficient causality.\nThus before Dr. Mayer's invention of \"potential energies,\" the word\n_force_ was used with proper discrimination: 1st, as a quantity of\naction actually producing movement; 2d, as a quantity of action\nactually opposed by a resistance sufficient to prevent the production\nof movement; 3d, as a quantity of movement and a measure of action.\n\nA quantity of action followed by movement was called a _dynamical_\nforce, and was measured by the quantity of movement imparted in the\nunit of time. Its mathematical expression in rational mechanics\nwas, and is still, a differential coefficient of the _second order_\nrepresenting the product of the mass acted on into the velocity which\nthe action, if continued for a unit of time, would communicate to it.\nAs instances of _dynamical_ force, we may mention the action of the sun\non the planets, of the planets on their satellites, of the earth on a\npendulum, on a drop of rain, etc.\n\nA quantity of action not followed by movement was called a _statical_\nforce, and was measured by the quantity of movement into which it\nwould develop, if no obstacle existed. Its mathematical expression in\nrational mechanics is a differential coefficient of the _first order_\nrepresenting the product of the mass, whose movement is neutralized\ninto its virtual velocity. By _virtual_ velocity we mean the velocity\nwhich the mass would acquire in a unit of time, if all resistance to\nthe movement were suddenly suppressed. As instances of _statical_\nforce, we may mention the action of a weight on the string from which\nit hangs, or on the table on which it lies.\n\nA quantity of movement, or the dynamical effect of all the actions to\nwhich a body has been subjected for any length of time, was called\na _kinetic_ force. As kinetic forces cannot be destroyed except by\nactions producing equal and opposite quantities of movement, hence\nevery kinetic force can be taken as a measure, not only of the amount\nof action from which it has resulted, but also of the amount of\naction by which it can be checked. The mathematical expression of a\n_kinetic_ force is the product of the moving mass into its actual\nvelocity. As instances of this force, we may mention _the momentum_ of\na cannon-ball, of a hammer, of wind, falling water, etc.\n\nTo obviate the many abuses which this notion of kinetic force has\nengendered, and to cut the ground from under the feet of those\nblundering theorists who reduce all forces to movement, it is important\nto remark that kinetic force could be defined as \"that quantity of\naction which a moving body can exercise against an obstacle until its\nvelocity is exhausted.\" This definition would change nothing in the\nmathematical expression of kinetic forces; for the quantity of the\naction which a moving body can exercise against the obstacle is exactly\nequal to the quantity of movement, or momentum, by which the body is\nanimated. The only change would be in the terminology, which, instead\nof technical, would become philosophical. As instances of kinetic\nforce thus defined, we might mention _the quantity of action_ of a\ncannon-ball, of the hammer on the anvil, of the wind on the sails, etc.\n\nThe division of forces into dynamical, statical, and kinetic has been\nlong recognized by all competent judges as very good and satisfactory.\nBut our men of progress, in the innocent belief that, before they\nappeared on the scene, everything in this world was darkness, have\nchanged all that. All forces are now stated to consist in nothing\nbut \"mass animated by velocity.\" Dynamical forces are rejected, it\nwould seem, because they imply what modern science cannot, or will\nnot, understand--_i.e._ real production (they call it _creation_) of\nmovement. On the other hand, statical forces are not masses animated\nby velocity, and thus are set aside because they originate no real\nmovement. Such is the consistency of our progressional friends.\n\nYet so long as all effect will need a cause, there can be no doubt that\nstatical forces must be real forces. Two weights balancing one another\nat the ends of a lever certainly act on one another, as every one must\nadmit who observes the change produced by taking away one of the two.\nA weight which actually prevents another weight from falling surely\nexerts a positive influence on it, and therefore displays power and\nbrings forth an amount of action. So also, when a weight is at rest on\na table, gravity does not remain dormant with regard to it, but urges\nit toward the table with unyielding tenacity. Hence the table must\ncontinually react in order to keep the body at rest. It is evident,\ntherefore, that the weight, while at rest on the table, exerts its\npowers and is engaged in real action; for nothing but real action can\nawaken real reaction. Again, when we try to raise a weight, we feel\nthat we must overcome a real resistance; and when we support a weight,\nwe feel its action upon our limbs. Hence pressure is a real force,\nthough it be not mass animated by velocity; and the same is evidently\nto be said of traction, torsion, flexion, etc. It is, therefore,\nimpossible to ignore statical forces.\n\nThat dynamical forces are likewise indispensable in science I think\nit would be quite superfluous to prove. Rational mechanics is wholly\nbased upon them, and no phenomenon in nature can be explained without\nthem. If modern science finds it difficult to understand the production\nof local movement, let her consider that, after all, it would be less\ndamaging to her reputation to confess her philosophical ignorance than\nto deny what all mankind hold and know to be a fact.\n\nFrom this short discussion we may safely conclude, with the old\nphysicists, that there are in nature dynamical and statical as well as\nkinetic forces, and that the word _force_ should be uniformly used in\nphilosophy as expressing a quantity of action measured by the quantity\nof its effect, or by something equivalent. But we have not yet done\nwith our advanced theorists.\n\nIt is curious that, after having reduced all forces to \"mass animated\nby velocity,\" they have not hesitated to introduce into science a\nforce which is neither mass animated by velocity nor a common statical\nforce, but something quite different, to which they gave the name of\n\"potential energy.\" The first to imagine this spurious force was, if\nI am not mistaken, the German Dr. Mayer, one of the great leaders of\nmodern thought, who, considering that a body raised from the floor\nwould, if abandoned to itself, fall down and acquire a momentum\ncalculated to do an amount of work, conceived the raising of the body\nas equivalent to a communication of latent energy destined to become\nvisible at any time in the shape of movement as soon as the body\nis left to itself. Such an energy, as still unevolved, was called\n\"potential energy.\"\n\n\"If we define 'energy' to mean the power of doing work,\" says a\nwell-known English professor, \"a stone shot upwards with great velocity\nmay be said to have in it a great deal of actual energy, because it has\nthe power of overcoming up to a great height the obstacle interposed by\ngravity to its ascent, just as a man of great energy has the power of\novercoming obstacles. But this stone, as it continues to mount upwards,\nwill do so with a gradually decreasing velocity, until at the summit\nof its flight all the actual energy with which it started will have\nbeen spent in raising it against the force of gravity to this elevated\nposition. It is now moving with no velocity--just, in fact, beginning\nto turn--and we may suppose it to be caught and lodged upon the top\nof a house. Here, then, it remains at rest, without the slightest\ntendency to motion of any kind, and we are led to ask, What has\nbecome of the energy with which it began its flight? Has this energy\ndisappeared from the universe without leaving behind it any equivalent?\nIs it lost for ever, and utterly wasted?... Doubtless the stone is\nat rest on the top of the house, and hence possesses no _energy of\nmotion_; but it nevertheless possesses _energy_ of another kind _in\nvirtue of its position_; for we can at any time cause it to drop down\nupon a pile, and thus drive it into the ground, or make use of its\ndownward momentum to grind corn, or to turn a wheel, or in a variety of\nuseful ways. It thus appears that when a stone which has been projected\nupwards has been caught at the summit of its flight and lodged on the\ntop of a house, the energy of actual motion with which it started has\nbeen changed into another form of energy, which we denominate energy\nof position, or potential energy, and that, by allowing the stone\nagain to fall, we may change this energy of position once more into\nactual energy, so that the stone will reach the ground with a velocity,\nand hence with an energy, equal precisely to that with which it was\noriginally projected upwards.\"[271]\n\nSuch is the theory. It is scarcely necessary to say that the whole\nof it is a delusion. First, the velocity imparted to the stone is\nnot a working power, but only a condition for doing work, as I shall\npresently show; and, therefore, it cannot be styled \"energy.\"\n\nSecondly, when the stone is caught at the summit of its ascent, and\n(according to the strange phrase of the author) _is moving with no\nvelocity_, it possesses nothing more than it possessed when lying on\nthe ground. Its elevated position is only a new local relation, which\nconfers no power, either actual or potential. It is indeed possible to\nlet the stone drop down; but then its fall will be due to the action\nof the earth, and consequently to extrinsic causation, not to anything\npossessed by the stone on account of its elevated position.\n\nThirdly, the words \"potential energy\" cannot be coupled with one\nanother without absurdity; for \"energy,\" according to all, means _power\nto act_, whilst \"potential\" means _liability to be acted on_. Hence\n\"potential energy\" would mean either a power to act which is ready to\nbe acted on, or a power which is to be acquired by the body through\nits being acted on. The first alternative confounds act with passive\npotency, and action with passion; the second assumes that the velocity\nto be acquired by the body is a real working power, which it is not.\n\nFourthly, it is against reason to admit that \"the energy of actual\nmotion is changed into another form of energy.\" For where is the\ncausality of the change? The only causality concerned with the\nmodification of the upward movement of the stone is the action of\ngravity; and this, being directly antagonistic to the ascensional\nvelocity, tends to destroy, not to transform, it.\n\nFifthly, a stone created originally on the brink of a precipice would\nbe ready to fall into it, although it has never been thrown up; on\nthe contrary, a stone thrown up to such a height as to reach the\nlimits of the moon's effectual attraction would never come down again,\nnotwithstanding the enormous amount of pretended \"actual energy\"\nexpended in the mighty ascent. Hence the upward flight has nothing\nwhatever to do with any so-called \"potential energy.\" It is, therefore,\na gross delusion to hold that by allowing the stone again to fall, \"we\nmay change the potential energy into actual energy,\" it being evident\nthat the actual velocity of the falling stone is not a result of\ntransformation, but the product of continuous action.\n\nWe cannot, then, adopt the phrase \"potential energy\" in metaphysics.\nThe phrase means nothing; for there is nothing in nature which can be\ndesignated by such a name. _Energy_ is synonymous with _power_; and\npower cannot be in a potential state. To be in potency to receive any\namount of velocity is not energy, but passivity. On the other hand,\nthe power of doing work is not a mere _force_, as assumed by the\nmodern theory, but is something much higher and better. Forces are\nonly variable quantities of action; the power, on the contrary, in one\nand the same body is always the same, and yet is competent to do more\nor less work, according as it is exerted under more or less favorable\nconditions. The stone that is hurled against a pane of glass exerts, in\nbreaking it, the very same power which it exerted before being hurled;\nonly the conditions of the exertion are quite different, inasmuch as\nits velocity brings it against the glass at such a rate that, before\nits movement can be checked by the action of the glass, the stone has\ntime to outrun it, dashing it to pieces. Yet it is _by its action,\nnot by its velocity_, that it does such a work. Of course, its action\nis proportional to its velocity, and its work is proportional to the\nsquare of its velocity; and thus the velocity serves to measure both\nthe work and the action, but it does not follow that the velocity is\nthe active power. Velocity is an accidental mode of being; and _nothing\naccidental is active_. This important philosophical truth can be easily\nestablished as follows:\n\nIn all things the principle of being is the principle of operation, as\nphilosophers agree; whence the axioms, \"By what a thing is, by that\nit acts,\" and \"Everything has active power inasmuch as it has being.\"\nNow, all substance has its being independently of accidents; therefore,\nall substance has its active power independently of accidents. On the\nother hand, accidents give to the substance a _mode_ of being, and\nnothing more; therefore, they also determine its _mode_ of acting, and\nnothing more. But as to be in this or that state presupposes _being_,\nso also to have a power ready to act in this or that manner presupposes\n_power_. Hence no accident gives active power to the substance of which\nit is the accident; or, in other terms, accidents are nothing more than\nconditions determining the mode of application of the active powers\nthat pre-exist in the substance.\n\nAgain, all natural accidents[272] are reducible to three classes;\nas some of them are _accidental acts_ produced by some agent and\npassively received in some subject, others are _intrinsic modes of\nbeing_ resulting from the reception of such accidental acts, and,\nlastly, a great many are _mere relativities_ or relative modes. Now,\nthat relativities can act no one has ever pretended to assert. That\nintrinsic modes of being can act, is implicitly assumed by all who\nconsider velocity as an active power; for velocity is an intrinsic\nmode of being. Yet if we ask them whether the _existence_ of things is\ncompetent to act, they will certainly answer _no_; and they will be\nright. But, I say, if existence cannot act, still less can a mere mode\nof existing act. For a mode of existing is a reality incomparably less\nthan existence itself. Accordingly, since they concede that not the\nexistence, but the thing existing, is a principle of action, they must\nalso _\u00e0 fortiori_ concede that the thing modified, and not its mode, is\na principle of action. Finally, with regard to the accidental act, it\nis evident that its reception in the substance cannot impart to it any\nnew activity, since its formal effect simply consists in a new mode of\nbeing, which, as we have just seen, is not active. It is clear, then,\nthat no natural accident has active power.\n\nOmitting other reasons drawn from theoretical considerations, and\nwhich might be usefully developed in special metaphysics, I will only\nadd an _\u00e0 posteriori_ proof, which physicists will probably find\nmore congenial to their habit of thought. It consists in the fact\nthat bodies act on one another without being animated by velocity,\nor without their velocity having any share in the production of the\neffect. Thus a book at rest on a table acts on the table; and a liquid,\nor a gas, at rest in a jar acts on the jar. On the other hand, the\nearth, though not at rest, attracts bodies, not by its diurnal rotation\nor by its annual revolution, but by a power dependent only on its mass;\nand the same is to be said of the sun and the planets. This shows that\nthe power from which the motive action of bodies proceeds is not\ntheir velocity; whence it follows that velocity is only an affection\nof bodies, and has no bearing upon the active powers of the same, but\nonly on the mode of their application. Now, since all the accidents\nwhich have been supposed to involve active power can be resolved into\nkinds of movement, it must be owned that such accidents have no real\nactivity; for all kinds of movements consist of velocity, and velocity\ndoes not act.\n\nHence, whatever scientists may say to the contrary, heat, light,\nelectricity, etc., are not efficient powers, but modes of movement, on\nwhich the mode of acting of bodies depends. When heat was thought to\nbe a subtle imponderable substance, philosophers could consistently\ncall it an efficient power; but since it is now decided that heat is\nonly \"a mode of motion,\" how can we still attribute to it what is the\nexclusive property of substances? If heat is only a mode of motion, a\nbar of iron, when hot, has no greater powers than when cold; it has\nonly a greater movement. So also, if light is only a mode of motion,\nluminiferous \u00e6ther has no greater power when undulating in the open\nair than when at rest in a dark room. In the same manner air, when\nperfectly still, has the same powers as when actually propagating any\nvariety of sounds. When, therefore, physicists speak to us of such\nmovements as powers, let us not be imposed upon by their phraseology,\nif we wish to be consistent in our reasonings, and avoid useless and\ntroublesome disputes.\n\nYet it was to be expected that our physicists in their technical\nlanguage would confound heat, light, and other modes of movement\nwith forces and powers. The correlation between such movements and\nthe actions of the bodies subjected to them is, in fact, such as to\nallow of the former being taken for measure of the latter. Thus a\ngiven amount of mechanical action may give rise to a definite amount\nof heat, and _vice versa_; hence the one can be technically considered\nas the equivalent of the other, inasmuch as the one is the measure\nof the other. But does it follow that action and heat belong to the\nsame category? Certainly not. It is not the action itself, but its\nmechanical effect, that should be taken as the true equivalent of\nthe heat generated. And when we are told that \"heat is expended in\ngenerating mechanical movement,\" we must not fancy that calorific\nmovement _causes_ another kind of movement, as the phrase seems to\nimply, but only that, while the calorific movement is diminished by\na given cause, the same cause generates the mechanical movement. We\nshould always bear in mind that the language of modern science, though\ncorrectly expressing the correspondence of effects to effects, is very\nfar from expressing as correctly the relation of effects to causes.\nPhysicists should learn to distinguish between efficient causes and\nconditions determining the mode of their causation. Heat is one of such\nconditions, and to call it a _force_ is to endow it with efficient\ncausality; for the term _force_ always conveys the idea of causation.\nThey should either cease to describe heat as a force, or, if this\ncannot be done, explain more explicitly than they do the technical\nrestrictions modifying the philosophical meaning of the word. We can\nhardly expect that they will follow our advice; but, at any rate, it is\nto be hoped that philosophers at least will take care to follow it,\nand guard against the corruption of their own terminology.\n\nBesides heat, light, electricity, and magnetism, there are many other\nmodes of being technically called _forces_. Centrifugal force is one\nof them; for, in fact, centrifugal force, in spite of the name, is\nnothing more than \"that quantity of movement which is extinguished by\ncentripetal action in the unit of time.\"\n\nThe force of inertia--_vis inerti\u00e6_--is another technical or\nconventional force. For it is plain that inertia cannot act; and\nthus it is impossible to conceive any true force of inertia. But,\ntechnically, _vis inerti\u00e6_ means \"the quantity of the effort by which\na body, when enduring violence from without, resists compression,\ntraction, or any other alteration of its molecular structure.\" This\neffort proceeds, not from inertia, but from the active powers residing\nin the molecules of the body; and yet it has received the name of _vis\ninerti\u00e6_, because it develops itself in the lapse of time during which\nthe body, _inasmuch as inert_--_i.e._ incapable of leaving its place\nbefore the whole mass has acquired a common velocity--is still loth\nto start, and thus compelled to struggle against the invading body.\nPhilosophers, by keeping in sight this definition of _vis inerti\u00e6_,\nwill be able to solve many sophisms of modern scientific writers.\n\nAgain, the weight of a body is called a _force_, and is represented\nby the product of the mass of the body into a velocity _which it has\nnot_, but which it would acquire through the action of gravity in a\nsecond of time, if it were free to fall. If the mass be called _M_,\nand the velocity which it would acquire _g_, the product _Mg_ will\nrepresent the weight of the body. Now, when the body is at rest on a\ntable, the pressure exercised by it on the table is said to be _Mg_.\nDoes this mean that _the weight_ of the body acts on the table? Not at\nall; for the body does not act by its weight, which is not an active\npower. The truth is that the table by its resistance prevents the body\nfrom acquiring the momentum _Mg_; and since this resistance of the\ntable must be equal to the pressure exercised on it by the body, hence\nthe pressure itself is also equal to _Mg_; and thus a true force--a\nquantity of pressure--is technically identified with the weight of\nthe pressing body. This identification tends to give a false idea of\nthe nature of the fact, and therefore should be carefully avoided in\nphilosophy.\n\nModern physicists have laughed at a philosopher of the old school\n(Arriaga), who, as late as 1639, \"was troubled to know how, when\nseveral flat weights lie upon one another on a board, any but the\nlowest should exert pressure on the board.\" It would have been more\nprudent on their part to ask themselves whether the question was\none which the modern school could answer at all. If we ask how two\nequal weights can exert equal pressures on the board from _unequal_\ndistances, what can they answer? If they wish to be consistent with\ntheir notions, they can only answer that \"the actions are transmitted\nfrom one weight to another till they meet the board.\" Now, this is a\ngreat philosophical blunder; for actions are accidents, and therefore\ncannot travel from one subject to another. Neither action nor active\npower are ever transmitted; not even movement is properly transmitted,\nbut only propagated by a series of successive exertions from molecule\nto molecule. Were we to admit in philosophy any such transmission, we\nwould soon be entangled in innumerable contradictions.\n\nMechanical work also is often styled a _force_, though it is nothing\nbut the process by which a _force_ is exhausted. The notion of _work_\nis very simple. A body moving through space against a continuous\nresistance is said _to do work_. Work is therefore so much the greater\naccording as a greater _mass_ measures a greater _space_ under a\ngreater _resistance_; and thus the work which a given body can perform\nmay be represented by the product of three factors, viz., the mass,\nthe mean resistance, and the space measured. This is the philosophical\nand analytical expression of _work_; and mathematicians show that this\nexpression in all cases (viz., whether the resistance be constant or\nvariable) is equal to half the product of the mass into the square of\nits initial velocity. Now the question comes: Is _work_ a force? It\nis not difficult to anticipate the answer. Since the adoption of the\nso-called \"living forces,\" or _vires viv\u00e6_, of Leibnitz, physicists\nhave called _vis viva_ the sum of the works of two conflicting bodies;\nand consequently the work done by either of the two was said to be\none-half of the _vis viva_. But, with all the respect due to the memory\nof Leibnitz, I would say that neither the work nor the so-called _vis\nviva_ is a force in the philosophical sense of the word. When a mass,\n_M_, animated by a velocity, _V_, encounters a resistance and begins\nits work, its momentum is _MV_. This momentum, while the work is\nbeing done, is gradually reduced till it is finally destroyed by the\nresistance. The resistance is, therefore, equal to the momentum _MV_.\nBut the resistance, according to the law of impact, is always equal to\nthe exertion of the impinging body. And therefore the amount of the\nexertion of the impinging body is also equal to _MV_; that is to say,\nthe force by which the work is done is an ordinary dynamical force\nrepresented by the usual dynamical momentum, and not by the amount of\nthe work done.[273]\n\nAnd here I must close this rather long excursion into the field of\nmechanics. But I cannot conclude without calling the reader's attention\nto the reckless tendency of the phraseology which I have above\ncriticised. It seems as if the object of a class of scientific writers\nin these late years has been to banish from science all secondary\ncauses, no doubt as a preliminary step (in the intention of the most\nadvanced among them) for the banishment of the First Cause itself. The\nwords _cause_, _power_, _force_, and others of the same kind, have\nindeed been maintained, as they could not be easily dispensed with;\nbut they receive a new interpretation: they have become \"kinds of\nmotion,\" and have been identified with the phenomena--that is, with\nthe effects themselves. Thus \"movement\" is now everything; its boasted\n\"indestructibility\" makes it independent of all secondary causes; and\nwe are told that the existence of \"essential causes\" can no longer be\nproved by the phenomena, and that \"science\" has the right to reject\nthem as metaphysical dreams. Let us hear Mr. Grove again:\n\n\"Though the term (force) has a potential meaning, to depart from which\nwould render language unintelligible, we must guard against supposing\nthat we know essentially more of the phenomena by saying that they are\nproduced by something, which something _is only a word_ derived from\nthe constancy and similarity of the phenomena we seek to explain by it\"\n(p. 18).\n\nAnd again: \"The most generally received view of causation--that of\nHume--refers to invariable antecedence--_i.e._ we call that a cause\nwhich invariably precedes, that an effect which invariably succeeds\"\n(p. 10).\n\nAnd again: \"It seems questionable not only whether cause and effect\nare convertible terms with antecedence and sequence, but whether, in\nfact, cause does precede effect.... The attraction which causes iron\nto approach the magnet is simultaneous with, and ever accompanies,\nthe movement of the iron\" (p. 13). Yet he adds: \"Habit and the\nidentification of thoughts with phenomena so compel the use of\nrecognized terms that we cannot avoid the use of the word 'cause,' even\nin the sense to which objection is taken; and if we struck it out of\nour vocabulary, our language, in speaking of successive changes, would\nbe unintelligible to the present generation\" (_ib._)\n\nAnd lastly: \"In all phenomena, the more closely they are investigated,\nthe more are we convinced that, humanly speaking, neither matter nor\nforce can be created or annihilated, and that _an essential cause is\nunattainable_. Causation is the will, creation the act, of God\" (p.\n218).\n\nIt is not Mr. Grove alone that entertains such views; I might quote\nother English authors, and many German, Italian, French, and American\nwriters whose opinions are even more extravagant. But a theory\nwhich pretends to ignore efficient causality, no matter how loudly\ntrumpeted by scientific periodicals, no matter how pompously dressed in\nscientific books, no matter how constantly inculcated from professorial\nchairs, in the long run is sure to fail. It bears in itself and in its\nvery phraseology its own condemnation. It is vain to pretend to explain\naway its inconsistencies by alleging that \"the habits of the present\ngeneration compel the use of recognized terms;\" the simple truth is\nthat the abettors of modern thought reap in their inconsistencies the\nreward of their vanity. Mankind will never consign created causality to\nthe region of dreams, and we would remind our scientific friends who\nhave not received a thorough philosophical training of the old adage,\n\"Let the cobbler stick to his last.\"\n\n                        A FRIEND OF PHILOSOPHY.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[268] CATHOLIC WORLD, November, 1873, page 187.\n\n[269] This limitation is necessity. A stone thrown up vertically soon\nloses its _vis viva_ without compensation. The case is one in which\nthere is no impact. An imponderable body, as luminiferous \u00e6ther, if it\nforms, as it is most probable, an unresisting medium, acquires _vis\nviva_ without interfering with the _vis viva_ of the celestial bodies.\n\n[270] Physicists sometimes give the name of action and reaction to the\nopposite efforts of two conflicting bodies. But, properly speaking, the\ntwo efforts are two actions; the reaction only begins at the end of\ncompression, and takes place mostly within each body separately.\n\n[271] Balfour Stewart, _Lessons in Elementary Physics_, P. 101.\n\n[272] I say _natural_ accidents. The species of bread and of wine in\nthe Holy Eucharist are _supernatural_ accidents, and have no less\nactive power than the substances themselves. The reason is that\nthey imply in their constitution \"the act and the activity of the\nsubstance\"--_actum et vim substanti\u00e6_--as S. Thomas teaches, and \"all\nthat which belongs to matter\"--_omne illud quod ad materiam pertinet_.\nSee the _Summa Theol._, p. 3, q. 77, a. 5.\n\n[273] In the _New American Cyclop\u00e6dia_, edited in 1863 (_v.\nMechanics_), after the statement that \"to overcome all the inertia of a\nbody moving with a certain velocity, or to impress on it at rest such\na velocity, the same whole quantity of action must in either case be\nexerted and expended upon the body,\" we are given to understand that\nthis quantity is equal to half the product of the mass of the body into\nthe square of the given velocity. From what we have just shown, it is\nevident that this conclusion is false.\n\n\n\n\nLATE HOME.\n\n\n    Mother, I come! Long have thine arms, outspread\n    In mercy and maternal majesty,\n    Been waiting to receive me. Long have I\n    Heard thy low, summoning voice in wistful dread:\n    A truant child, who yearned, yet feared, to tread\n    The threshold of its home, while still on high\n    Blazed the broad sun within the noonday sky;\n    But, when the shadows of the evening came,\n    And darkness fell, was fain to seek the flame\n    Of its own hearthstone and its mother dear,\n    And meet her greeting, loving, if severe,\n    Her frown, which could not hide the secret tear,\n    Her gaze compassionate, though sad and stern,\n    Her fond forgiveness of that late return.\n\n\n\n\nGRAPES AND THORNS.\n\n\nBY THE AUTHOR OF \"THE HOUSE OF YORKE.\"\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nTHE VERDICT.\n\nThe arrest was made in September; in November the trial came on. It\nwould have been earlier, but that witnesses were to be summoned from\nEngland. It was understood in Crichton that everything was very soon\nto be in readiness, and that the trial would be a short one; one side\nannouncing confidently a speedy acquittal, the other intimating,\nby a grave but equally confident silence, their belief in a speedy\nconviction.\n\n\"Dear Mother Chevreuse!\" sighed Honora Pembroke, who trembled with\nterror and apprehension as the day drew near, \"how far from your heart\nis all this bitterness! How far from your wish it would have been to\nsee a man hunted like a beast of prey, even if he had done you a wrong!\nHow far from your peace is all this excitement!\"\n\nFar, indeed, would such an inquisition, however necessary to the ends\nof justice and the good of society, have been from that sweet and\noverflowing heart, where love, when it could not make the wandering\nsteps seem to be searching for the right path, uprose like a flood,\nand washed out those traces of error from remembrance. Far enough,\ntoo, was all this trouble from the changing form that had once held\nso much goodness. One might guess how Nature had taken back to her\nmotherly bosom the clay she had lent for mortal uses, and was slowly\nfitting it, by her wondrous alchemy, for immortality; purifying the\ndross from it, brightening the fine gold. While this tumult went on\noverhead, the crumbling dust of that temple whose ruin had brought\nsuch sorrow and disaster was slowly and sweetly going on its several\npaths to perfection; stealing into violets, into roses, into humble\ngrass-blades, into mists that gathered again in drops to refresh its\nown blossoms and foliage!\n\nWho can say what countless shapes of constantly aspiring loveliness\nthe dust of the saint may assume before uniting once more and for ever\nto form that glorified body which is to hold, without imprisoning, the\nbeatified spirit, and transmit without stain the sunshine of the Divine\nPresence?\n\nYes; far enough from such a progress was the feverish trouble resulting\nfrom this sudden and violent dissolution. Friends went to cover anew\nwith flowers and green that grave over which the snows of coming\nwinter had let fall a pure and shining mantle; but the tears they\nshed were bitter, and their flowers withered in the frost. Voices of\nthose she loved recalled her virtues, and repeated her wise and tender\nsayings; but they, like all the world, found it easier to admire than\nto imitate. At humble firesides, where families gathered at night,\nshivering half with cold and half with fear, they blessed and mourned\nthe hand that had helped them and the voice that had sympathized\nwith and encouraged; but their blessing was so encumbered with human\nselfishness that it cast the shadow of a malediction. Pure indeed must\nbe that love in whose footprints hatred never lurks!\n\nOn the day the trial began F. Chevreuse lost courage. More fatigued by\nconstant physical labor than he would own, he was still more exhausted\nin mind. A devouring anxiety had taken possession of him. If he was\nless sure of Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger's innocence than he had been, no one knew\nit. Probably he entertained no doubt on that subject. But he was\ncertainly less confident that the accused would be able to free himself\nentirely from suspicion. He could no longer be ignorant of the fact\nthat there was a very damaging array of testimony against him.\n\n\"I must be allowed to be childish for once, if it is childishness,\"\nhe said. \"I cannot perform my duties till this is over. If a priest\nis needed, go to F. O'Donovan. Don't let any one come near me but Mr.\nMacon. Above all things, don't let any woman in.\"\n\nWe pardon this last request of F. Chevreuse, for he was not in the\nhabit of speaking slightingly of women; and it must be owned that few\nof them have the gift of silence or of ceasing to speak when they have\nno more to say.\n\nMr. Macon was precisely the friend he needed in these\ncircumstances--quick-sighted, clear-headed, prompt, and taciturn. He\nwas, moreover, a man of influence, and could obtain information in\nadvance of most persons.\n\n\"Make yourself quite easy, F. Chevreuse,\" he said. \"You shall know\neverything of consequence within ten minutes after it has happened in\nthe court-room.\"\n\nThe gentleman had in his pocket a package of small envelopes, all\ndirected plainly to F. Chevreuse, and each one containing a slip of\npaper. When he seated himself in the court-room, a boy stood beside him\nready to run with his messages.\n\nIn the priest's house, F. Chevreuse had shut himself into his mother's\nroom. A bright fire burned on the hearth, the sun shone in through\nthe eastern window, and at the other side could be seen a window\nof the church with the cipher of the Immaculate Mother, white and\ngold-colored, in the arch of it, sparkling as if it had just been\ntraced there by Our Lady herself. All was still, the length of the\nhouse being between him and the street, so that only a faint hum of\nlife reached his ears.\n\n\"It is hard to believe that misfortune is to come again,\" he muttered,\nglancing at the quiet brightness of the scene. \"And I will not believe\nit. I will not think of it. In the name of God, all vain and evil\nthoughts begone!\"\n\nHe drew a table near the fire, placed several books on it, and, seating\nhimself, began in earnest to translate a book which he had been\nfitfully at work upon in the brief pauses of nearer duties. It was\na relief to him to look thus into the mind of another, and escape a\nwhile from his own. \"I am fortunate in having this to do,\" he thought,\nlooking at the bright side of the situation.\n\nThe habit of concentrating his thoughts on the subject in hand did\nmuch for him; and when Mr. Macon's first message arrived, it found him\nbending with interest over the written page whereon he had rendered\nwell a happy thought.\n\n\"That is better than the original,\" he said to himself. \"The English\nis a large, loose-jointed language, sprawling slightly, but it is a\nsprawling Titan. It is rich and strong. For such a work as this, the\nFrench is a trifle too natty and crisp. Come in!\"\n\nThe door opened, and his messenger stood there. Instantly all rushed\nacross the priest's mind again. He stretched his hand for the note the\nboy offered him, and tore it hastily open. It was short:\n\n\"Nothing but preliminaries so far. The court sits again at two o'clock.\"\n\nF. Chevreuse glanced at the clock, and saw that it was already\nnoon. Two hours had passed like ten minutes while his mind was thus\nabstracted.\n\n\"Were there many people about the court-house?\" he asked.\n\nThe boy had been instructed to give his notes without saying anything,\nand to speak only when spoken to; but he had not been told how much to\nsay when he was spoken to. The temptation to relate what he had seen\nwas irresistible.\n\n\"Oh! yes, father,\" he said, his eyes glistening with excitement. \"There\nwas such a crowd that I could hardly get out. I had to hold up the\nletter, and say it was for you. Then they made way.\"\n\nF. Chevreuse dropped his eyes, and his face grew more troubled. \"Mr.\nSch\u00f6ninger was not in court?\" he asked.\n\n\"No, sir!\" The boy hesitated, and had evidently something more to say.\n\n\"Well?\" said the priest.\n\n\"Somebody threw a crucifix in at his cell-window to-day, and he broke\nit up and threw it out again,\" the messenger said eagerly.\n\nThe priest's face blushed an angry red. \"Have they no more reverence\nfor the crucifix than to use it as a means of insult, and expose it in\nturn to be insulted?\" he exclaimed. \"Was it done by a Catholic? Do you\nknow who did it?\"\n\nF. Chevreuse was putting on his overcoat and searching for his hat, to\nthe great terror of the indiscreet tale-bearer.\n\n\"I don't know who did it,\" he stammered. \"I guess it was some boys. But\nthat was this morning; and now the police drive everybody away from\nthat side of the jail. I am sure they won't do such a thing again,\nfather.\"\n\nThe priest perceived the boy's distress in spite of his own\npreoccupation. \"Never mind, Johnny,\" he said kindly, and tried to smile\nas he laid his hand on that young head. \"You did no harm in telling me;\nI ought to know if such things happen. Come, I am going out, and our\nroads are the same for a little way. You are going to dinner? Well,\nthank your father for me, and say that I shall go only to the jail, and\ndirectly home again.\"\n\n\"And what has he gone to the jail for?\" Mr. Macon inquired in surprise\nwhen he received this message from his son.\n\nThe boy answered truthfully enough, but with a somewhat guilty\nconscience, that he did not know, and sat down to his dinner, which he\nwas unable to eat. His round cheeks were burning like live coals with\nexcitement, and his heart was trembling with the thought that it was he\nwho had sent the priest on that errand.\n\n\"You must learn to bear excitement better, my son,\" the mother said.\n\"It will never do for you to be in court every day, if it is going to\nmake you lose your appetite.\"\n\nThus admonished, Johnny called back his courage. \"Oh! I'm not excited\nat all, mother,\" he said, with a fine air of carelessness. \"It is only\nthat I am not hungry. Why, all the men in the court-house, except the\njudge, were more excited than I was; weren't they, father?\"\n\nThe father and mother exchanged a glance and smile. They were rather\npleased with the self-confidence of this doughty young lad of theirs.\n\nMeantime, F. Chevreuse had reached the jail, and learned that the story\nhe had heard was quite true. Some boys, encouraged, it was thought, by\ntheir elders, had flung a crucifix into the Jew's cell-window, which\nwas not far from the ground, and it had been tossed out to them, broken\nin two. The prisoner had complained that missiles were being thrown in,\nwhen the police had received instructions to keep the place clear.\n\n\"I have not allowed any visitors in the corridor for several days,\" the\njailer said. \"People crowded here by scores. But you, of course, can\nalways go in. They are just carrying in the dinner.\"\n\n\"I am not sure that I wish to speak to him,\" the priest said with\nhesitation, but after a moment followed into the corridor. The waiter\nset the tin dishes containing food into the different cells, through a\nhole in the door, and retired. The jailer stood near the outer door.\nF. Chevreuse approached Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger's cell, not with the eager\nconfidence of his first visit, but with an apprehension which he could\nnot overcome. Other footsteps prevented his own from being heard, and\nhe stood at the grating, unseen and unsuspected by the inmate of the\ncell.\n\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger sat on the side of his bed, his face partly turned from\nthe door, looking steadfastly out through the window. A silent snow had\nbegun to fall, tossed hither and thither by the wind. The jail was near\nthe Immaculate Conception, F. Chevreuse's new church, and the stone\nChrist that crowned the summit of the church was directly opposite the\nwindow of the cell. It stood there above the roof of the building, with\nthe sky for a background, its arms outstretched, and now, in the storm,\nseemed to be the centre toward which all the anger of the elements\nwas directed. The myriad flakes, tumbling grayly down, like flocks\nof rebel angels being cast out of heaven, buffeted the compassionate\nface as they passed, and, after falling, seemed to rise again for one\nmore blow. They rushed from east, west, north, and south, to cast\ntheir trivial insult at that sublime and immortal patience. A small\nbird, weary-winged, nestled into the outstretched hand, and the wind,\ntwirling the snow into a lash, whipped it out, and sent it fluttering\nto the ground. Nothing was visible through the window but that solitary\nform in mid-air stretching out its arms through the storm.\n\nOn that Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger's gaze was immovably set, and his face seemed\nmore pale and cold than the stone itself. His hands were folded on his\nknees, the rising of the chest as he breathed was scarcely perceptible,\nand not a muscle of the closely-shut mouth stirred. His large, clear\neyes, and the eyelids that trembled now and then, alone relieved the\nalmost painful fixedness of his position.\n\nWhether, absorbed in his own affairs, the direction his eyes took was\nmerely accidental, or whether the statue itself had drawn and held that\nearnest regard, was not easy to decide. But a Catholic, ever ready\nto believe that images, whose sole purpose is, for him, to recall the\nmind to heavenly contemplations, will suggest holy thoughts even to\nunbelievers, must also necessarily hope that no eyes will for a moment\nrest on them in entire unconsciousness.\n\nF. Chevreuse, after one glance, drew noiselessly back. Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger's\nstrong and resolute calmness, which hid, he knew not what, of inner\ntumult or repose, disconcerted him. Besides, he had not forgotten that\nthose white hands, so gently folded now, had within a few hours broken\nin pieces the symbol of man's salvation, and flung them from him in\nscorn. He would offer no explanations nor assurances to one who seemed\nso little in need of them. Sighing heavily, he turned away, and sought\nrefuge again in his own home.\n\nYet a faint gleam of light had penetrated his sombre mood from this\nvisit, and, when he had closed the door of his room, he stepped hastily\nto the window looking toward the church, and glanced up at the statue\nabove him. It had been wrought in Italy, and brought to America in\nthe good ship _Cometa_, and had on the voyage come near being thrown\noverboard to lighten the ship during a storm. Bales and barrels of\nmerchandise had gone by the board, costly oils had floated on the\nwaves, costly wines had perfumed them, but the heaviest thing in all\nthe freight, the stone Christ, had been left undisturbed in spite of\nthe sailors. The captain was a rough man, and cared little for any form\nof religion; but somewhere within his large, rude nature was hidden,\nlike a chapel in a rock, a little nook still bright and fresh with his\nyouth and his mother's teachings.\n\n\"If Jesus Christ did really walk on the sea without sinking, then he\ncan keep this image of himself from sinking, and us with it,\" he said.\n\"I'll put it to the test. If the ship goes down, I'll never believe in\nany of those old stories again.\"\n\nAnd he held to his resolution through a terrific storm, in spite of\na crew on the brink of mutiny, and finally sailed into port with the\nsacred image, which had, he believed, miraculously preserved them. And\never after, as they sailed, a little image of Christ sailed with them,\nfixed in the bows; and at night, during storms at sea, the sailors,\nalbeit no Catholics, would bow their heads in passing it, and mutter a\nword of prayer for aid; and one old sailor, to whom for thirty years\nthe land had been strange and the sea a home, used to tell how, on one\nterrible night of that long storm when the stone Christ had been their\nsole freight left, the crew, lashed to mast and spar, and looking every\nmoment for destruction, had seen a white form glide forth from the\nhold, and, standing in the bows, stretch out its hands over the waves,\nwhich, with the gale, sank away to silence before them, leaving only\nthe gentle breeze that had wafted them on their way home.\n\n\"I leave him to you, O shadow of my Lord!\" the priest said. \"Speak to\nhim! call him so that he cannot resist you!\"\n\nHe then returned to his work, somewhat relieved. \"No trial is\ninsupportable to him who has faith,\" he thought. \"And may be all this\ntrouble has come upon him in order that he might lift his eyes and\nbehold that Christ whom he has denied standing with arms outstretched\nto receive him.\"\n\nBut notwithstanding this faint comfort, the second message did not find\nF. Chevreuse so absorbed as the first had. He could with difficulty\ncommand his thoughts, and was constantly lifting his head to listen for\nan approaching step, or starting at a fancied knock at the door.\n\nNear the close of the afternoon the boy came, when the light was so dim\nthat the note could be read only by taking it to the window.\n\n\"They have opened the case a long way off,\" Mr. Macon wrote. \"They have\nproved that Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger has a lawsuit in England which involves a\nlarge fortune. It costs him every dollar he can raise, his opponents\nbeing an established family of wealth and influence, who have for years\nbeen in possession of the property he claims. They have proved that\nduring the year ending last April his lawyers received from him fifteen\nhundred dollars in quarterly payments, and that in April they wrote\nthat, without larger advances of money, it would be impossible for them\nto carry on the claim. In May, then, he sent them five hundred dollars,\nin June five hundred more, and on the first of September a thousand\ndollars. That closes the business for this afternoon.\"\n\n\"And what is the impression made?\" F. Chevreuse asked Mr. Macon, when\nthat gentleman called on him in the evening.\n\n\"The impression, or rather the conviction, is that Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger\nwas in a condition to make a man desperate in his wish for money. An\nimmense fortune might be secured by expending a few thousands then, and\nwould certainly be lost if he had not the few thousands. They brought\nin a crowd of small tattlers to show that about the time he received\nthis letter, and after, he was in great distress and agitation of\nmind; that he lost his appetite, and was heard walking to and fro in\nhis chamber at night. Furthermore, it is evident that the money was\nobtained in some way after the first of May, though it was not all sent\nat that time. People naturally ask where the money came from, since he\nwas not known to have any in bank, and was supposed to have sent before\nall he earned above what was necessary for him to live on.\"\n\n\"Poor fellow!\" said F. Chevreuse pityingly. \"What a trouble there was\nall the time under that calm exterior! For I never saw him otherwise\nthan calm. Why, people might comment on my walking my room at night. I\nfrequently walk so when I am thinking, and always when I say my beads.\"\n\n\"I do not imagine that Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger was saying his beads,\" Mr.\nMacon said rather dryly. \"He was undoubtedly in trouble. He certainly\nhad always an air of calmness, but to my mind it was not an air of\ncontentment. He gave me the impression of a person who has some secret\nlocked up in his mind. This affair of the contested inheritance\nexplains it.\"\n\n\"Poor fellow!\" F. Chevreuse said again, and leaned back in his chair.\n\"He has got to have all his private affairs dragged up for discussion,\nand his looks and actions commented on by the curious. That is the\nworst of such a trial. A man fancies that he has been living a quiet,\nprivate life, and he finds that he has all the time been in a glass\ncase with everybody watching him. The simplest things are distorted,\nand a mountain is built up out of nothing, and that without any wrong\nintention either, but simply by the curiosity and misconceptions of\npeople.\"\n\nMr. Macon said nothing. He respected the priest's charity, but,\nfor himself, he reserved his decision till the judge should have\npronounced. He was not enthusiastic for Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger, nor prejudiced\nagainst him; he simply waited to see what would be proved, and had no\ndoubt that the truth would triumph.\n\nOn the second day the trial progressed rapidly, approaching a vital\npoint. Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger had not slept the night before the death of\nMother Chevreuse, but had been heard walking and moving about his room\ntill morning. Miss Carthusen, whose chamber was next his, gave this\npiece of information, and added that the next morning the prisoner\nlooked very pale, and scarcely tasted his breakfast. She spoke with\nevident reluctance, and subjoined an explanation which had not been\nasked. \"I noticed and remembered it, because I had heard of his suit in\nEngland, and was afraid it might be going against him.\"\n\nShe glanced nervously at the prisoner, and met a look wherein a softer\nray seemed to penetrate the searching coldness. Perhaps he was touched\nto learn that one for whom he had cared so little had, without his\nsuspecting it, sympathized with him, and been kindly observant of his\nways.\n\nOn being questioned, she said that Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger had not come home the\nnext night. They had expected him, because he usually told them when he\nwas to be absent; but did not think very strange of it, as he was due\nearly the next day at the town of Madison, where he went every week to\ngive lessons, and where he sometimes went overnight. The last she saw\nof him that night was at Mrs. Ferrier's. They had a rehearsal there,\nand he had excused himself early, saying that he had an engagement, and\nleft alone before any of the company.\n\nBeing further questioned, she admitted having seen that he took with\nhim from his boarding-house the shawl that he habitually wore on chilly\nevenings.\n\nA shawl was shown her, and she was asked if she recognized it.\n\n\"It was not easy to recognize any one among all the gray shawls\nthere were in the world,\" she replied rather flippantly, \"but Mr.\nSch\u00f6ninger's was like that; she should think it might be his.\"\n\nAs she went out, the witness passed quite near the prisoner, and\nlooked at him imploringly; but he took no notice of her. She paused\nan instant, then, bursting into tears, hurried out through the crowd,\nclinging to the arm of her adopted father. Lily Carthusen found herself\nfar more deeply involved than she had intended. In a moment of pique\nand jealousy she had entertained and encouraged this accusation, and\neven insinuated that she could tell some things if she would; but it\nwas one thing to suspect privately, and make peevish boasts which\nattracted to her the attention she so dearly loved, and quite another\nto face the terrible reality where a man was being tried for his life\nand she swearing against him.\n\nYet even while grieving over her haste, and repenting it after a\nfashion, her anger rose again at the remembrance of that cold glance\nwhich had averted itself from her when all in the court-room could have\nseen that she mutely begged his pardon for what she had been obliged to\nsay.\n\n\"I hope this will teach you to guard your tongue a little,\" her father\nsaid in deep vexation, as he extricated her from the throng. \"It's\nabout the last place for a lady to come to. And, moreover, I hope it\nwill cure you of concerning yourself about the pale looks and bad\nappetite of young men who do not trouble themselves about you.\"\n\n\"Oh! yes, papa,\" says Miss Lily; \"since I've had a bad time, be sure\nyou add a scolding to it. It's the way with you men.\"\n\nMr. Carthusen wisely kept silence. He had learned before this that the\nyoung woman who called him father had a remarkable talent for retort.\n\nWhere, then, did Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger spend the night the priest's house was\nentered? Not in Madison; for he had driven himself there early in the\nmorning. He had waked a stable-keeper at four o'clock in the morning to\ngive him a horse and buggy to drive to Madison. The man had wondered\nat the prisoner taking so early a start, even if he had to begin his\nlessons at eight o'clock, and had thought that something was the matter\nwith him. He looked pale; and several times, while harnessing the\nhorse, the witness had glanced up and seen him shivering, as if with\ncold, though it was a beautiful May morning. Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger had seated\nhimself on a bench near the stable-door while waiting, and leaned his\narms on his knees, looking down, and had not uttered a word before\ndriving away, except to say that he would be back at seven o'clock in\nthe evening. He looked like a man who had been up all night.\n\nBeing questioned, the witness testified that the prisoner wore at the\ntime he saw him in the morning a large gray shawl, such as gentlemen\nwear; and, on still further questioning, he said that he had observed\nthere was a little piece torn out of one corner. He had noticed and\nremembered this, because the shawl hung over the wheel when Mr.\nSch\u00f6ninger started, and he had stopped him to tuck it up. His first\npassing thought had been that it was a pity to injure a new shawl;\nhis second, on seeing the torn corner, that, after all, the shawl was\nnot a new one. He would not, perhaps, have remembered such trivial\ncircumstances but for what he heard immediately after. Some one came\nin and told him of Mother Chevreuse's death. It occurred to him that\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger must have heard of it already, and that it was that news\nwhich had made him so sober and silent. He recollected, too, having\nheard that F. Chevreuse and the Jew were quite great friends, but that\nthe priest's mother did not like they should have any intercourse. He\nhad observed, too, that Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger's boots were muddy, and wondered\nat it a little, as the roads were not bad, and as the prisoner had\nalways been nice in his dress.\n\nWhen Mr. Macon visited F. Chevreuse the evening of the second day, he\nfound the priest looking quite haggard.\n\n\"You have written me the bad, and the worst of the bad,\" he exclaimed\nthe moment the door was shut on them. \"There must be something to\ncounterbalance all this nonsense!\"\n\n\"On the contrary, there is something to add,\" Mr. Macon replied.\n\"Johnny couldn't get through the crowd at the last. They would not make\nway for him.\"\n\n\"Well?\" the priest asked sharply.\n\nThey had seated themselves before the fire, and the red light of it\nshone up into one face turned sideways, and full of shrinking inquiry\nas it looked into the other face, whose downcast eyes seemed to shun\nbeing so read.\n\n\"Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger was somewhere wandering about the city all that night,\"\nMr. Macon said. \"He was seen and recognized by two or three persons,\nall of whom noticed something odd in his manner. He was seen in the\nlane back of the house here as late as eleven o'clock, and appeared\nto be going toward the river, but came back to the street on finding\nhimself observed. He was not at his boarding-house nor at any of the\nhotels that night. Moreover, the measure taken of the tracks near your\nhouse corresponds with the size of the boots he wore.\"\n\n\"I don't want to hear any more!\" exclaimed F. Chevreuse passionately,\nand hid his face in his hands.\n\nHis companion glanced quickly at him, then looked into the fire, and\nremained silent.\n\nAfter a moment, the priest lifted his face.\n\n\"You don't mean to say that the case is going against him?\" he asked in\na low voice that expressed both fear and incredulity.\n\n\"It looks a little like that now,\" was the quiet reply. \"But we do not\nknow what to-morrow may bring forth.\"\n\n\"I believe Jane was called to-day?\" F. Chevreuse remarked after a\nmoment.\n\nThe other nodded his head.\n\n\"I hope she behaved well?\" he added painfully.\n\nAnother nod. \"Yes; as well as one could expect her to.\"\n\n\"The Ferriers, too, and Lawrence?\"\n\n\"Yes; but their testimony was not of any great consequence.\"\n\nThe testimony of the Ferrier family was, however, entirely favorable\nto the prisoner, and they had mentioned him with such respect and\nkindness as to visibly affect him, and to create a sort of diversion in\nhis favor. The wealth and style of the party, the manner in which they\ntook possession, as it were, of the court-room, with several gentlemen\nclearing the path before them, made an impression. When they went\nout, the prisoner looked at them with a faint smile as they passed.\nAnnette smiled in return, and Lawrence bowed with scrupulous respect\nand friendliness; but Mrs. Ferrier, rustling in voluminous silks, down\nwhich her rich sables slipped loosely, leaned over the bar, and, in the\nface of the whole court and crowd of spectators, shook hands with Mr.\nSch\u00f6ninger, and, in a voice audible to the whole company, made with him\nan appointment which hovered strangely between the tragical and the\nabsurd.\n\n\"Come to my house the minute you are out of this terrible place,\" she\nsaid. \"Don't go anywhere else.\" Then she flounced out, wiping her eyes,\nand tossing her head disdainfully at the judge, the lawyers, and the\ncrowd, whom she held to be, severally and collectively, to blame for\nthese unjust and impertinent proceedings.\n\n\"You know, mamma,\" Annette said, \"the judge has to listen to everybody,\nand it isn't his fault if people are accused. And Mr. Wilson is obliged\nto make out his case, if he can, and to ask a great many questions.\nSome things that seem to us trivial may have a good deal of importance\nin a case like this. You must remember that a law-court is quite\ndifferent from a drawing-room, where people cannot be too inquisitive\nwithout being checked.\"\n\n\"I shall take care that none of them come to my drawing-room again,\"\nretorted the mother with spirit. \"To think of that Mr. Wilson, who has\nbeen at my house to dinner, telling me to try to remember something\nthat he knew I had forgotten or didn't want to tell! You may depend\nupon it, Annette, that man has a spite against poor Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger.\nIt is as plain as day that he is raking up all he can against him. I\nshouldn't be surprised if the scamp were to hire men to tell lies about\nhim. He looks capable of it. And then, to question me about what Mr.\nSch\u00f6ninger had over his shoulder when he came to my house, and what\ntime it was when he went away, and to show me that trumpery old gray\nshawl--if that is the majesty of the law, I don't want to see any more\nmajesty. The object--and a most ridiculous and slanderous object it\nis, too--is to find out if Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger, as fine a gentleman as ever\nlived, broke into a priest's house, and murdered a lady and a saint,\nand stole a little package of dirty one-dollar bills. That's what they\npretend to want to find out; and why don't they find it out in the\nproper way? It needn't take 'em long, I should think. But no! they must\npoke their noses into people's private affairs, asking every kind of\nimpudent question, and making you say things twice, and then asking\nif you are sure, and then telling you that it's no matter what your\nopinion is about things; as if I hadn't a right to an opinion! They\nwant to make money, and dawdle out a case as long as they can--that's\nwhat they want. And as for the curiosity of women, it's nothing! It\ntakes a man to cross-question.\"\n\n\"O mamma, mamma!\" sighed Annette, with smiling indulgence.\n\n\"Oh! yes; it's always 'O mama!'\" exclaimed Mrs. Ferrier excitedly.\n\"But I have common sense, for all that. And if I'd had the slightest\nidea how they were going to act, I would have thought out a good story\nbefore I came, and stuck to it through thick and thin.\"\n\n\"Why, mamma!\" cried the daughter in dismay, \"you were sworn to tell\nthe truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. If you had said\nanything else, you would have committed perjury.\"\n\nMrs. Ferrier looked at her daughter in astonishment not unmingled with\nalarm. \"I didn't swear any such thing,\" she said, the tide of her\neloquence somewhat checked.\n\n\"Why, yes, mamma, we all took the oath. When we held up our hands and\nkissed the book, that was the time.\"\n\n\"I never uttered a word,\" averred the mother with decision.\n\n\"But the clerk said the words for us, mamma, and we held up our hands\nto denote, I suppose, that we acceded to all he said.\"\n\n\"I heard him mumble over something, I didn't know what it was,\" said\nthe lady slightingly. \"And so somebody else swears for you, like\nsponsors at a baby's baptism! Well, if he does the swearing, then the\nperjury is his.\"\n\n\"Good gracious, mamma!\" cried Annette, \"I hope you haven't been telling\nany lies!\"\n\nMrs. Ferrier looked at her daughter in dignified reproof. \"No, Annette;\nI'm not in the habit of telling lies, and I haven't told any to-day.\nAnd I hope I haven't told any truths about that poor struggling\ncreature, who is, for all the world, like a sheep among wolves. I could\nnever bear to see even a wolf hunted, much less a man.\"\n\nThe three were driving home, Lawrence seated opposite the ladies. While\nMrs. Ferrier was talking, he leaned forward, with his arms on his\nknees, and softly smoothed the fur border of her velvet mantle. He had\nthose little caressing ways when any one pleased him. A faint smile now\nand then touched his lips at some simple or energetic expression of\nhers, but his face was so averted that she did not see it, and it would\nappear that her simplicity did not displease, though it might amuse him\na little.\n\nPresently he relinquished the mantle border, and began, with delicate\napproach, to touch the wrist lets, stroking the dark fur softly, and\npushing his finger-tips into it; and at length, when her attention,\nfluttering abstractedly toward him now and then, had become fixed on\nhim, and she held herself still, and looked, with a half-surprised\nsmile of pleasure, to see what sweet and childish thing he was doing,\nhe took her two plump and well-gloved hands in his, and looked up at\nhis wife. \"There's no danger of her telling anything but the truth,\nAnnette,\" he said. \"She is too good and honest for anything else.\" And\nhe actually bent his handsome head, and kissed Mrs. Ferrier's hands,\nfirst one then the other!\n\nThere was a momentary silence. Annette, startled by this unexpected\ndelight, could only look at her husband with tearful, shining eyes.\n\n\"I tell you, Annette, she doesn't make half as many mistakes as--as I\ndo, for instance.\"\n\nHe dropped his face, relinquished the hands he had kissed, and began\nagain to play with the border of Mrs. Ferrier's cloak, leaving the two\nwomen to their talk.\n\nBut we have left F. Chevreuse and Mr. Macon.\n\n\"That hateful shawl, who raked that out?\" the priest asked after a\nwhile, questioning in spite of himself.\n\n\"The whole turns upon that,\" Mr. Macon said, rousing himself from the\nbrown-study into which he had fallen. \"It seems that Miss Carthusen\nwent up to the convent to make the acquaintance of the Sisters, and,\nwhile there, saw a shawl thrown over a lounge in the parlor. She\nexamined it while waiting for the Sisters to come in, and found the\ncorner torn. She mentioned the fact to that Renford, who is an amateur\ndetective. The fellow's great ambition is to become a second Vidocq;\nhe immediately offered to undertake the case, with the provision that,\nif he should succeed in finding the criminal, he should be regularly\nemployed as a detective.\"\n\n\"Where did the Sisters get the shawl?\" demanded F. Chevreuse. \"Have\nthey got to be dragged in?\"\n\n\"It would seem that everybody is to be dragged in,\" Mr. Macon said. \"My\nwife got the shawl, she doesn't know where, when she was collecting for\nthe convent. That is, they say that she brought it; though she cannot\nrecollect any person giving her such an article, nor recollect even\nhaving seen it among the packages. But her carriage was piled full that\nday, and she had called, perhaps, at twenty houses; so it would not be\nstrange if she should forget.\"\n\n\"So those poor nuns have had to go into court!\" said F. Chevreuse, much\ndistressed by the news. \"Which one went?\"\n\n\"Oh! it wasn't a Sister; it was Anita,\" said Mr. Macon. \"My wife went\nwith the child, and stood by her all the time. It was Anita who took\nall the things from the carriage while my wife was talking with Sister\nCecilia in the garden; and the girl counted and examined every package.\"\n\n\"She must have been terrified to death, that poor little lamb!\"\nexclaimed F. Chevreuse, rising to walk about the room. \"I think I\nshould have been there with her. I would have gone if I had known.\nYou keep too much from me, Mr. Macon. I known that you and others do\nthis from kindness; but you must remember that it isn't for me to be\ncowardly and shrink like a baby. I'm not sure but I should feel better\nto be in the midst of it all than to be shut up here suffering the\ntorments of suspense.\"\n\n\"You had a great deal better have nothing to do with it,\" his friend\nsaid decidedly. \"You are not needed. F. O'Donovan was in court with\nAnita and my wife, and there was a body-guard of Catholics all about to\nmake room for them going and coming. It was hard for the poor child;\nbut what she felt most was not being in a crowd, and obliged to speak\nin public; she did not appear to think of that; but the thought that\nwhat she must say might bring trouble on any one almost overpowered\nher. She excited a great deal of sympathy. While she spoke, you could\nhave heard a pin drop in the room.\"\n\n\"After all,\" F. Chevreuse said, catching at a consolation, \"it won't\nhurt any of them to see one of God's snow-drops; and she is no more\ntender than many a martyr of the church has been.\"\n\nMr. Macon's brief story did not give any idea of the sensation\nproduced in court by the appearance of this child, who was as strange\nto such a scene as if she had been, indeed, a wild flower brought from\nsome profound forest solitude. Her beauty, the dazzling paleness of\nher face, from which the large eyes looked full of anguish and fear,\nthe flower-like drooping of her form as she leaned on Mrs. Macon's\nsupporting arm--all startled the most hardened spectator into sympathy.\nCareless and callous as they might have been, feeding on excitement as\na drunkard takes his draught, ever stronger and stronger as his taste\nbecomes deadened, each one seemed to realize for a moment how terrible\na thing it is to see a human life at stake, and to have influence to\ndestroy or to save it. If she had been a relative or personal friend\nto the accused, the impression would have been less deep; but the\nfact that she would have shown the same painful solicitude for any\none of them may have stirred in their consciences some sense of their\nown heartlessness. They made way for her, and listened in breathless\nsilence to hear what she would say. Her very distress lent a silvery\nclearness to her voice, usually so low and soft, and every word was\nheard as plainly as the notes of a small bird chirping when its nest is\nattacked.\n\n\"All I know, your honor, is this: Mrs. Macon drove about Crichton to\nask for things for the convent; and Mother Ignatia let me go out to\nbring in the parcels she brought, because it pleased me. I always\nset down on a slip of paper a list of the articles, and the day of\nthe month she brought them, and some of the Sisters helped me, and\nlooked on. But this time no one but me did anything, for it was the\nday after Mother Chevreuse was killed, and everybody was in great\ntrouble. Mrs. Macon said, when she came, that she had spent the night\nbefore at Madison with her sister there, and started early in her\nphaeton to beg for us, and had heard nothing of the news till she\nreached Crichton late in the afternoon. Then she drove straight to us;\nand, when she got out of the phaeton, she ran to Sister Cecilia, and\nthey threw themselves into each other's arms, and began to cry. We\nwere all crying, but I went to take the parcels out of the phaeton,\nbecause I wanted to do something. And I made a list of them, because\nI always had, and I carried them up-stairs. And I knew just how\neverything looked, because I tried to think of my work and not of\nMother Chevreuse. And I do know surely that the gray shawl which was\nlaid over our lounge was brought that day. I saw the piece torn out of\nthe corner, and, when they arranged it for a cover, they turned the\ntorn corner behind. That is all, your honor, except that Miss Carthusen\ncame to the convent one day, and, when I went into the parlor, she was\nexamining the shawl, and she said she did it because there was one like\nit missing out of their house. And I hope,\" said this simple creature,\nrising, in her earnestness, from Mrs. Macon's arm, and leaning\nimploringly toward the judge--\"I hope that what I have said will not\nhurt anybody nor be used against anybody. And I ask Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger to\nforgive me if what I have said displeases him; for, if it should do him\nharm, I shall be unhappy about it as long as I live.\"\n\nNo one said a word as the girl was led, trembling and half fainting,\nout of the court-room. The prisoner regarded her with astonishment\nwhile she spoke, and when she turned toward him her pitiful face, and\nmade her appeal for forgiveness, he bowed, and a slight involuntary\nmotion of his hands looked as if he would fain have supported her\ndrooping form. Never had he seen so simple and so impassioned\na creature. An angel taking its first flight out of the white\npeacefulness of heaven, and looking for the first time on the miseries\nof earth, could scarcely have shown a more shrinking and terrified pity\nthan had been displayed by this young girl, drawn from her peaceful\nconvent home to the arena where crime and justice struggle for the\nmastery. And yet that pure and tender child had given him a terrible\nblow. Perhaps he felt that her testimony was important, simple as the\nstory she told seemed to be; for his face grew deathly pale, and for\nthe first time during the trial he lost that air of scornful security\nwhich he had sustained so far. Averting his face slightly, he seemed\nto be studying out some problem, and, as he thought, the faint lines\nbetween his brows grew deeper, and those sitting near him could see the\nveins in his temples swelling and throbbing with the stress of some\nsudden emotion.\n\nThe next morning F. Chevreuse went out to make sick-calls after his\nMass was over, and returned quite convinced that his friends had been\nright in advising him to remain in-doors. Everybody he met gazed at\nhim, as if trying to read in his face what thought or feeling he might\nbe striving to hide; people turned to look after him; and groups\nof excited talkers became silent as he approached, only to resume\ntheir conversation with increased vehemence when he had passed. He\nhad been obliged to check the wordy sympathy of some and the angry\ndenunciations of others, who thought to please him by wishing ill to\nMr. Sch\u00f6ninger; and more than once his heart had been wrung by some\nloud lament over his lost mother.\n\n\"You were right,\" he said to F. O'Donovan when he went in. \"I will not\ngo out again unless there is need of it.\"\n\n\"Then I give you as a task this forenoon to translate ten pages of that\nbook,\" his brother priest replied. \"It is needed, and should be ready\nfor the early spring sales.\"\n\nF. Chevreuse laid aside his wrappings with alacrity, glad to have a\ntask assigned him. \"But I would like to go into the church a minute,\"\nhe said, making this request with the humility of a child. \"Not to\npray,\" he added quickly, as if afraid of receiving too much credit for\npiety; \"I want to go into the gable, and look down to the court-house.\"\n\nHe stopped for permission, and his face was so worn and troubled\nthat his friend checked the slight smile that unconscious display of\nobedience had provoked.\n\n\"Go, by all means, but do not stay long,\" he said. \"The day is very\ncold. And, besides, it will do no good to watch there.\"\n\nWhat he called the gable was a long, low attic running the whole length\nof the church, and lighted by a small gable window at each end. A steep\nstairway led up to a chamber over the altar; but from that the ascent\nwas made by long ladders, very seldom used. The window over the altar\ngave a fine view of all the eastern and northern part of the city, and\nlooked directly into the square in front of the court-house.\n\nF. Chevreuse toiled wearily up, feeling himself grown old, and stood\nin the long, dusky room. The floor was covered with wood-shavings left\nby the builders, and spiders had hung their webs in thick festoons from\nbeam to beam. One side of the southern window, at the further end of\nthe church, was gleaming brightly, where the sun had begun to come in,\nand the rafters near it glowed as if kindling with fire; but the north\nwindow, that felt scarce a touch of sunshine in the winter-time, was\ncovered deeply with frost, piled layer on layer through the cold night.\n\nHe put his face to the frame, and breathed on it till the glittering\ncoldness melted, and a drop of water ran down, then another, and\npresently there was a clear spot in the glass. He wiped this dry with\nhis handkerchief; then, covering his mouth and nose, that his breath\nmight not freeze over the improvised loophole into the outer world,\nhe leaned closer and looked out. For the large panorama of the city,\nspread out under a clear winter sky, and shot through by the two\nsparkling rivers, he cared not. Only one spot attracted his attention,\nand that was the court-house and the square in front of it. Looking\nthere, he drew back, winked to clear his eyes, which had, perhaps,\nbeen dazzled by the sharp and tangled lights and shadows of the place;\nthen looked again. The square should have been white with half-trodden\nsnow, and dotted by passers here and there; instead of that, it was\nentirely black. But the blackness was not of the soil nor pavement;\nit was the swaying blackness of a crowd. They thronged the streets,\npressing toward the square, and stood on the steps of the court-house,\nstruggling to enter. Even at that distance he could see that policemen\nwere forcing them back.\n\nF. Chevreuse turned hastily away from the window, and descended to the\nchurch, heartsick at the sight. He threw himself one moment before\nthe altar, then went into the house. As he entered, Jane, who was on\nthe lookout, hid herself in her room till he had passed through the\nkitchen. Since the trial began, they had not met. She felt sure that\nhe did not approve entirely of her conduct, and he allowed her to be\ninvisible without asking any questions.\n\nF. O'Donovan looked at him anxiously as he re-entered the sitting-room;\nand, when he went and leaned on the mantel-piece, hiding his face in\nhis hands, approached and touched him kindly on the shoulder.\n\n\"It isn't your way, Raphael, to break down so,\" he said in that sweet\nvoice of his, still sweeter with pity and tenderness.\n\nThat name, the name of his boyhood, when he and O'Donovan were at\nschool together; when he was so overflowing with happiness that he\ncould never be still, but had to be for ever at work or at play; when\nhe knew no more of care than what the getting of his lessons involved,\nno more of sin than the little faults he recounted at his confessor's\nknees and forgot the next moment, and no more of sorrow than the\nchanging of one beloved professor for another who speedily became as\ndear. O'Donovan, the beautiful boy, the youngest at school, had been\nhis pride and idol in those days. He turned to him now, and, in the old\nway the English boys used to mock at him for, kissed his friend and\nschool-fellow on both cheeks; at which the Irishman laughed a little\nand blushed a good deal.\n\n\"You're not much changed from the boy you were,\" said F. Chevreuse.\n\"You had always a way of seeming to coax, while you were really\ncommanding. Well, you're almost always right. How the wind whistles!\"\n\nIt was a cutting north wind that broke multitudinously against the\nchurch, and seemed to splinter there into separate sharp voices. They\nwent up from the narrow passage between the church and the house, they\nrang from the chimneys, and sighed and whimpered about the feet of\nthe stone Christ, as if some wounded creature, invisible to man, had\ncrawled there to seek for pity.\n\n\"What a day!\" repeated F. Chevreuse, looking out. \"December is\ncertainly an ugly month, and January is a worse one. February would be\nworst of all, but that it is so near spring you can snap your fingers\nin its face.\"\n\nHe seated himself at the table, drew the books towards him, and glanced\nround at the fire, as if to assure himself that there was something\nshining in his vicinity, then took up a pen, and laid it down again,\nshivering, not because he was cold, but because he knew there was so\nmuch cold about.\n\nF. O'Donovan, seated near the window, with his finger between the\nleaves of his Breviary, to keep the place, had observed his every\nmovement. He dropped the book on his knee, and spoke in a gentle,\ndreamy way that was the very essence of soothing.\n\n\"Yes, this is now for a while one of the cold spots on the earth;\nbut we have only to climb a little, in spirit or in memory, to have\na different idea of December and everything else. How many years\nago to-day is it that you and I saw oranges ripening in the sun in\nDecember, and roses blooming, and people pushing back their cloaks\nfor the heat? It is an anniversary, for I have some little reason to\nremember the date. We were in Rome. I had been shivering in a bare,\nsunless room at the Propaganda, when I looked up and caught a glimpse\nthrough the window of a bit of miraculous blue sky over the roof of San\nAndrea's. It was four o'clock in the afternoon, and time for a walk.\nI called you, and we started on a little exploring expedition; for we\nhad neither of us seen much of Rome at that time. We muffled ourselves\nwell, and went out into the Piazza di Spagna. I recollect you saying,\nas we came to those great stairs, that they must have been modelled by\nsome one who had Jacob's dream-ladder in his mind. You said, too, that\none reason why Rome is so much more beautiful than any other city is\nnot because it is more artistic, but more natural. Each part grew for\nitself, instead of being cramped by some dominating idea that spoilt\nall in trying to direct all. You were delighted with the perfectly cool\nway in which a whole street would go up-stairs or down-stairs. Well,\nthere was the whole side of a piazza going up-stairs. We went up, past\nthe group of models, you know, who stand there to be stared at; the\nbearded old man who stands for S. Peter or Moses, the brigand and the\nbrigand's wife, and the little brown gypsies. The calendar said it was\nDecember; yet in the piazza below the air said it was April. When we\npaused at the first landing, and began to wish we had left our cloaks\nat home, it was May, and up in front of the Trinita de' Monti it was\nmid-June. The fruit-sellers left their large baskets of oranges in\nthe sun while they sat in the shade and waited for customers; there\nwere baskets of flowers, with heaps of half-open roses on the stone\nrail of the balustrade, and streams of rich verdure flowed wide or\ntrickled brightly between the gray sweeps of stone. In the east was\nthat unimaginable blue that can only be compared to a gem; in the west,\na dazzle of unclouded sunshine; and between the two, Rome floated in\na silvery mist. You leaned on the balustrade, and--wretch that you\nwere!--your first thought was a pagan one. You said that the goddess\nof beauty had sunk into the midst of the city, and left her drapery\nof cloud clinging all about it, and that, when she should withdraw,\nthere would be a vision in the sky, but Rome would be nothing but\nashes. That was the best image that Raphael Chevreuse could find,\nwith the city before him all a-bubble with the domes of Christian\nchurches. You may recollect that I gave you a very pretty lecture on\nthe subject. Then you pointed out to me a pillar of smoke wreathing\nslowly up into the sky, showing between the bold front of the Pincian\nHill and the twin cupolas in the Piazza del Popolo, with the distant\nforest and mountain for a background, and you said that we were nothing\nbut cloud-people living in a cloud, and that the only realities were\nMoses and the Israelites out there offering up sacrifice in the wilds\nbetween Egypt and Chanaan. Well, December being too hot for us then,\nwe walked off toward Santa Maria Maggiore. Do you remember the great\norange-tree, as large as an apple-tree, that showed over the convent\nwalls, and how thickly the golden oranges were set among its green\nfoliage; and the symbol over the convent door of two lions trying to\nget at a bird that was safe in the top of a palm-tree;[274] and the\nvane that you said could have been thought of nowhere but in Italy--a\nrod with a cross at the top and a bird's wing swinging round as the\nwind changed? And when we walked on among the ruins, what superstitious\nyoung man gathered dandelions, because gold-colored flowers always\nbrought him some happy chance, he said; and then, in the next breath,\nlooking at those mountains before us, swimming, it seemed, in a sea of\nrosy-purple vapors, broke out with a psalm, \"Montes exultaverunt ut\narietes; et colles, sicut agni ovium\"? You declared vehemently that\nthe mountains were dancing, and I had to hold you to keep you from\ndancing too. A pretty sight it would have been to see a young Christian\npriest twirling _pirouettes_ among the ruins of the temple of Minerva!\nDoubtless, while we are in the midst of the snows and frost of a\nnorthern morning, the sun is just going down over that same warm and\nglowing scene. And, doubtless, too,\" said F. O'Donovan slowly, coming\nto the point he had started to reach, \"outside this pain and confusion\nthere is peace and happiness waiting to come in and give us our soul's\nsummer in this world even. The storms are short, but the peace is long,\nand for ever waiting overhead.\"\n\n\"But life is not long,\" concluded F. Chevreuse, \"and it behooves me to\nbe about my work.\"\n\nHe drew the books toward him, and began to work in earnest. He had been\ncomforted in one regard that morning: he would not himself be called\ninto court, the only points on which he could give evidence being\nbetter known to others. Jane and Andrew had both seen the condition of\nhis little study, with its bolted window and locked-up desk, after he\nleft the house that fatal night, and both F. O'Donovan and Mr. Macon\nsaw it in the morning before he came home. The other point, relating\nto the sort of bank-bills he had lost, was of no consequence, as the\nbankers could not say what sort of money Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger had paid them.\nEvery disposition was shown to spare him unnecessary pain, and they\neven strained a point for that purpose.\n\nHe was not needed, indeed, and the case was being brought rapidly to a\nconclusion, as his first despatch showed him.\n\n\"Old Mr. Grey, from the pond farm, with his granddaughter, have been\nbrought in,\" Mr. Macon wrote, \"and by their help the story has been\nmade to assume form. Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger returned to Crichton that day past\ntheir place. He got into a rough road and broke his harness somewhere,\nand went to their house to borrow a rope to mend it. He had a shawl\non his arm when he went up to the door. While the young girl was gone\nfor the rope, he folded the shawl, and put it into my wife's phaeton\namong the other packages. My wife was then with old Mrs. Grey in the\nhouse. Mr. Grey was at work in the garden, and saw what was done. The\ngirl also saw the shawl on his arm when he came, but did not notice it\nafterward. It is likely to go hard with him.\"\n\nF. Chevreuse had a very red face when he looked over this note. But\nhe handed it to F. O'Donovan without a word, and resumed his writing\nagain. If he knew well what he was writing is doubtful. That color\ndid not leave his face, and now and then he pressed his hand to his\nforehead, as if confused.\n\n\"Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger has roused himself at last,\" the next note said. \"He\nseems for the first time to comprehend that he is in danger. He looks\nlike a lion. I hope he may prove to have some of a lion's strength, for\nhis chances are small.\"\n\nF. Chevreuse handed the paper to his brother priest, who had been out\nand come in again, and watched his face while he read it.\n\n\"Will you tell me frankly your opinion of this?\" he said then.\n\nF. O'Donovan dropped his eyes, having, evidently, no mind to be frank\non the subject. \"I cannot have a settled opinion on a question of\nwhich I have heard but one side,\" he said. \"I have been in court this\nmorning, and talked with some people there, and the chances at present\nseem for a conviction. But we cannot tell the strength of the defence\nas yet.\"\n\nIn spite of his reserve, there was no mistaking his belief in the\nprisoner's guilt.\n\nF. Chevreuse shut his book decisively.\n\n\"Since I am not needed here, I may as well go and see the bishop,\" he\nsaid. \"I was to have gone this week to settle important business with\nhim, but he excused me on the supposition that I would not be allowed\nto leave Crichton. Can you take care of my people a few days longer?\"\n\n\"A week longer, if you wish.\"\n\n\"Four days will be enough--two to go and come, two there. You will know\nwhere to telegraph for me, if I should be wanted. I will go straight to\nthe bishop's house, and stay there.\"\n\n\"How glad I am that you did not say 'episcopal residence'!\" remarked\nhis companion.\n\nF. Chevreuse was already making his preparations for the journey. He\nglanced up rather imperiously from the valise he was packing.\n\n\"Why should I say it?\" he demanded. \"Never used such an expression in\nmy life. And this reminds me that you have been criticising me before\nto-day, calling me superstitious, and I don't know what else. In one\nlittle corner of my mind I have been thinking the matter over ever\nsince, and have arrived at these conclusions: superstition, being\nnothing but erratic faith, should be treated with great tenderness;\nand, besides, you will recollect that I was at that time reading the\npagan classics; furthermore, Rome herself was not born in the faith,\nbut is a converted pagan, and she stands there, a Christian Juno, with\nall Olympus kneeling about her feet; and well so, for any form is good\nthat is capable of holding a Christian soul. Still further, I have\nconcluded that young O'Donovan, whose hair still looks, across the\nroom, quite black, should show a becoming reverence for Chevreuse, who\nhas long since ceased to count his white hairs and begun to count his\nblack ones. I said an elder soldier, not a better. Did I say better?\nGood-by. God bless you!\"\n\nAnd he was off, glad of the noise and speed of the cars, of the\nchanging faces and scenes, of anything that would help to ease his mind\nby a momentary distraction. Yet, in spite of every effort, the thought\nhaunted him of Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger rousing himself to do battle for his\nlife. Call up whatever image he would to entertain his mind, that one\nintruded. He pictured to himself the first dawn of apprehension in the\nprisoner's face rapidly intensifying to a flash of angry terror, the\nreddening or the whitening color, the gathering storm of the brows. He\ntried to guess what he would do and say, by what grand effort he would\nat last fling off in scorn the accusation which he had not believed\ncould cling to him--if he should be able to fling it off. That doubt\nwas like a thorn, and he hastily called to mind something to banish it.\nHe remembered what F. O'Donovan had been saying of Rome, and tried to\nrecollect something of that old picture-book part of his life, to see\nagain in fancy its shady streets and sunny piazzas, to enter in spirit\nsome dim church starred around with lamps, and lined with precious\nmarbles; but when he had laboriously fashioned the scene, a hand was\noutstretched to put it aside like a painted curtain, and again he saw\nthe Jewish gladiator, alive and alert, fighting desperately for his\nlife.\n\n\"You can see that I have run away to escape disagreeable scenes and\ntalk,\" were his first words on reaching his destination. \"And now to\nbusiness.\"\n\nIt was quite understood, then, that no one was to tell him anything\nrelating to the trial, nor mention the subject to him; so that when, on\nthe evening of the third day, he started for home, he knew no more of\nthe progress or result of it than he had known on leaving Crichton.\n\nThere were but few passengers that evening, and F. Chevreuse\nestablished himself in a corner of the car, put his ticket in his\nhat-band, that he might not be disturbed by the conductor, leaned back\nand shut his eyes, that he might not be talked to by any one else, and\ntook out his beads to exorcise troublesome thoughts and invoke holy\nones. It was a saying of his that the beads, when rightly used, had\nalways one end fastened to the girdle of Mary, and were a flowery chain\nby which she led the soul directly to the throne of God.\n\nThey proved so to him in this case, and one after another the Joyful\nMysteries were budding and blossoming under his touch, when presently\nhe found himself somewhat disturbed by the voices of two men who were\ntalking behind him. At first the sound reached him through the long\nvista of that heavenly abstraction; but soon the distance lessened, and\nthen a single word brought him down with a shock.\n\n\"He fought hard at last,\" one said, \"but it was of no use. Everything\nwas against him.\"\n\nIt needed not another word to tell the priest who and what were meant;\nbut other words were spoken.\n\n\"His defence was a mere mass of sentimentality,\" the speaker went on.\n\"He owns to having walked the streets the whole night of the murder,\nbut he says that it was from distress of mind. He had to decide before\nthe next day whether he would abandon all hope of the fortune for\nwhich he was contending, and lose with it all that he had expended,\nor else throw into the chasm the few hundreds he had retained that an\naccident might not find him penniless. He declared that the state of\nhis mind was such that he could not sleep, nor keep still, nor stay\nin the house. Now, that part of the story would not have been so bad\nif he had not been seen near the priest's house, hanging about there,\nand going away when he was observed, and if he had not declared that,\nwhen he went away from Crichton in the morning, he had not heard of\nthe murder. The tracks were not a strong point, for Newcome makes\neverybody's boots just alike, and there are a good many men in Crichton\nwho have as neat a foot as Sch\u00f6ninger. But the rest of the defence was\nnonsense. The shawl was what convicted him. It was his shawl; he owned\nit; and the fragment found in Mme. Chevreuse's hand just fitted the\ntorn corner, thread for thread. I could see that he was confounded when\nthat came up. He says he left the shawl in Mrs. Ferrier's garden in the\nevening, and went for it early in the morning before anybody was up,\nand that he found it just where he had left it. He owned, too, that he\nput it slyly into Mrs. Macon's carriage. He said he knew her and what\nshe was collecting for; had heard all about it at Madison. When he left\nhis broken harness--which, by the way, was not broken, it appears, but\nonly unclasped somewhere--and went to Mr. Grey's, he took his shawl\nover his arm absent-mindedly, and found it a nuisance while he was\ngoing through the woods. Seeing Mrs. Macon's carriage there full of\nparcels, some gray blankets among them, it occurred to him to add his\nshawl to the pile without putting any one to the trouble of thanking\nhim. He said that he believed those nuns to be very good women, and\nthat he felt a respect for them for the sake of F. Chevreuse, who had\nbeen very polite to him. Fancy a Jew taking off his shawl to give it to\na nun, and that to please a priest! The story is too ridiculous, you\nsee. Oh! it is clear. There never was a clearer case of circumstantial\nevidence. No one could have a doubt. But the verdict is too hard.\"\n\n\"You think it should not have been murder in the first degree?\"\nanother voice asked.\n\n\"It should not,\" was the emphatic reply. \"It is almost an outrage to\nmake it so. But people became ferocious the moment it was clear that\nhe was guilty, and I believe they would gladly have taken him out and\nhanged him to the first tree. The fact undoubtedly is that he was\npressed for money, and meant to help himself to the priest's. Mme.\nChevreuse heard him, and started to alarm the house, and I think he\ngave her an unlucky push. But nothing of that sort would content the\nprosecution nor the people. They must have it that at the very best\nhe killed her wilfully when he found that she had recognized him. The\nfemale servant testified that there was a candle overturned in the\npriest's room, which must have gone out in falling. Madame's first\nthought would naturally be to light a candle. Still, that is not sure.\nThat same servant wished to show that the prisoner had a spite against\nthe priest's mother, and the Carthusen girl had the same story; but\nif people had been calm, their gossip would have made no impression.\nSch\u00f6ninger's lawyer tried to prove that madame's death resulted from\nthe fall; but there was a bad bruise....\"\n\nF. Chevreuse gasped for breath. \"For God's sake, stop!\" he cried out,\nhalf turning toward the speaker, then sinking instantly into his seat\nagain.\n\nA perfect silence followed. The priest was struggling with his\nfeelings, and regretting not having withdrawn before his self-control\ngave way, and the gentlemen behind him were recovering the shock of\nlearning who their neighbor was, and feeling their way to a solution of\nthe difficulty. One of them had an inspiration. \"Let's go and have a\ncigar,\" he said; and F. Chevreuse was left to himself.\n\nBut his solitude was full of terrible images, and in that few minutes\nall his relations with the Jew had been changed. He would not have\nsaid to himself that he believed the man guilty, and he would have\nsaid that, guilty or innocent, he wished him no harm; but what his\nimagination had utterly refused to do in connecting Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger\nwith his mother's tragical fate the plain talk of this stranger had\naccomplished. He could no longer separate the two; and the sight of\nthe Jew, or the sound of his name even, would, in future, call up\nassociations intolerable to him.\n\n\"You know all, then?\" was F. O'Donovan's greeting when they met.\n\nThe face of F. Chevreuse showed, indeed, that he had no questions, or\nfew, to ask.\n\n\"The law has decided,\" he said, \"and, for the present at least, I\ncannot question its decision. They know better than I how to arrive\nat the truth. At the same time, I never will say of a man that he is\nguilty till he has himself told me that he is, or till I have the\nevidence of my own senses. And now, what have you to tell me about my\npeople? Is it well with them?\"\n\n\"It is well,\" was the echo.\n\nThe people had, indeed, settled into their usual quiet mode of life\nagain with surprising readiness, as often happens to those who, giving\nthemselves entirely up to an excitement, exhaust its force the sooner.\nThe conviction and sentence of Mr. Sch\u00f6ninger had not only given them\na satisfying sense of justice vindicated, but had impressed them with\nawe. The suddenness of his fall, when they had leisure to contemplate\nits accomplishment, was startling. But a few weeks before, he had\nwalked their streets with a step as proud as the proudest, and there\nwas not one among them, whatever his prejudices, who was not pleased to\nreceive his salutation; in a few months longer--months of misery and\ndisgrace--he would be called on to suffer the extreme penalty of the\nlaw.\n\nSome of them remembered, too, when all was over, the defence the\nprisoner had made, if defence it could be called, when he was permitted\nto speak for himself. They were bitter words, full of fierce and\nhaughty defiance and denunciation and at the time their sole effect had\nbeen to provoke still further against him the popular rage; but, for\nsome reason, there was a thrilling pathos in the recollection of them,\nperhaps because they had been uttered in vain, and because they showed\nwith what horror he contemplated his impending doom.\n\n\"You seek my destruction because I am a Jew, not because I am a\ncriminal,\" he exclaimed; \"and you condemn me without proof. But do not\nflatter yourselves that I shall perish so. Do not believe that I shall\nfall a victim to your insane and presumptuous bigotry. It may triumph\nfor a time, but the triumph will be short.\"\n\nNot a very pleasant sort of address to be listened to by a judge who\nhad tried to be impartial, and meant to be honest, nor to a jury who\nwere fully convinced of the speaker's guilt, and who had moreover, as\njuries are likely to have, a more than judicial sense of their own\ndignity. Yet, for all that, there was not one of them who would have\nliked to face again those flashing eyes and that white hand pointing\nlike a flame where his words should fall. They were rather afraid of\nthe man, and looked with equal uneasiness toward the execution of his\nsentence and the possibility of rescue or escape, or of revenge even,\nwhich he had seemed to threaten.\n\nFor the present, however, the prison was strong and well guarded,\nand the convict, being in solitary confinement, had no means of\ncommunicating with any friends he might have outside. He was still in\nCrichton, the state prison being near the city jail; and still, if he\nchose, he could look out from his grated window and see the Christ in\nair stretching out arms of loving invitation to him.\n\n                            TO BE CONTINUED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[274] The beasts of prey have triumphed, and the birds have been driven\naway.\n\n\n\n\nTHE RELIGIOUS POLICY OF THE SECOND EMPIRE.\n\n\n[The following is the translation of a remarkable memoir presented\nto Napoleon\u00a0III. by one of his Ministers of Public Worship. Its\nauthenticity is guaranteed under oath by Leon Pag\u00e8s, and the date\nof its presentation seems to be about the year 1860. It furnishes\nthe key to the religious events of the second period of the reign of\nNapoleon III., and shows how a government calling itself Catholic\nplotted against, and was gradually destroying the liberty of, the\nchurch. The perfidy and falsehoods contained in the document speak\nfor themselves. The programme detailed in the second part of the\nsame was only too faithfully carried out, not only to the ruin of\nthe emperor, but to that of France also. It began to be put in\npractice in the year 1860, and was persevered in until the day when\nall power was taken from the hands of its authors and abettors. The\nkey-note to the whole insidious production is contained in the opening\nsentence--viz., that no matter what is done by the Catholic Church,\nit must be for the sake of obtaining influence over souls, not for\ntheir spiritual and eternal welfare, but for mere temporal and selfish\nends--for worldly power. To the Catholic reader this one remark will be\nsufficient to place him on his guard. We copy from the _Revue du Monde\nCatholique_.--_Translator._]\n\n\nI.\n\nThe essential tendency of Roman Catholicism has been, is, and always\nwill be, the spirit of secular domination, the inevitable result of\ntransforming a man, the Pope, into the infallible and absolute vicar of\nJesus Christ on earth.\n\nIf, before the Revolution of '89, the clergy were Gallican--that is to\nsay, national--it was because it had sufficiently attained that end\nof temporal rule. It was the first order of the state; it possessed\ngreat wealth; it had its own organization, and enjoyed considerable\nprivileges; its religion was the exclusively dominant one. What else\ncould it ask, unless it wished to displace royalty itself? The clergy\nthen was much more French and royalist than Roman, solely because\nit had such enormous interests at stake in the soil and in the\nconstitution of the kingdom.\n\nAgain, if we study carefully the so-called maxims and liberties of\nthe Gallican Church, we quickly recognize that between the kings\nand the clergy these liberties constituted a sort of commutative\ncontract entered into almost wholly at the expense of the Papacy.\nThe bishops, generously treated by royalty, in return consented to\nsacrifice to royalty many of the Roman pretensions, which, however,\nwere consequences of the spiritual supremacy; and, with more reason,\nthey allowed the sovereign to settle all matters of purely political\nindependence. In the Gallican Church, the king rejected Papal\ninfallibility, because it necessarily implied his temporal supremacy;\nand the bishops to whom the doctrine would perhaps in any other\ncountry have been acceptable, rejected it likewise because it would\nhave disturbed their privileges and their possessions, which they\nowed to royalty. It ought to be added that all this was according to\nthe ancient traditions of the land, which had rendered better service\nto the church than any other, and which never desired any foreign\ninterference in its own affairs. But certainly both the French clergy\nand bishops would have gone back to the pope and to ultramontane ideas,\nunless their independence, peaceful and magnificent, had been assured\nthem.\n\nAfter the Revolution of '89, the clergy, deprived of its possessions,\nits privileges, its constitution, reduced to the condition of salaried\nfunctionaries, feeling its utter dependence on the state, felt the\nnecessity of creating for itself a new influence by detaching itself\nfrom administrations over-neutral in its regard. For a short time it\nsaluted Napoleon I. as the _restorer of the altar_; then it submitted\nto his powerful hand; but it hastened to desert him when conquered,\ncalling him _the persecutor of Pius VII._ It came to the support of\nthe Restoration, because of the recollections of the past, and, above\nall, because it hoped therefrom the re-establishment of many immunities\nwhich the Restoration did not dare, in opposition to public opinion, to\nconcede to it. This is the reason that, under the Restoration, it came\nto pass that the clergy was more occupied in caring for itself than for\nroyalty, so much so that it is from this epoch that the first efforts\nof return to ultramontanism date their origin. No excuse can be offered\nfor Louis XVIII. and for Charles X. for having allowed the Concordat of\n1801 and the organic articles to remain in force, and for not having\ngiven to the church an indemnity, as they did to the exiles.\n\nUnder Louis Philippe, the clergy was not deluded; it understood very\nwell that a parliamentary and democratic government would never permit\nit to work for the re-establishment of its power. Consequently,\nand under the pretext that the church, accepting all _de facto_\ngovernments, ought not to mix in the risks and responsibilities of\npolitics, the clergy proclaimed its absolute neutrality, which was but\nanother name for a complete separation. Hence nothing is easier of\ncomprehension that it quickly gave up all Gallican ideas, to rally to\nthe support of ultramontane doctrines. Isolated, without influence,\nwithout wealth, cramped in its sphere of activity, it had no interest\nin upholding the independence of the state against the Holy See, whilst\neverything invited it to defend once more the famous thesis of the\nCatholic Church, directing kings and peoples, and giving to the clergy\nthe influence of a class superior to all others. The anti-Gallican\ndemonstration, aided by the politicians of legitimacy and of the\nCatholic party, who had adopted as their watchword _free education_,\nbegan to develop itself rapidly in the episcopate, amongst the inferior\nclergy in the seminaries and religious orders, and even in the halls\nof the two chambers. Everything was prepared for the solemn return to\nRome, when the Revolution of 1848 burst forth.\n\nThe religious party as well as the legitimists, its auxiliary, at first\naccepted that revolution because it destroyed the upstart, usurping,\nand Voltairian party. It afterwards strove with energy to form a\ncoalition of all the elements of public order, so as to escape from\nthe power of the demagogues; it was this same motive which influenced\nits votes in favor of the president; it thus struck a blow at the\ndemocratic and social republic. But when it believed that Napoleon\nIII., who had become successively dictator and emperor, would consent\nto play the part of another Charlemagne, _Episcopus ad extra_, it\nbecame devoted to him and enthusiastic. But the emperor had no such\nthought; he only wished to attach the clergy firmly to the Empire by\nhonorable laws ensuring its safety and liberty. By so doing he supplied\none of the greatest social needs, without, however, departing from\na wise public policy; but he had no intention of handing the state\nover to the church. The clergy, on its part, easily imagined what he\ndesired. Hence we see in 1852 (and this must not be passed over) more\nearnestness and greater sympathy in that portion of the episcopate\nwhich was notoriously ultramontane. It was that portion which had been\nthe best initiated by Rome into its projects of encroachment, which\ncarried them out with the greatest zeal, and which consequently sought\nto conciliate the good-will of the sovereign and to engage him to\npursue a course of liberal toleration.\n\nThus it came to pass that it immediately insinuated how exceedingly\nbecoming it would be to enter into what was called a compact between\nthe church and state--viz., the negotiation of a treaty which was to\nreplace the organic articles.\n\nNow, as has been said at the beginning of this memoir, Roman\nCatholicism aiming necessarily at temporal rule, the moment seemed\nso much the more favorable to advance in that undertaking, as the\ngovernment seemed to give its consent so easily thereunto. The law of\nfree education already existed. The emperor appeared unwilling to make\nuse of the prohibitions of the organic law regulating public worship\nand of the law concerning religious congregations of men; consequently,\nprovincial councils were quickly organized and congregations were\nmultiplied.\n\nThe design of gaining possession almost entirely of primary education\nwas avowed by bringing the influence of the _cur\u00e9s_ to bear on the\nvarious municipal offices, and, by forcing the Christian Brothers to\nrefuse to receive from their rich pupils any compensation whatever for\nattending their schools, which had been built and were supported by\nthe municipality: in this way the Brothers received from the state a\ncompensation of 3,000,000, at the expense of the lay schools.\n\nThe famous decree of 1852 was then proposed to the emperor, but without\nexplaining its import. This destroyed the ancient and wise legislation\nof the council of state, and allowed the almost unlimited extension of\nauthorizations to establish congregations of women.\n\nIn spite of the lively opposition of the majority of the bishops and\nof the secular clergy, the Roman liturgy was then inaugurated and\npresented to the emperor as a simple matter of material unity in\nCatholic worship; care was taken not to avow that this was a deadly\nblow against the customs and constitution of the Gallican Church, the\ntriumph of Romanism in France, and a tax of more than six millions\non the manufactures and municipalities of the Empire. All this was\nnecessary in order to obtain a brief from the Pope in 1858 obliging the\nclergy to recite in its liturgy the prayer _Domine salvum_, which had\nbeen excluded from the Roman Breviary.\n\nWhilst, on the one hand, the clergy sought to gain possession of the\npeople through the medium of primary education, which was solicited\nfor the religious congregations by all the charitable confraternities\n(of S. Vincent of Paul, of S. Francis Regis, of S. Francis Xavier,\netc., etc.), through a multitude of foundations of religious charity,\non the other it strove also to enlist in its favor the children of the\nhigher and middle classes of society through the numerous and immense\neducational institutions of a superior character, founded either by the\nbishops or by the religious orders of Jesuits, Carmelites, Marists,\nDominicans, etc. Thus the law of 1850, hostile to all state education,\nbrought forth its fruits.\n\nAs to the education of girls, it was and it is almost exclusively\nin the hands of religious, from the country infant schools and\nprotectories up to the most splendid educational establishments of\nParis; on this point it is impossible for the lay element to contend\nwith the religious element, which, either really or apparently, will\nalways present far better guarantees to families for morality and\nself-devotion. But the point worthy of consideration here is that this\nconvent education, directed by the inspiration and opinions of the\nclergy, is not at all in sympathy either with the existing government\nor with public opinion.\n\nThis is the reason why the episcopate and Rome have always resisted any\ninspection on the part of the state into their institutions, except a\npurely nominal one, alleging that these religious congregations could\nsubmit only to ecclesiastical inspection. In the regulations made in\n1852 too much was yielded on that point.\n\nIt can be affirmed with truth to-day that there is no class of\nsociety which is not to a greater or less degree entangled in the\nmeshes so admirably laid by the congregations and associations called\n_benevolent_ or _charitable_. They gain entrance even into the army,\nunder the pretext of giving gratuitous instruction and spiritual\nconferences; they gather together working-men of every condition; they\nestablish a kind of freemasonry, and of equality amongst citizens\nof every rank; through their trusty friends and adherents they are\nrepresented in all the branches of the government; they have possession\nof the child and of the man in his prime of life, of the poor and\nof the rich; they are everywhere. This enormous fact becomes a most\nconvincing proof, if we consider the exact meaning of the name of these\ncongregations, associations, and works of every kind, and of the end\neach of them proposes to obtain. It is almost certain that, directly or\nindirectly, the Catholic idea permeates them all; and as the direction\nof that Catholic idea belongs more than ever to Rome, the conclusion\nis natural that all these means of action so skilfully organized form\na kind of secret government, the helm of which is in the hand of the\nRoman cardinals, prefects of the congregations.\n\nThe present religious agitation proves the truth of this assertion. The\nsociety of S. Vincent of Paul has thought and acted exactly in the same\nway as the convents, seminaries, and religious orders; from one end of\nthe scale to the other there is but one opinion, and the pamphlet of M.\nde Segur can be found in the _salon_ of the nuncio as well as in the\nworkshop--yes, even on the bench of the lowest primary school.\n\nBut it was not enough to have thus securely encircled lay society\nwith so many arms employed for the benefit of the religious element.\nIt was necessary to be certain that these arms would always be used\nconformably to the end in view--viz., the Roman Catholic supremacy.\nThe bishops and secular clergy might perhaps grow restless under this\nultramontane domination; they might perhaps, although desiring the\ndevelopment of religion and of their own personal condition, either\nmoderate a too quick movement towards, or, for the sake of their own\nindependence, even oppose themselves to the absorption meditated at\nRome. Therefore, the effort was made, especially since the beginning\nof 1852, to crush out even a show of resistance from the bishops and\nsecular clergy; and the _Univers_, the avowed organ of the Holy See,\nwhilst praising the emperor and attacking violently the parliamentary\nor liberal Catholic party (de Falloux, de Montalembert, Lacordaire,\netc.), undertook to establish a system of ecclesiastical compression,\nwhich in the end triumphed. M. Veuillot became the _lay pope of the\nFrench_; with as much audacity as talent, he set forth the doctrines\nof the spiritual and temporal supremacy of the Holy See; he thundered\nagainst the schism of the Gallican Church, and against any compact\nwhich bound the priest to the state.\n\nAnd at the same time the Papal nuncios in France surrounded the bishops\nwith an almost intolerable servitude. Near each of them they had\ndevoted ecclesiastics, who spied into and denounced their actions. Any\nbishop suspected of favoring independence or resistance was the object\nof those thousands of cunning tricks which Rome has under its command\nbecause of the powers it can either grant or refuse to the episcopate.\n\nAny priest of some eminence who did not go over to the ultramontane\nparty was made the object of threats and calumnies, which, it was said,\n_would break his episcopal cross_. Things came to such a point that a\nMinister of Public Worship, frightened at the bold and dogmatic tone\nin which a nuncio pronounced his _veto_ on the episcopal nominees, was\nforced to make an energetic declaration concerning the rights of the\nemperor, and to tell that nuncio to bear it in mind.\n\nAt the same time, also, Rome endeavored to render the episcopate\nsubservient to itself by interfering in the administration of dioceses\nby granting the inferior clergy the right of addressing the prefects of\nthe apostolic congregations on all matters which concerned conscience,\nliturgy, or dispensations. So that the bishops, humiliated, and with\ntheir jurisdiction lessened, had no other resource left them to\nrecover their authority than to show themselves ultramontanes, and so\ngain the good graces of the Holy See.\n\nProvincial councils, wherein zealous men domineered, only served to\nconsummate that ruin of our ancient church and of all opinions which\nstill bound the French clergy to their native land.\n\nMore yet was wanted. The better to secure the dependence of the\nepiscopate, the gradual substitution of the regular for the secular\nclergy was dreamt of. This was the reason why monasteries of religious\ncongregations were multiplied, under the pretext that there was need of\nauxiliary priests to help the _cur\u00e9s_ and their assistants. They built\nchurches, took possession of the pulpits and confessionals, directed\nthe different confraternities; they thus set aside and banished the\nparochial clergy. In a few years, things going on in this manner,\nwhat would hinder the Pope from saying to the bishops: \"You have no\nfurther need of seminaries to recruit your clergy; look at the numerous\nreligious houses, from which you can take your _cur\u00e9s_ and assistants.\"\nAnd then what would happen? The clergy of France would no longer\npossess any national character whatsoever. It would be exclusively a\nRoman army, under the command of the generals of each congregation.\nEpiscopal authority would be completely annihilated, and the church in\nFrance would be under the absolute command of the Pope. In that case,\nonly the most violent struggles--a veritable civil war--could alone\nsave the concordat and the independence of the state!\n\nNay, even now the Pope, abusing the liberty granted, affects to look\non France as a province of his Catholic empire. He freely promulgates\nthe acts and laws of his personal administration, and rules here,\njust as directly as he would at Ancona or Perugia, the affairs of the\nepiscopate and of the church according to the famous ultramontane\nformula: \"The clergy of France is first Catholic, then French.\"\n\nNothing better proves the exactness of these views than the study of\nthe causes and the progress of the existing religious agitation about\nthe Italian question. The greater part of the episcopate cared but\nlittle for internal demonstrations; the Pope brought the energetic\nappeal of two encyclical letters to bear upon them. Each bishop was\nharassed, forced, menaced in the name of his Catholic conscience, in\nthe name of his obligation of obedience to the Pontiff. Three months\nwere required to wring from each and all the wished-for pastoral\nletter. And what do the leaders of the ultramontane party say to-day?\n\"The French Church has spoken,\" cries the Bishop of Poitiers; \"she is\nunanimous.\"\n\nYes, by dint of the most violent siege. It began by bending the\nepiscopate under the imposed doctrine of the infallible superiority of\nthe Pope. That subjection was accomplished by all the stratagems of\nthe administrative power of Rome over spiritual matters and diocesan\naffairs; and when, in consequence, it was certain that there would be\nno resistance on any question whatsoever, even were it the political\nquestion of the Romagna, they boast that the free opinion of the\nCatholic world has been given; they place the Pope under the protection\nof the universal church, which is judged to have spoken and acted\nfreely. This is a strange use of power and of trickery!\n\nTo recapitulate. Rome, as it never goes out of the path leading to its\nend, has wished and wishes to create its own supremacy in France, which\nhas been so long prevented by royalty allied to the French clergy.\n\nIt has found a clergy not attached to the soil and to the state by\ngreat interests of wealth and influence.\n\nProfiting by the situation, it has wished to reduce the clergy into\nbondage after a precise fashion by the intrusion of all of the\ndoctrines of the ultramontane church, and, to obtain its end, has\nemployed all the powers of polemics, of spiritual administration, and\nof the regular clergy.\n\nThe clergy conquered, it has marched on to possess itself of all\nclasses of society through the medium of educational institutions, of\nconfraternities and congregations of every kind, and has established an\norganization as vast as it is formidable.\n\nHenceforth Rome rules the clergy and the Church of France, and, through\nthe clergy and the church, it means to rule the country.\n\n\nII.\n\nSuch is a true picture of the religious situation.\n\nHowever, if the French clergy seem unwilling to oppose any further\nexternal resistance to the doctrines, plots, and encroachments of Rome,\nit must not be forgotten that very many of its members in conscience\nare far from approving what they call the excesses of ultramontanism,\nbecause they fear for their own safety and for that of the true\nreligion.\n\nA great part of the episcopate realizes the fact that the effort is\nbeing made to reduce them to the condition of simple vicars apostolic,\nwhose jurisdiction could be recalled, and to suppress the _proprium\njus episcop\u00fbm_. They foresee that the nation will never go back on the\ncivil and political progress made in order to place itself under any\ntheocracy whatsoever.\n\nConsequently, they are not convinced of the strength of the proposed\nultramontane arrangement, which may be set forth in these terms: \"Be\nno longer a French episcopate; acknowledge your absolute dependence on\nthe Pope; and, in recompense, we will have _all_ together the religious\ngovernment of France.\" Such a plan would expose religion to many and\ninevitable conflicts, in which it would be either swallowed up by\nworldly views, or would be gravely compromised.\n\nAs a rule, we may also add that the clergy has no idea of separating\nitself from the emperor, who is the highest guarantee of social order,\nand whose religious loyalty it well knows.\n\nFinally, to sum up all, it clearly sees that it must live and die in\nthe bosom of France, where it was born; and that, if it does not enjoy\nthe advantages it did in times past, it yet receives from the state\nwhatever constitutes its sphere of activity, its security, and its\nexistence. For the national clergy to quarrel angrily and irrevocably\nwith the emperor and with the nation is a thing easier said than done,\nthe more so as it hates the religious orders, and has no other support\nwhatsoever for its own independence except the laws and good-will of\nthe government.\n\nIt sees only too well what would become of it if the government,\njudging it irrevocably hostile, should all at once suppress all\nsympathy towards it, should cut off from it all sources of liberality\nand of toleration, and should brand it before the country as alien to\nthe national feelings and blindly obedient to ultramontane passions.\nHere is the key-note to the disagreements which now exist amongst the\nclergy. The dispute and the declaration of 1682 are buried in the past.\nThe controversy is not a theological one at all. It is exclusively one\nof our own day, exclusively political, exclusively social; and, if the\nultra-montanists of to-day are the same as those of past times, the\npresent Gallicans are by no means like those of the time of Louis XIV.\nWe must live either in our own age or the life of the middle ages; we\nmust be either French or Roman. Such is the true state of the question.\n\nUnder such circumstances, what is to be done?\n\nMust we, by abruptly changing our whole system of government, expel the\nreligious congregations of men, modify the law concerning education,\napply all the organic articles, and reach such a point that the law,\nfully carried out, will look very much like persecution? No; for then\nthe sincerity of the sovereign might be called into question on account\nof his passing so quickly from a generous and affectionate protection\nto all the rigors of prohibition; it would inflict a deep wound on the\nentire clergy and on a vast multitude of honorable Catholics; it would\ngive rise to the suspicion that, in spite of all to the contrary, a\nreturn was being made to Voltairian prejudices; and perhaps it would\nnecessitate a defence against an anti-religious reaction which would\nconsider all its excesses justifiable.\n\nThe measures to be taken ought not to surpass the limits of the abuses\nto be suppressed, and to be carried out in behalf of the respect due\nto the supreme power, for the welfare of public tranquillity and of\nreligion well understood. Besides, it is well known that public opinion\nacts as a kind of police over the faults of the clergy. As often as the\nclergy departs from its true sphere of action and strives to encroach\nupon the powers and independence of society, it creates a circle of\nresistance and opposition which subdues it. To-day men are frightened\nat what they think are the outbursts of revolutionary passion, but\nwhich in reality are only the energetic manifestation of public opinion\nrebelling against the wishes of those in favor of theocracy. Preserve\nthe uprightness of the religious sentiment of the nation; use no\nviolence; borrow from our public law what is necessary to put a stop\nto insupportable encroachments; in this way separate the course of\nreligion as sincerely practiced from the arrogance and calculations of\nthe Roman propaganda--such, I think, is a course of action well adapted\nto the necessities of the hour, and will obtain the approbation of the\ncountry.\n\nTaking these general notions for a basis, perhaps the following\nmeasures would be most opportune:\n\n1st. Except in cases of local necessity, which is to be well proven,\nto tolerate no other new establishment of religious communities of\nmen, whether it be a question of conventual houses, churches, chapels,\neven under the pretext that they are to act as auxiliaries in the\nsacred ministry, or whether it be a question of institutions for public\ninstruction and works of public charity. The hospitality so generously\ngranted by the emperor to communities of men, although prohibited by\nlaw, will, in this way, remain inviolate. \"You are numerous enough, and\nFrance has not been given to you to drain;\" this is a sensible answer,\nwhich cannot incur the reproach of exclusion. Besides, why will not\nthose who force themselves into the religious communities enter and\nrecruit the ranks of the secular clergy, the parochial clergy? Where\nis the necessity of increasing the regular clergy which belongs to the\nRoman government? There are at present in France 68 associations or\ncongregations of men, 19 only of which are authorized as teaching and\ncharitable communities. They have under their charge 3,088 institutions\nor schools, they number 14,304 religious and have 359,953 pupils.\n\n2d. Henceforth exercise the greatest severity in granting permission\nfor the establishment of congregations of women, only granting the\nsame when the actual undeniable necessity of public charity or\nprimary education requires it; demand certain proofs that they have\nsufficient resources for their support; do not easily grant permission\nfor the conversion of local communities into communities subject\nto a superioress-general, which inundate France with their annexed\nestablishments. True it is that _de facto_ congregations cannot be\nstopped; but, as they are not recognized by law, they know that every\none of their members remains subject to the common law; and the _de\nfacto_ congregation, which collectively has no civil existence, can\ntherefore neither receive gifts nor legacies, neither can it act as\na corporation. At present there are in France 236 communities of\nwoman subject to superioresses-general, which have, besides the 236\nprincipal foundations, 2,066 secondary or annexed establishments;\nand about 700 congregations or communities under local superioresses\n(each of these last forms a distinct establishment, governed by its\nown superioress, and independent of the establishments of the same\nreligious order established elsewhere); to which we must add about 250\nreligious associations of women not yet recognized, but existing _de\nfacto_.\n\n3d. As to what concerns the _authorized_ communities of men or women,\nlet the council of state exercise the greatest severity in the matter\nof gifts, legacies, and charitable donations it permits them to\nreceive. Here we must consider not only the condition and protests of\nfamilies demanding a reduction of such donations, but we must also\nexamine into the necessities of the community so rewarded. There is\nno reason why we should procure for them the means of a useless or\nabusive extension, by authorizing them to receive what is necessary\nto defray expenses they ought never to have incurred. Communities\nonce established will remain what they are, if the fruitful source of\nliberality which they provoke and seek for be wanting to stimulate\nthe natural tendency of these communities to extend themselves\nindefinitely. The spirit of rivalry which exists amongst them, the lust\nof propagation and of power, all drive them on towards an incessant\ndevelopment. Once entered on this path, they must have money, and\nthey put their wits to work to find out and appeal for help, for\ndonations, and for alms. If the regulations concerning such gifts and\nlegacies were more severe, if the principle were established that\nsuch liberality, which is only an encouragement to the extension of\nexpenses and of establishments, would no longer be tolerated, an abrupt\nstop would be put to the excess of which we to-day complain.\n\nIt must be confessed that these congregations, authorized or\nnon-authorized, have always the means of evading the law and of\nreceiving gifts secretly. This cannot be prevented when the affair is\nconducted cunningly, and the congregations are not without skilful\ncounsellors or numerous adherents ready to aid them in everything. But\neven in this case, the amount of these evasions or of manual gifts\nwhich deprive families of the livelihood obtained for them by their\nauthor is easily appreciable. Whence, for example, have the immense\nresources of the religious orders, vowed to poverty, proceeded, which\nthey must have consecrated to their numerous and vast establishments?\nThe real estate of the Jesuits surpasses twenty millions. How did they\nbuy or build them? Certainly from private donations. Now, this being a\nfact, does it not follow that there is an obligation on the state not\nto tolerate any new establishments, which would necessitate new appeals\nto private charity, and the certainty that by such a prohibition it\nwould act wisely?\n\n4th. Maintain, as far as possible, without destroying the liberty\nof choice in the municipal councils, _lay_ primary education. If,\nthrough the intelligence and firmness of the prefects, a stop be not\nput to the incessant plottings of the clergy, forcing the townships to\nentrust their schools to the Christian Brothers, there will be soon\nno lay teachers, except in such poverty-stricken localities as the\nbrothers disdain to take. Here we must remark that an effort is being\nmade to multiply congregations of so called _Little Brothers_, who\ninstall themselves in isolated country places, whilst the Christian\nBrothers can only form an establishment in which _three brothers_ will\nbe in the same school. Townships not having resources and population\nsufficient to receive the Christian Brothers will then be attended\nto by these _Little Brothers_, called after Lamennais, S. Viator,\nTinchebray, etc., and so it will come to pass that lay teachers will\nbe entirely suppressed. As these teachers to-day, modest and useful\npublic officers, are devoted to the emperor, and render notable service\nin the rural districts, considering that universal suffrage is the law\nof the land, we would be very much weakened if all primary instruction\npassed into the hands of congregations which depend more on Rome than\non France. Nay, more, it would be wise henceforth not to recognize as\nplaces of public utility any congregation of men for primary education.\nThere are at present in France 49,639 _lay_ schools for boys and girls,\nattended by 2,410,517 children; and 14,602 _conventual_ schools,\nattended by 1,342,564. Moreover, we must remark that in the academies\nof young girls directed by congregations, in the free primary schools\nentrusted to them, as well as in the secondary schools wherein their\ninfluence reigns, we meet histories compiled to glorify monarchies\nof divine right, to exalt religious supremacy, to lower indirectly\nthe civil and political principles acquired since 1789. Truly these\nestablishments, so numerous, are, to a greater or less degree, real\nbranches of the legitimist and Catholic party. On the contrary, it\nis in our imperial lyceums, in our municipal colleges, in our lay\nschools, that we find a more robust and popular instruction given,\nwhich fosters the national sentiments in the hearts of the children.\nWhere is it that you hear the cry cordially given, _Vive l'Empereur_?\nCertainly not in the congregational establishments.\n\n5th. Uphold with energy state education, because it is the true\nnational education; place its institutions, by a sufficient budget, in\na condition to enlarge their capacity, to perfect their staff and their\nmeans of instruction--this is the key to the events of the future. The\nCatholic legitimist party understood this only too well in demanding\nunder Louis Philippe, with so much ardor, liberty of education,\nmonopolized by the university, and in 1850, under the presidency,\nin having the law on public instruction passed. Later, under the\ndictatorship, it had the hardihood to dream of the total abolition of\nstate education, in order to hand it over to the clergy and to the\ncongregations; but the emperor, fully instructed on the intent of such\na measure, refused his consent. But it remains a fact, however, that,\nthanks to the law of 1850, granting to every French citizen liberty to\nteach, the Catholic legitimist party has been enabled to perpetuate in\nthe young generations that division of castes and of ideas which would\nhave disappeared under the system of a united university education.\nIt has been enabled, through the pupils brought up in congregational\nhouses, to give continued existence to its own social and political\ndoctrines. This is a great evil, no doubt; but, great as it is, it is\nimpossible to think of suppressing the law which guarantees the liberty\nof the family. That would necessitate an immense struggle, a bloody\none, and one contrary to justice. There remains, then, but this one\nescape, as equitable as it is prudent; everything concurs in it: let us\nstrengthen and favor state education, which fits one for any career in\nlife, which is the most solid and most patriotic, whilst, at the same\ntime, let it be made religious, moral, and paternal.\n\n6th. As far as it can be done without forcing things too far, let\nus put in execution the organic regulations, which place salutary\nchecks on the encroachments of the Papal power over the clergy and the\nstate; in other words, let us tolerate no new attack against our civil\nlegislation and our political constitution, whether in writings or in\nthe pulpit.\n\nPlace the office of the nuncio in France under the same regulations\nas any other embassador of a friendly power, and do not allow him to\ncorrespond at all, in the Pope's name, with the French bishops, nor\nallow him to perform any act of jurisdiction, nor allow him to have the\nleast say in the choice of bishops.\n\nWith a firm hand prevent any act of the court of Rome from either being\nreceived, published, or distributed in France without the authorization\nof the government.\n\nChoose resolutely the bishops from pious and honorable ecclesiastics,\nbut such as are known for their sincere attachment to the emperor, and\nto the institutions of France.\n\nSuppress all religious journals, the need of which no one dreamt of\nbefore the invasion and agitations of the ultramontane party. The\nclergy has its discipline, its bishops, its priests, its pulpits, its\nmandates, its pastoral letters, and a complete government. There is no\nnecessity at all of adding the polemics of the press to the ordinary\nmeans of publicity for this ecclesiastical government. Besides, the\nwhole of that press has always been the instrument for spreading\nthe doctrines and designs of the Roman theocracy, or parliamentary\nCatholicism. To-day it supplies the most energetic nutriment towards\na religious agitation. Suppress this focus of excitement, which is\nspreading into every presbytery, and the clergy will remain quiet. The\n_Univers_ has upset the heads of all the younger clergy by preaching\nreligious supremacy, and the harm done by it will not be effaced\nfor many a long year. To impose the protection of the church on the\nstate; to sap all civil and political liberties; to undermine all lay\ninstitutions; to attack incessantly every European alliance, except\nthat with Austria and the Catholic states, thus to introduce, above\neverything else, and everywhere, the influence, the ideas, and the\npower of Rome--such is the work of religious journals supported by the\nlegitimist party.\n\nEncourage, finally, the public study of the ancient French liberties,\nand profess everywhere and with spirit the conservative principles of\nthe independence of the state alongside of that of the Papacy.\n\n7th. Moreover, persevere in a course of loyal protection for the true\ninterests of religion and of deference towards the clergy. Nothing\nwould be wiser, and, at the same time, nothing more just, than to\nincrease the honor paid to the inferior clergy, who in almost the whole\nof France experience the direst privations. In this way they would\nbe attached to the government. If the episcopate, through weakness\nor any other motive, abandoned the emperor, he would be compelled to\nconciliate the inferior clergy, who ask nothing better than to have\na little more ecclesiastical independence, and who sometimes suffer\nfrom episcopal despotism. At all events, it is of great importance that\nthe religious part of the nation be amazed at the noise occasioned by\nthese Roman quarrels, or remain indifferent concerning them, seeing\nthe national worship always tranquil, protected, and honored. For this\nreason it is very useful that the grants of the budget be increased\ntowards the construction and repairing of churches, presbyteries, and\ndiocesan buildings.\n\n8th. Finally, perhaps it would be opportune for the government to\nturn its attention to those large lay associations, such as those\nof S. Vincent of Paul, of S. Francis Xavier, etc., which, by their\nadministration and the nature of their works, are really in the\nhands of the clergy and of the legitimist party. The conferences\nof S. Vincent of Paul to-day are more than nine hundred in number;\nthey penetrate every rank of society, and even into the lyceums and\ncolleges, where they affiliate even the children under the title of\n_aspirants_. They are connected to a principal conference in each\ndepartment of the country; they are governed by a general council of\nthat society, which has presented to the Holy Father at Rome a report\non the general condition of the French conferences. It is a formidable\nassociation, which, as it has at its disposal so many members and\nsuch resources, forms, as it were, a secret and complete government.\nOur laws do not at all admit the independent organization of such\nassociations. Recognizing the charitable and Christian end of the\nSociety of S. Vincent of Paul, the benefits which undoubtedly are to\nbe attributed to it, the excellent spirit of many of its members, it\nis impossible not to perceive the intentions of the men who have\nthe privilege and inspiration of its government; it is impossible,\nalso, not to grow uneasy at the existence of so vast and so skilful\nan organization, through which thousands of citizens can receive such\nor such an impulse, or such or such a word of command. Disinterested\nbenevolence can easily pass to such a society of propagandists; and\ncharitable societies, in order to exist and to do good, have no need\nof going beyond their own district, nor of affecting a spirit of\naffiliation and of a cemented union, which up to the present time has\nonly existed in secret revolutionary societies. Is it not to be feared\nthat they will in some sort replace the ancient Catholic associations\nof the Restoration, which were then named \"Jesuits in short-tailed\ncoats, or the Congregation\"?\n\nThere can be no doubt at all that there is no one who now enters\nthese societies solely for love of charity or to satisfy his taste\nfor religious exercises; they are so numerous, so well filled up from\nall ranks of society, that a powerful, compact interest is thereby\nestablished which offers inducements for the welfare of families and\nfor any career in life. The Society of S. Vincent of Paul, which, as\nwe have seen, initiates the children in our lyceums and colleges, has\nentered into the polytechnic school and into every branch of the civil\nadministration. It is developing in the army, in the magistracy, at the\nbar; everywhere, in fine, it manifests its secret influence, and unites\nall its members by the bonds of mutual support. To be a member of the\nSociety of S. Vincent of Paul to-day is not merely to make an act of\nreligious adhesion; it is to enter into a secret world, strongly\norganized, acting on all sides upon the opinions and the affairs of\nsociety; it is to gain active and influential protectors, and to secure\nfor one's self all the avenues leading to success in the different\nchances or walks of life. The democrats would have desired to establish\na republican unity of interests. The clerics and ultramontanes, allied\nto the legitimists, _have_ established the mutual support of the S.\nVincent of Paul Society. What an immense lever this could become in\nhostile hands to move political ideas! Yes, we must repeat, the power\nof these associations is such that men enter them for purely temporal\nmotives. They influence the determinations of families more than one\ndreams of; and it is a very strange spectacle to see a considerable\nnumber of our civil officers enrolled under their banners, whilst their\nchildren, avoiding the state institutions, receive their instruction\nfrom the Jesuits, the Carmelites, the Marists, the Dominicans.\n\nThis memoir has been composed in a spirit of pure frankness and truth.\nWe have wished to dissemble nothing. Yet if the matters treated of in\nthis memoir be serious, we know full well that they do not constitute\na fatal danger for the country. We can face them coolly. The material\nand moral power of the government of the emperor is immense. The\nmajority in France cares very little for clerical pretensions, and\nwill never bow before the theocratical doctrines of Rome nor before\nthe intrigues and lamentations of the coalesced political parties. The\ncountry has too much trust in the national interests, and too great\nfaith in the principles of modern society, not to crush, by the very\nmanifestation of its opinions, all this laborious restoration of men\nand of the theories of the past. But as these are elements of agitation\nand disorder, it is the duty of a provident government to watch\nattentively. \"Prudence begets safety.\"\n\n\n\n\nGRACE SEYMOUR'S MISSION.\n\n\n                               CONCLUDED.\n\nSeptember was painting the leaves in the wooded valleys of\nGloucestershire, and the fields were just bared of their golden crowns.\nA noble mansion, where generations of Howards had reigned, was waiting\nfor its little lord to come from beyond the seas. In old days, the\nHowards had been among the truest and bravest of the champions of\nthe old faith; even now their head branches had not thrown off their\nallegiance to the church, but the glory of the martyr had paled before\nthe renown of the statesman and the fame of the soldier, in the eyes of\nat least this offshoot of the great Catholic house. Since the reign of\nJames I., these Gloucestershire squires had been the main stay of the\nLow-Church party, and the family tradition had remained the same to the\ndays of Elizabeth Howard, little George's mother.\n\nOne bright day a rather awkward travelling-carriage drove up to the\noaken door of Howard Hall, and George Charteris, with his little\ncousin, dashed up the steps. Grace and her father followed; they were\nbut visitors, with no authority and no influence. Only one day did they\nremain there, the young lawyer escorting them back to London; the child\nwas left to the care of the elder Charteris and his family.\n\nThe young man had not let time pass without making good use of it, and\nhe had already been once refused by the beautiful girl, whose influence\nover him seemed so strange and unaccountable to himself. Her father had\nsaid he was well satisfied at his child's conduct, as she was not one\nto speak hastily and then repent her words; but George Charteris did\nnot give up all hope.\n\nGrace and Mr. Seymour lived very quietly, even poorly; the guardian\nof their little George allowed them a scanty sum out of the estate,\non his own responsibility, and on the condition that it should be\nsubject to the child's good pleasure when he should have attained his\nmajority. Mr. Seymour had serious thoughts of going abroad to study for\nthe priesthood, and Grace's peculiar religious state had suffered no\nalteration since her departure from America.\n\nAmong the new convert's self-imposed tasks of charity was a weekly\nvisit to one poor family, whose drunken son was their shame and endless\nburden. Dependent upon him for a precarious living, his old parents,\nboth crippled by an accident on a farm where years ago they had been\nemployed, lodged in a miserable den, which, through a large-heartedness\nthat is oftener seen among the poor than the rich, they had shared\nwith two sickly orphan children, the only ones left of a family of\nseven, carried off with father and mother by the small-pox. Whatever\nthe drunken man brought home was shared with these desolate little\nones; whatever was given in charity was brought to feed them and keep\nin them the little life they had ever had. Four more helpless beings\nperhaps hardly existed, and all dependent upon one whose conscience\nwas dead, and whose animal nature hideously survived the paralyzation\nof his soul's organism. Mr. Seymour and his daughter came upon them by\nthe merest chance, and ever after remained to them the firmest friends,\nthe most gentle benefactors, they had ever dared to dream of. But the\nzealous convert was anxious to do a greater good than the mere corporal\nworks of mercy implied by his visits to these forlorn creatures. In\nmoments when his demon was not on him, the unhappy son of these poor\npeople sometimes listened to Mr. Seymour's earnest appeals to his\nburied conscience. With good results for a few hours the poor family\nhad at first to be satisfied; then, as they hoped their infatuated\nson would gradually reward the efforts of his kind adviser, he would\nsuddenly grow more brutish than before, and more irreclaimable. His\ncompanions would jeer at the \"gentleman missioner,\" in those days when\ngentlemen were the worst preachers because the worst violators of\ntemperance; and the old people would sometimes tremblingly speak to\ntheir benefactor of danger and of trouble to come, if he persisted too\nopenly in his religious and moral advice.\n\nBut the zeal that burnt within Edward Seymour was no faint light to be\nextinguished by the first tainted breath of danger-fraught opposition;\nbravely he spoke and advised and remonstrated, waiting only for a few\npreliminaries to be arranged, in order to leave for a quiet scene,\nwhere in prayer and study he was to prepare himself for tasks as\ndangerous and as thankless as were his present occupations.\n\nMeanwhile, his daughter, the domestic angel of his silent, shrine-like\nhome, thought and read and pondered deeply, her love for her one\ncompanion in life bringing to her heart a longing desire to be at\nunity with him, to be a sister and a sharer in his faith, and, above\nall, a partaker in his sacrifice. For she could not bear to see him\nsuffer in earthly comforts, and not feel that she, too, bore a part\nof his burden; she longed to believe as he did, if only to suffer as\nhe did; for as long as she stood aloof from his inner life, she felt,\nafter all, but as one who should watch sympathizingly on the shore\nwhile another human being was battling with the crested, storm-tossed\nwaves beyond. Once or twice, with her father, Grace had gone to a\nquiet service in a lowly house, where a priest made a temporary chapel\nwhenever he could spend a few days in town. His coming was a joy to a\nfaithful knot of friends, and before his impromptu altar many ranks\nand stations in life were represented, from the brilliant owner of\nlordly estates to the poor Irish artisan and the old women who reigned,\nthen as now, over the London apple-stalls. Among the silent, earnest\nworshippers of this \"tabernacle in the desert\" was one whose thoughts\nhad been singularly attracted towards Grace. He saw her sit by her\nfather's side, grave and attentive, a sad, wistful look on her pale\nface, never joining in the simple devotions which evidently were so\nfamiliar to her companion, but often fixing her hopeless, passionate\ngaze upon his faith-illumined features. Sometimes Grace would suddenly\nfeel, like to the rush of a falling star through the purple sky of\nnight, a glimmering perception of at least a possibility of truth\nexisting in this persecuted religion. Perhaps the very persecution\nroused her pity and her sympathy, and held within itself a fascination\nuneasily resisted by a noble mind.\n\nHad the faith of her father been presented to her under its gorgeous\nexterior of uncurtailed ritual and acknowledged supremacy, her heart\nmight have turned away from the glittering triumph; but now, were the\nfollowers of this condemned Catholic faith not exiles and wanderers,\nthreatened with prisons and fines, hunted down by prejudice and\nmalignity, oppressed with the worst oppression--social and political\nostracism? How could her heart help going out towards them, and crying\nblindly in the darkness that it felt for them and pitied their woes and\nadmired their self-sacrifice?\n\nThe day we have alluded to was one of those on which such awakenings\nwere stirring in her soul, and the fight between the world and God was\nbeginning for the holding of this stray prize, whose purchase had been\nmade, centuries ago, upon the cross of Calvary.\n\nThe good priest, who knew of her state through his conversations with\nher father, took care to infuse a little wholesome and clearly-defined\ndoctrine into the short discourse he gave after Mass. It was not\nwithout its effect, and Grace's eager, thoughtful air did not escape\nthe notice of her silent observer, who was not long in persuading the\npastor to make him acquainted with Mr. Seymour and his daughter.\n\nHe was a young, tall, athletic man, a thorough Saxon, with blue\neyes that were truth itself, and a lion-like form that seemed\nthe very embodiment of unconquerable endurance and indomitable\nbravery. One thought instinctively, on looking at him, of the word\n\"standard-bearer,\" as if that, and that alone, were a description meet\nfor him, moral and physical in one; the only adequate word wherewith\nto blazon forth his glorious perfection of man and child combined. As\nreverent towards God, as loyal towards women, as though he were of\nthose who \"always see the Father's face,\" he was as uncompromising, as\nfrank, as firm towards the world of daily shoals in whose treacherous\nmidst he lived as if temptation were a mythic fear, and the possibility\nof sin a sealed book to his heart. The child of persecution, the royal\noffspring of danger that could not appall and repression that could not\ncrush, Edmund Oakhurst was like the mountain-bred hunter who, reared\namid the sterile crags of unscalable Alps and sea-girt coasts, leaps\nfrom rock to rock, regardless of chasm and torrent, and angry tides\nrolling over the stone where a moment ago his venturesome but ever-sure\nfoot had lightly rested. The eagles might scream round his head, the\nsea roar at his feet, the sky darken and the frail bark toss, he cared\nlittle, for a brave heart and a bold hand, with God for a guide--are\nthey not equal to resisting the world's treacherous assaults? Such is\na slight sketch of the young man who now stood before Grace, bashful\nyet bold, and looked up into her eyes with such wondering questions\nmutely brightening his own. Her father was pleased with the stranger,\nand together they soon fell into a conversation on the position of the\nfaith in America, and of the contrast between its present state and\nthat of triumphant supremacy it had enjoyed in that hemisphere when\nSpain was the queen of nations.\n\nThe young man went home with Mr. Seymour, and it was evening ere they\nparted. Grace was silently entranced. The faith that had such children\nas that, and could draw to itself such an one as her father, must it\nnot have some unsuspected vitality which could be none other than\n_truth_? Often and often their new friend came again, and each time\nhe came the young girl felt a solemn enthusiasm for all things great\nand noble distil from his every word and glance, and wrap her round\nin a bewildered dream, the voice of which seemed to sing for ever in\nher ears, \"Go and do thou likewise.\" Lights broke in upon her from\nunexpected places; books she had laid down in hopeless reverence,\ndeploring that to her their spiritual beauty was incomprehensible,\nyet sure that their beauty of language must be the veil of the hidden\nshrine, she now took up again, and, reading, began to understand. Her\nfather, whose labors among the poor Edmund Oakhurst now joined, was\ntoo silently happy to notice, save by gentle, unobtrusive aid, the\nrenovating work going on in his child's soul, and seemed to brighten\nunder this new and blessed influence. Soon his daughter spoke openly\nto him, and, not many months after the quiet meeting at the chapel,\nshe was under instruction. He delayed his already formed plans, to be\nat her side at this moment, and, together as ever, the two prayed and\nread and studied, till life seemed to Grace too full and happy for\nearth.\n\nGeorge Charteris had ceased visiting his relations much, especially\nafter having once or twice met Edmund Oakhurst. The contact with his\naccustomed circle of by no means very intellectual or very sensitive\nfriends had soon worn off the interest his better nature had once\ntaken in the thoughtful, earnest life of the convert and his daughter.\nHe, however, very good-naturedly continued to write to them, giving\naccounts of little George's health and general goings-on.\n\nOne night Edward Seymour and his young friend sat alone by the dying\nfire, while the cold drizzle without veiled the window, and the\ndamp seemed to soak in through every chink and cranny in the poorly\nfurnished room. Both men wore their great-coats, but they hardly seemed\nto notice the cold.\n\n\"It is nearly eighteen months now since we came,\" said Mr. Seymour,\n\"and I am not off to France yet. However, in less than a month that\nlast step will be taken, and I shall be at peace.\"\n\n\"And the favor I have asked you will be mine--so you assure me,\"\nhesitatingly answered Oakhurst.\n\n\"I only bid you try yourself, and see if I am not right,\" said his\nfriend. \"Nothing would make me happier; and as to her, I have already\ntold you that she believes it was through your influence that God made\nthe truth plain to her.\"\n\n\"But if she should think that I take her at a disadvantage; or if she\nshould marry me because, being unprotected, she would be grateful for\na home--or rather, a husband, for the _home_ is hers--or, worse than\nall, suppose she thought I was so poor as to need the little she has to\ngive?\"\n\n\"My dear boy, these are groundless fears. She thinks of nothing but of\nGod and of his leadings in these matters; she never _has_ looked at\nthings from her childhood up with the world's eyes, and I think the\nmere idea of the possibility of a man's marrying for money would be to\nher absolutely monstrous and ridiculous. Remember how quiet and lonely\nher life at home always was, and say if she _could_ be so worldly-wise?\"\n\n\"It is true. After all, I wrong her; it is unworthy of me to dream of\nsuch things; only I feel so utterly beneath her in mind and soul, so\nsimple in the deep things she hides in her heart, so unlearned in the\nmarvellous paths through which she has been led.\"\n\n\"My son,\" said Seymour gravely, \"do not wrong yourself. I never dreamed\nthat I was worthy of her mother, but I knew that, all unworthy as I\nwas, God had chosen me for her guardian; so it is now with you, for\nshe is her mother over again. But whenever was a treasure given to the\nworthy only? Think you Mary was worthy of being the mother of Jesus, or\nJoseph of being the spouse of Mary? Are any of us worthy of being sons\nof God and heirs of heaven? Above all, am I worthy to be a priest of\nthe Most High? But the question lies not there; it lies in God's will,\nGod's decrees, God's call to us, his children. Is the slave worthy to\nbear the priceless crown, whose gems flash in his dark hands, in some\neastern procession? But the king has deputed him to bear it, and his\nobedience stands for worthiness.\"\n\n\"Mr. Seymour,\" said the young man earnestly, \"you are right, and, if\nit be my blessed lot to be your child's guardian, God will give me\ngrace to find favor in her sight first, and never betray her trust in\nme for ever after. I will ask her.\"\n\nHe did ask her a few days later, in simple, manly phrase, and she\nanswered him in silence. Her heart was too full for speech, and he\nloved her too well to dispute her first, though unspoken, behest. But\nafter a few moments, she knelt down, and hand-in-hand they prayed,\nwithout telling each other why and for what, and yet each seemed to\nknow.\n\nIn the evening of the same day Mr. Seymour and his friend were to go\nto the cottage of a poor family, where sometimes a little, informal\nmeeting used to take place--a forerunner of the crowded temperance\ngatherings our more fortunate age can boast.\n\nOnce more the father and daughter stood close together, waiting for\nEdmund Oakhurst. The pale moon looked in at the narrow casement, the\nstreet was slippery with recent rain, and the wind was damp and cold.\nWithin burned one low candle on the table before the fireplace, where\nthe coals were blackening into ashes, and every now and then throwing\nout a tongue of dim, red flame, only to make the black emptiness more\nnoticeable.\n\n\"I will have the fire all right when you come back, darling,\" said\nGrace, \"and some hot wine and water ready for you. Mind you keep that\ncloak well about you. O my love! I cannot bear to think we have so few\ndays before us still!\"\n\n\"Almost a few weeks, Grace,\" said her father cheerfully.\n\n\"It seems to me as if they were days,\" reiterated the girl; \"but I\nknow it is right. My mother would say so, if she could speak to us from\nher home in the spirit-land. Kiss me, my father, my own!\"\n\nThere was almost a despairing wail under that quick exclamation.\nSeymour felt strangely moved, but, unwilling to weaken his child's\nfortitude, he kissed her and soothed her in the most cheerful way he\ncould, yet tenderly keeping her hands clasped in his. Edmund Oakhurst\nwas not long, and the two men were soon ready to start. Grace took the\ncandle, and led the way down the dark stairs. She motioned her lover to\ngo out first, and then, detaining her father, said in a voice broken by\nuncontrollable emotion:\n\n\"My own precious father, bless me before you go.\"\n\nHe caught her in his arms, and laid one hand on her head, murmuring,\n\"God bless you for ever, my child, as your father does now. Don't give\nway, my love, my little treasure, and think of me while I am gone. We\nwill have a nice evening together when we come home, my pet.\" And he\ngave her a fervent, solemn kiss, and pressed her hands to his heart.\n\nIn silence she let him go, but a passionate prayer burst from her lips\nas soon as he had crossed the threshold. She shaded the flickering\nlight with one hand, while she stepped forth and strained her eyes\nafter him as far as sight could follow. When he disappeared behind\na corner, a sob broke from her, and she turned wearily to go up the\nstairs. A cloud scudded across the face of the moon, and the shrill\nlaugh of a woman sounded clear and cutting down the street. Grace\nwent back to the little room, where the fire was sullenly going to\nsleep, waking up now and then in a fretful, spectre-like glare and\na weird rustle, then leaving utter darkness behind once more. The\ngirl shuddered; she knew not what ailed her. Thoughts came in upon\nher, maddening her, and she paced up and down the small enclosure\nwith rapid, unsteady steps. She had never felt like this before;\nwhen her mother lay dying, she had stepped lightly and softly, her\nmind clear, her loving heart calm, though crushed. What meant this\nfever, this horror of something vague, this dread that made her heart\nbeat as the wind creaked the wooden stairs and shook the ill-fitting\ncasement? A crucifix hung on the wall, a Bible lay on the table; to\nboth she looked for comfort and peace, but the one seemed alive with\nruddy blood-stains, and the other opened at these words: \"I said, In\nthe midst of my days I shall go to the gates of hell; I sought for\nthe residue of my years.... I hoped till morning; as a lion so hath\nhe broken all my bones: from morning even to night thou wilt make an\nend of me.\"[275] Grace closed the book with pale cheeks and scared\nexpression, and flung herself on her knees before the burnt-out fire.\nShe sank to the ground, and a kind of mist seemed to dull her senses;\nyet it was not sleep. A child awoke in the room overhead, and began its\nwailing, peevish cry; otherwise the stillness was intense. The moon\nclimbed the sky so that its light went beyond the range of the low\nwindow; the radiance came, however, wan and misty, up from the street.\nThe clock in the passage ticked, and Grace found herself unconsciously\ncounting its pulses; and when she tried to break off, a spell seemed\nupon her that compelled her to count on. Again she paced the room,\nand then, as if impatient of this unaccountable restlessness, she\nbegan to make things ready for her father's return. This occupied her\nsome time, and she lingered over the homely task as if in it lay a\ntalisman to shield her against this nameless fear, this importunate,\nimpalpable horror, that seemed to her almost a _presence_. She said\naloud, to cheat her own belief, \"I must be ill; this is fever;\" but her\nmind was pitilessly alive, and refused this interpretation. She sat\ndown to read; philosophy would surely drive away the unholy phantom.\nBut the pages grew dim before her eyes, and, though unclosed, those\neyes saw nothing of what was before them. Twenty times she rose up\nto look at the passage clock; the time lagged, she thought, as if it\ndreaded to become the present. The fire burnt brightly again, and hot\nwine and water were ready on the table. A few flowers that stood in a\ncommon cup on the mantel-piece she took down and laid gracefully in a\nshallow saucer, placing it on the table, in green and scarlet contrast\nwith the white, transparent flagon, and the quaint old silver ewer.\nThen she thought, as if forcing her mind to leave her unnamed dread\nbehind, of the many vicissitudes this piece of Howard plate had seen;\nof the drinking bouts of old at which it had figured in the days of the\nreckless cavaliers; of the medi\u00e6val honors it might have won at jousts\nand tournaments; for its date was carved on a small shield up-born by a\ngriffin and a monk, and went far back into the XVth century. But this\nspeculation was disturbed by sounds of horrid revel in the street, and\nGrace shiveringly met the old horror face to face again. Something\nhalf human seemed to brood over the place; the room seemed tenanted,\nand, though brave, the girl was thoroughly unnerved. She opened the\ndoor, the clock ticked, and she saw it was growing late. From the\nimpatience of two hours ago she rushed back into a shrinking dread\nof the lateness of the time, now it had come. Her father was still\naway--why? Had he not looked forward to a quiet evening after his work\nof charity was done, and would he not have hurried home, that she might\nnot have to wait long after the usual hour? The shadowy terror that\nall the time had obstinately kept _his_ form as a sort of centre round\nwhich it could turn and play in fantastic dreams and ever-changing\npictures, crept nearer to her heart now, and strangled it with a more\ncertain fear, a more defined vision. Then a cold wind seemed to blow\nall round her, and she looked up. It was only the open door into the\npassage that was swinging on its grating hinges, and letting in a rush\nof air from the outside. Yes; but whence was the cold air that wrung\nthe frail door? Was not that a sound on the stairs? Her first impulse\nwas to rush out, and meet her father; her second, a scarcely shaped\nwish to prolong the yet doubtful present. Irresolutely she stood and\nlistened; there were voices on the stairs--whispers.\n\nThen a slow tread came lingeringly up, and through the half-open door\nshe saw Edmund Oakhurst. She knew it all now. Had he rushed up with\nmaddening speed, as if human feet were not swift enough for his errand,\nshe might have hoped. As it was, she saw it all; and when he spoke, she\nonly answered: \"Yes.\"\n\nHe stood silent then, and, taking her hand, waited for her to ask him\nwhere she must follow him. She passed her other hand over her forehead,\nand then pointed to the table, with a sort of pathetic smile that wrung\nher lover's heart.\n\n\"He was to have had a nice evening, he said,\" she murmured in a dreary\ntone. Oakhurst hardly knew whether or no to answer.\n\n\"Come, show me,\" she said again, taking her shawl, and wrapping it\nround her, and then, taking the crucifix from the wall, she kissed it\nand passed it to Edmund.\n\n\"My only father now,\" she whispered to herself. They went down the\nold stairs in silence, the frightened landlady standing at the door,\ntrembling like an aspen-leaf.\n\n\"Tell me,\" said Grace when they were in the street, \"how was it? Did he\nfall?\"\n\n\"Yes, he fell,\" answered he, hesitating; she saw it.\n\n\"You can tell me all,\" she said dreamily; \"he was getting\nshort-sighted; from study, you know. Did he stumble? Or was it\nsomething struck him?\"\n\n\"Yes, he was coming out of the house--standing near the door--it did\nnot hurt him much, and he was insensible.\"\n\n\"And was it all over at once?\"\n\n\"Before we could get him to the hospital.\"\n\n\"Was there a doctor?\"\n\n\"One came, and accompanied him to the hospital. But he said nothing\ncould be done.\"\n\n\"Did he speak?\"\n\n\"Not once; but he opened his eyes and looked around, as if seeking\nsomething. I said 'Grace,' and then a light came to his eyes, but\notherwise there was no recognition. I hardly think he knew me.\"\n\n\"I had his blessing before he left me, thank God!\"\n\nSilence fell upon them, and Grace sobbed softly now and then. She\nthought of the grave under the elms, and of the meeting of those\ntwo--those to whom she owed her being--and then of her own lonely\nheart left behind to drag out its weary vigil. Her self-possession\nwas returning, and when she reached the hospital, it was no wailing,\nunconscious maniac whom they led to the couch of the calm sleeper, but\na grave, silent woman, wrapped in the majesty of sorrow, armed with\nthe shield of peace. She stood a few moments steadfastly by the bed,\nthen dropped on her knees, and kissed the white, still hand. A gash had\nscarred the high, broad forehead, but its horror had been obliterated\nas much as possible, and she felt no shrinking. Her long, piercing gaze\nhad made her more strangely calm; a half-smile came to her lips as\nshe thought of the shuddering girl who had stood in formless terror,\ntrembling at every shadow, a few hours since; she could hardly believe\nthat it was herself, so much had the reality of awful grief sobered in\nher the wild instincts of dimly perceived danger. The blow had come,\nand with it the grace; the balm had been poured in almost by the same\nhand that had dealt the wound, and the burden laid upon her had found\nmore than strength enough whereon to rest and weigh. Crushed she might\nbe, but had not the same silent teacher she gazed upon now been as\ncrushed as she by a widely different yet kindred loss, and had not his\nsoul risen again from under the flail with ten times more sweetness in\nits fragrance, and more strength in its tempered fibre?\n\nShe turned and whispered to Edmund. He inclined his head, and, speaking\nauthoritatively, said to the bystanders that the body must be, at\nMiss Seymour's wish, carried to her lodgings. She then left, and he\naccompanied her home, promising to return with her father's corpse.\n\nIn a short time muffled steps and hushed voices were heard, and the\nstrong man was borne again to the home he had left so cheerfully only a\nfew hours before. Edmund and Grace were alone. All night through they\nwatched, and a few candles burned round the sleeping form. Towards the\ngray of the morning, when common sounds began to be heard again, and\nthe city woke up once more to its never-intermitted round of strange,\nwicked, checkered life, the girl, rising and kissing the brow of her\ndead father, turned to Edmund with a sad look of inquiry.\n\n\"Edmund,\" she said slowly, \"you never told me what struck him.\"\n\n\"An iron bar,\" he answered, with a frightened, startled look. She gazed\nfull in his eyes.\n\n\"I do not believe,\" she said calmly, with sad reproach trembling in her\nvoice, \"that you have told me untruly, for that you could not do; but,\nthrough kindness and compassion, I _know_ that you have not told me\n_all_.\"\n\n\"What more is there to tell?\" he stammered.\n\n\"You know,\" she answered; \"for God's sake, tell me!\"\n\nHe looked at her with strange meaning. \"You do not know what you are\nasking, Grace. I had hoped, if I had had my way, to keep from you\nmuch that would cause you unnecessary sorrow; and you could have left\ntown, and even the country, so as to more completely take from you all\nassociation with this terrible grief. But you seem to pierce every\nveil, and I am not practised at concealing. But, O Grace! it will\nbreak your heart! It well-nigh breaks my own to think of it!\"\n\n\"I know there is something very dreadful in the background,\" she said;\n\"but I have prayed all night for strength to bear it, and I wish to\nknow it now. Do not hide one thing from me, as you hope for heaven,\nEdmund.\"\n\nHe paused, and then, thinking that it would be best to get the shock\nover at once, said, intently watching her the while: \"Grace, your\nfather was called of God to be a priest. But God made him a martyr\nfirst; for such a murder _is_, in truth, a martyrdom.\"\n\nShe quivered from head to foot, but, recovering herself, she said: \"I\nhad suspected something like that.\"\n\n\"How, Grace?\"\n\n\"I thought I heard some whispered words that were hushed as soon as I\nwent in to that awful place where he lay, and I had seen you flush, and\nblanch, and hesitate when I questioned you. It was God's will. Tell me\neverything. But who\"--and her voice broke here--\"who could have been so\nlost as to hate _him_?\"\n\n\"You know, when we left you,\" hurriedly began the young man, \"we went\nstraight to that meeting. Some were there who are as good as cured, and\nsome others came from curiosity, or brought by their friends. A few\nwere not sober. Your father said some prayers, as usual. Then he spoke\nto the men, as you know he can speak, very simply, very earnestly.\nThere was a disturbance at the door. While he was speaking, half a\ndozen men, furious with drink, and roaring and swearing like demons,\ntried to get in. A few opposed them, and in the struggle the rickety\ndoor came down, and the long, old-fashioned iron hinge came loose from\nthe rotten wood. One of the men took it up--it was Drake, the son of\nthose poor old cripples. Another, who was of our men inside, wrenched\nit from him, and your father came down near the door to try and quiet\nthe men. Those of the better sort grouped round him, fearing violence\nfrom the men in the front. I was close to him. I saw a man stoop, and\nthe next minute Drake passed something to a comrade of his, who stole\nbehind us, while he himself made a rush at me. I was still grappling\nwith him, when there was a cry. The men sprang apart, and I heard your\nfather say, 'O God!' just as he fell. I flung Drake to the ground with\nsuch force that he was stunned, and his head sounded dead on the stone\nfloor. The men on our side had already caught the murderer, with the\nlong iron hinge in his hand. It had struck your father on the back\nof the head, near the ear, and the scar on the forehead was made by\nfalling forward. The police did not come till it was all over, and then\nthey marched off Drake and the other man--Eldridge is his name, so I\nwas told afterwards. I heard Drake say, with a horrible oath, that it\nwas lucky for your father he had escaped so long; and the murderer\ngrinned as he heard this remark. They seemed sober enough the minute it\nwas over. Drake recovered very soon. The other men seemed stupid with\nhorror. Grace, was it not a martyrdom?\"\n\n\"Edmund,\" she answered solemnly, \"it was the noblest death he could\ndie, the only one befitting him. Die for the good of others! die for\nthe spread of holiness, for the honor of principle! die that God\nmight be better known and better served!--it was what he lived for; it\nwas what he would have chosen to die for, had he had the choice. O my\nfather! half my soul has gone with him, and my life shall be one eager\nlonging to be made worthy to follow him. Edmund, is it not grand, is it\nnot heroic? Has he not a glorious crown wherewith to meet my mother in\nheaven?\"\n\nEdmund could not help wondering at the quaint suggestions, which, to\nhis less imaginative nature, seemed even extravagant; but when was\nenthusiasm ever less than extravagant, and when was it more meet than\nin this case of a glorious, God-ordained death?\n\nAfter a pause, Grace resumed:\n\n\"If I had known this sooner, I should have gone to Drake's parents. I\nshall go now. You watch while I am away.\"\n\nAnd before Edmund could speak, she was gone.\n\nThey were sitting over the embers of a mere apology for a fire, these\ntwo forsaken cripples, with the little, starveling children cuddled\ntogether like frightened rabbits at their feet. When the door opened,\nand Grace appeared, pale and worn, they shivered, and leaned one upon\nthe other, as if they would gladly have fled from her, had they been\nable. They were dumb, and seemed to have no instinct but fear within\ntheir bosoms. The children stared with great round eyes, and crept\nfurther away. Grace went up, and knelt down before the old couple,\ntaking the woman's fingers in her own, and saying softly:\n\n\"You are not afraid of me? Did you think I was angry? I have come to\ntell you I am not, and _he_ would not be, could he speak to you. Won't\nyou say something to me?\"\n\nThe old woman said something, but her teeth chattered so it was\nunintelligible. The old man gave a feeble, idiotic laugh, and, for the\nmoment, Grace was startled. But she soon saw that horror had turned his\nbrain, and that he was now beyond the possibility of suffering. His\nwife seemed verging on the same state. Grace took out some money, and\nput it into the poor old crone's hand. \"You shall live on here, just\nas usual,\" she said. \"I will help you; never mind. Take care of your\nhusband, and remember I am not angry with you.\"\n\nThe old woman mumbled something under her breath, but appeared quite\nstupefied yet. \"God bless you!\" said Grace sadly, turning from this\nunsatisfactory couple, and going gently up to the children.\n\n\"Can you tell me where Eldridge lived?\" she said. \"And if he has a\nfamily?\"\n\nThe children, also, seemed deaf and dumb for a time; but at last the\npromise of a silver piece drew forth from the recesses of their memory\nthe address of Eldridge's wife. It was not far off. Grace left the\nhovel, and took her way down courts and by-streets till she reached\nthe house where the murderer's wife lived. Up many stairs, and through\nmany passages, inquiring her way, Grace went, and at last knocked at\nthe right door. Only a sound of sobbing was heard within. She said\nto herself, \"This is no hardened woman;\" and at once her resolve was\nformed. She gently opened the door; a woman sat by the dingy window,\nher head buried in her hands, and bent down to her knees. She rocked\nherself to and fro, and moaned at regular intervals. A child lay in a\ncradle near her, but she did not heed it. The bed stood at one end of\nthe room, tossed and untidy; the poor little utensils of the wretched\nhome were flung about in disorder, and some dark stains on the deal\ntable gave out a strong, sickening odor.\n\nGrace went up to the woman, and touched her on the shoulder. The woman\nlooked up. Her face was wild and sad, the hair strayed over the cheeks\nand forehead, matted with tears, and the expression was awful in its\nutter despair. Grace said:\n\n\"You are very unhappy; I am come to comfort you, if you will let me.\"\n\n\"Who are you?\" said the woman vacantly.\n\n\"A friend to all who are in trouble,\" answered Grace, with a sob in her\nvoice; \"and I thought, if I came to you, it might relieve you.\"\n\nThe woman seemed to try and gather her faculties together. \"I do not\nremember you. The visiting ladies is not like you.\"\n\n\"But you will let me visit you? Perhaps I can do you more good than\nthey can.\"\n\n\"No, no; you are very kind, lady, but 'tan't no use.\"\n\n\"I know what your trouble is, but there is comfort even for that\nsorrow. He may repent; have you any influence over him?\"\n\nShe shook her head. Grace pointed to the cradle.\n\n\"And has that no influence upon him? To-day, when he is sober, it may\nhave. Take the baby, and go and see him. If you do him good, it will\nmake you happier; if not, you will have done your duty.\"\n\n\"Duty!\" flashed out the miserable woman. \"What have I ever done but my\nduty, and to him as used me more as a beast than a woman?\"\n\n\"Hush! hush! God may touch him yet. Do not despair!\"\n\n\"Not despair! Lady, it's easy for you as is a lady to say sech things!\nGod be merciful to me, I'm driven mad with despair!\"\n\n\"Will you tell me what it is that troubles your poor heart?\" said\nGrace, who saw that the unhappy woman must speak out or die.\n\n\"Won't I?\" was the answer, fearfully prompt. \"I married that man three\nyears ago down in Devonshire, and I a farmer's daughter, with a home as\nnever knowed the want of anything. And he fooled me with his handsome\nface and talk of Lunnon, and his fine trade there. Trade, indeed! It\nwas the devil's trade, if any! And because I listened and liked him,\nmy father he swore he'd disown me. I ran away, and we was married at\nthe nearest church. First night, he came home drunk. He never left off\nbeing drunk, and often I thought I'd leave him; but father, he wouldn't\nhave taken me back, and I didn't want for to be called names! Here in\nLunnon we lived sometimes here, sometimes there, worse than this often,\nand he always drunk. He had heaps of money now and then. I know, lady,\nwhere it come from; but he never gave me any, and I don't know as I\ncould have touched it if he had. But for days he left me, and I had to\nbeg or starve; he would not have cared if I'd done worse. Then come\nhome drunk, and swear because there was nothing to eat. He beat me and\nkicked me, and, when he come home, wouldn't let me sleep at night.\nOther men came, too, and spoke about bad things in whispers; but I\nheard. They would drink here till they all slept heavy on the floor,\nand the brandy spilt over their clothes. Then baby was born, and I felt\nas if I could kill it first; for why bring it up to be like its father?\nThree days after it came, my husband struck me terrible, and I nearly\ndied. He gave brandy to the child, and I in a faint. Baby was like to\ndie, and I were glad of it. And so it went on--baby better, but me\nworse, and drink, drink, till he sometimes went tearing mad, swore he\nsaw devils, and called for more drink and more. A few months ago, Drake\ncame--a man my husband knew--and he and the other laughed and said\n'some one' shouldn't trouble them long. They had money, in gold, last\ntime I saw Drake. That was four days back. Then my husband, he came\nhome drunk still, and every night it was the same, till last night,\nwhen he did not come home at all, but left me not one half-penny, for\nhe had drunk the last in that brandy he spilt on the table.\"\n\nThe woman paused and shuddered.\n\n\"My God, my God!\" she moaned, \"that I should come to this, with my\nfather's home, so peaceful-like, and me not daring to go back. Well,\nthe last I heard of that man were when, at twelve o'clock last night,\na neighbor rushed in and says to me, says she, 'Mrs. Eldridge, your\nold man's been and done it!' And as I looked at her, stupid-like, she\nsays, 'He's killed that preaching gentleman as used to try and get all\nour men to leave off spirits.' And I fell back on the bed, and knowed\nnothing for hours.\"\n\nGrace had listened throughout the pitiful story with calm, patient\ninterest; she now said soothingly:\n\n\"Come, Mrs. Eldridge, it is a fearful blow, but God tempers the wind\nto the shorn lamb, does he not? Tell me, you have not tasted anything\nsince yesterday; is it not so? You must be faint, and, if we would bear\nup against sorrow, we must not lose our health. I have brought you\nmoney, but I think it is better I should send for some things for you,\nas you will hardly care to go out and be seen just now.\"\n\n\"Indeed and indeed it's true,\" sobbed the poor creature; \"but you are a\nworld too good, miss.\"\n\n\"I will read to you while you are waiting; it will soothe you,\" said\nGrace, as she went to the door, and called a girl from one of the\nmultitudinous cavities of this warren-like house. She gave her money\nand instructions, and turned back into the room. The child in the\ncradle awoke. Grace took it up. The mother shuddered, saying: \"Better\nit should die, lady, than live to be like its father.\"\n\nThe girl looked curiously down at the infant's poor, pinched face, and\nthen answered:\n\n\"Let God settle that; it is not for you or I to question his doings\ntowards children. I remember my little brother when he was like this.\"\n\n\"Ah! miss, no doubt he had a different father.\"\n\nGrace turned pale, and did not answer. The woman was silent, but seemed\nmerged in her own grief again. Then, with the child on her lap, the\nyoung girl began to read out of a Catholic Bible she had in her pocket.\nShe thought Mrs. Eldridge would never know the difference, and she\npreferred her father's gift to herself to all the Bibles she had had\nduring his pastorship. The poor woman seemed entranced. When Grace\npaused, she said:\n\n\"Them visiting ladies never does that, but they brings tracts and\ngroceries. But how peaceful-like that do sound jest like our parson's\ndaughter as used to read to mother at home.\"\n\n\"How old are you, Mrs. Eldridge?\" asked Grace.\n\n\"Going twenty-four, miss. But, ah! I was a different woman when I got\nmarried. If you had a-seen me then, lady, you would not believe it was\nme.\"\n\nAnd, in truth, the poor, wasted face looked old, and hungry, and\nthin, as if the spirit had aged so that it grew jealous of the once\ncomely mask without, and withered it remorselessly with watching, and\nweepings, and sharp care. The little messenger came back to the door,\nbearing with her creature comforts, whose taste had long been unknown\nto the drunkard's wife. Then Grace rose to leave her, saying, \"You\nshall not want, my poor friend; and whenever you wish to see your\nhusband, I will try and manage it for you. If there is any possibility\nof saving him, it shall be done. While there is life, there is hope--of\nthe soul as well as of the body. He might repent and be a help and an\nexample to you. And then, no doubt, his wicked companions tempted him\nmuch, and the sin was perhaps not all his own. So look to God, and try\nand bear up, and I will come again.\"\n\nShe left the house with a pure joy at her heart, praying to God that\nhe would keep her for ever in the path on which she had entered, and\nfeeling that, in her weak measure, she had been permitted to bring\nherself a little nearer to the ideal of her dead father's life. She had\nlaid upon his tomb a garland worthy of him, she had said words his\nspirit would have approved, and done a deed such as he himself would\nhave bidden her do.\n\nBack again to the dark, silent chamber of the dead she went, and found\nher watchful lover there; but she did not tell him that she had sought\nout the murderer's wife. That day came various torturing details, but\nshe allowed Oakhurst to spare her much of their sorrow, and throughout\nthe legal proceedings she never had to appear. The murder caused some\nstir, as the victim was an American citizen and the father of the young\nheir of the Howards. George Charteris visited his cousin, and offered\nher his services in every way, professional or friendly, that she might\nchoose. She was touched by his ready sympathy, but wisely refused his\n_professional_ assistance.\n\n\"You see, George,\" she said, \"it would seem ungenerous to have one so\nnearly related to him to plead against his murderer; besides, I would\nrather save the unhappy man from his due punishment, if it can be done.\"\n\n\"What, Cousin Grace!\" he echoed, unable to understand her.\n\n\"It seems strange to you, I know; but I have not lived with my father\nall my life without knowing well how full of Christian charity he\nalways was when any personal injury was done to him, and I am following\nhis will, no less than the Christian precepts, when I say I would spare\nhis unhappy murderer as much as lays in my power.\"\n\n\"My dear child, this is perfect quixotism. A fellow who should have\nbeen hung long ago!\"\n\n\"I know you think differently; it is natural you should. You judge\nthings by another standard, and from another point of view. Looked at\nin the light of the Gospel, things are very different, dear cousin.\nDo not let us speak about it. If it is romance to you; it is life and\ntruth to me.\"\n\n\"For George's sake! Think what it will be when he learns it by-and-by!\"\n\n\"You will not tell him now?\" she asked in sudden alarm, clasping her\nhands. \"Oh! do not, do not! My mother gave me that boy to watch over\nand guard from sin with my very life, but God has willed that his angel\nshould be alone to watch him; yet I must ask you, if you have any\ninfluence, do not breed thoughts of wicked revenge in his mind--oh! do\nnot, for, if you do, not only he will suffer, but it will fall back\nupon you all as a curse. God has made this to happen in his childhood,\nas if on purpose to hide it from him; do not, for pity's sake, run\ncounter to the evident decrees of Providence.\"\n\nReluctantly George Charteris promised his cousin he would exert his\ninfluence to keep the father's murder a secret from the child. And so\npassed the terrible weeks of waiting, Grace ministering almost daily\nhelp to the wretched murderer's wife, and Edmund seeking to soothe her\nwhom he loved so tenderly and so reverently. A priest was found to give\na quiet blessing to the unconscious form they both had loved so well,\nand then the dark earth hid the body away, and sowed one more seed for\nthe mystic coming harvest, which shall clothe the valley of judgment\nwith such marvellous blossoming beauty.\n\nWhen the final conviction of the prisoner and his sentence of capital\npunishment were made known, Grace was the first to break the news to\nthe wretched wife, and the only one to soothe these dire tidings with\nsuggestions of hope and mercy. The poor woman still refused to visit\nher husband, and it was more the shame of his crime, and the ignominy\nof his approaching death, than any spark of feeling left within her\nbosom for the man who had wooed and won her, that tortured her heart\nand bowed her head. Grace tried repeatedly to soften her, to melt the\nterrible callousness which was alive only to the earthly aspect of her\ngrief; but for many weeks she tried in vain. The wild, horror-struck\neyes of the unfortunate creature would fasten themselves upon her as\nshe spoke--burning orbs, with unspeakable defiance in them, as if, from\nthis day forth, the felon's wife felt herself to be a hunted creature,\nwith the brand of her husband's sin undeservedly scathing her future\nlife and that of her unconscious child.\n\nWhen Grace hinted of a possible pardon, the poor thing stared with a\nfrightened expression that only seemed to say: \"And I must be his slave\nagain,\" as if the thought of her own bondage were the only thing on\nearth that could move her. But at last, being appealed to in the name\nof her own self-respect, she seemed to have a dawning sense that her\npresent course was hardly the one to elevate her once again into the\nsphere of tranquil content whence her husband's degradation had, three\nshort years ago, so fatally withdrawn her. The dikes of her soul burst\nsuddenly, and the flood of sweet memories of past days, and of the\nhappy hours spent in the old farm-house, of the flood of womanliness\nand pity, of the sensibility of the mother, of the forbearance of the\nChristian, broke over her in saving waves, each teaching the same\nlesson in their infinite variety of tenderest human voices. She rose,\ntook her child in her arms, and followed her young protectress nearly\nas far as the prison. Grace would go no further, but agreed to wait\ntill the interview with the condemned man was over. The woman came\nout weeping and softened. Her husband was at least not obdurate, and\nexpressed sincere regret for what he had been led to do. He bade his\nwife implore of the unknown lady who had so generously befriended\nthem to accept the blessing he was not worthy to give, but which\nnevertheless was the last and only tribute a dying man could offer.\nGrace shuddered as this message was conveyed to her through tears and\nsobs, but her companion was too greatly busied with her own griefs to\nnotice it.\n\nOne evening, as Edmund Oakhurst sat, with his promised wife, in the\nroom the presence of the dead had hallowed to their simple, trusting\nhearts, he was astonished at her unusual agitation, and at the remark\nshe quietly made as the expression of it.\n\n\"Edmund, I am going to get a reprieve for Eldridge, and that may lead\nto a commutation of sentence. He is very penitent, I hear, and, for his\nwife's sake, I should wish it.\"\n\n\"But, Grace,\" replied her lover, with characteristic common sense, \"if\nhe is penitent and well-prepared, it would be safer even for his own\nsoul's sake that he should suffer the full penalty of the law.\"\n\n\"We are no judges of that, Edmund,\" she answered, her bright eyes\nturning, with suppressed enthusiasm, towards the open window, all\nbathed in wintry sunlight. \"God, I think, must mean otherwise for him,\nor else he would never have put this idea in my mind. I have thought\nof it ever since he lay there\" (pointing to the centre of the room,\nwhere the dear dead had rested), \"and his spirit seemed to whisper it\nconstantly to my heart, as if it were some message of God's mercy, of\nwhich he vouchsafed to make us the bearers to the rulers of earth.\"\n\n\"Grace, I thought your training would have led you a different way. I\nthought you would be the first to see God's hand in the established\nlaw. Darling, this is sentimentalism. You can forgive the wretched man,\nand pray for him, and help the forsaken ones he leaves behind, without\nhindering the law in its operations. You will have fulfilled the\nChristian duty of forgiveness, without interfering with another sphere\nof equally binding duty on the community.\"\n\n\"I think you might be right in an ordinary case, Edmund, but God seems\nto put this beyond common rules, to me.\"\n\n\"Is that not pride, Grace?\"\n\n\"I trust not,\" she replied, gently but firmly; \"it is a call, a command\nfrom God, just as my father's conversion, and my still more unexpected\none, were calls from on high--direct calls that took our hearts by\nstorm.\"\n\n\"Grace, dear, I cannot help thinking it presumptuous in you to dream of\nthese things; you make them miracles almost!\"\n\n\"Surely not, Edmund. Supposing a king were to send for his servant,\nand give him some important order to transmit, which, in the ordinary\ncourse of things, should have been conveyed through his prime minister;\ndo you think the servant would be justified in feeling proud, or the\nperson who received the order in feeling hurt, at the unusual way in\nwhich the king had been pleased to act?\"\n\n\"Grace!\" exclaimed Edmund, \"you talk just as your father used! He\nalways made me feel that he was right. I will not attempt to influence\nyou any longer; I will leave the matter in the hands of God, and pray\nthat you may be guided by him. If I were you, I would speak with a\npriest, though!\"\n\n\"I have, dearest,\" answered Grace, looking less rapt, and perhaps\nmingling with her high thoughts a little unconscious human spice of\ninnocent triumph.\n\n\"Oh!\" said her lover, and, smiling, he relapsed into silence. After\nincredible efforts and unflagging energy had been spent upon the task,\nGrace succeeded in getting her father's murderer first reprieved,\nthen re-sentenced to transportation for life. The shock of this news,\nthe utter stupor of gratitude into which he was thrown, even though\nthe name of his benefactress still remained a mystery to him, wrought\na miracle in his nature, and sobered him for life. Faith came to\nthe help of solemn thankfulness, and the husband and wife secretly\nbecame Catholics before leaving England. Grace, for some inexplicable\nreason, positively refused to see Eldridge, even at his wife's most\nearnest request. The fact was that she had once been face to face with\nhim, in days when neither dreamed of the strange relations they were\nfated to bear to each other, and she feared, in her humility, lest he\nrecognize her now. But Edmund, fully aware as he was of how matters\nstood, resolved that, without wounding his betrothed's sweet lowliness,\nhe would yet reveal to the recipients of her charity the inestimable\nsacrifice she had made of her natural feelings for the sake of the\n\"new commandment\" of love and forgiveness taught by Christ's Gospel.\nSo while the four stood in a group just before the departure of the\nconvict-ship--Grace far apart with the mother, and her back turned to\nthe convict--he slipped into the hand of the murderer a folded paper,\nsaying something under his breath of its being of some little pecuniary\nuse to them in their new home, and adding with a half-smile:\n\n\"_She_ knows nothing of it, but her name is written inside. Do not open\nit till you are on board.\"\n\nGrace, meanwhile, was comforting the mother, whose little boy was in\nher arms for the last time, as Grace had wished to have it brought up\nunder her own care.\n\n\"I have a little brother, you know,\" she said, \"and, while I cannot\nfulfil my mother's trust with regard to him, I will lavish all my care\non your child, and, please God, in a few years, when your husband earns\nhis freedom, you shall see the boy again in my country, where nothing\nbut good will ever be known of any of you.\"\n\nSo the ship sailed, and the convict's hand clasped the paper nervously.\nThe mother was holding out her arms to her little boy, who struggled\nand cried in Grace's embrace. The man, standing on the deck, touched\nhis wife's shoulder, and passed the paper to her. Had any one been\nclose enough, he might have seen the swarthy cheek pale to a sickly\nhue, then flush as suddenly again. Those on shore only saw his face\nswiftly hidden in his hands, and his whole frame rock violently.\nSimultaneously the woman dropped on the deck, and Grace thought she\nmust have fainted with the grief of leaving her child behind. Indeed,\nshe was too much occupied with the little one to notice the ship\nminutely. The poor babe wailed and then struggled by turns, and it was\nno easy work to keep it quiet till the small party could find a coach\nto take them home. Edmund took care to look unconcerned and innocent,\nand, thanks to his betrothed's sweet unsuspiciousness of disposition,\nas also to the circumstances we have mentioned, his secret was kept\nuntil a passionately grateful letter from the poor convict reached her\nin her own home across the ocean. Edmund was her husband by that time,\nand she could not find it in her heart not to forgive him!\n\nBut we are slightly anticipating.\n\nA few days after the departure of the convict-ship, George Charteris\ncalled on his cousin, to report to her about certain arrangements which\nhe had volunteered to take on his own hands. He had now completed\nthem, and had found a responsible and aged companion for Grace on her\nhomeward voyage. The old lady was going out to some relations settled\nin Virginia, and was delighted to find a young girl of refinement and\nof good family to bear her company on her somewhat tedious journey.\n\nEdmund had begged Grace Seymour to consent to be married before they\nleft England; but the girl had some unaccountable longing for her own\nland, which, though he smiled at as childish, he nevertheless was too\nchivalrous to combat. He was to follow speedily, with George Charteris\nas groomsman, and an older friend, a priest bound for some of the\nIndian missions.\n\nSo the ocean was crossed once more, and in her own home, the beautiful\nmarriage-gift she brought her husband, Grace Seymour was married. Mr.\nAshmead, whom, with characteristic courtesy, she would not exclude from\nher quiet, unattended wedding, told her solemnly, as he walked by her\nside to her mother's grave under the thick-shaded elms, that he had\nhad a secret once, which he wished to tell her now.\n\nIn grave wonderment she turned her eyes upon him. \"My child,\" he said\nsadly, but with no shame flushing his clear cheek, \"I once dreamt to\nhave you for my own, and I waited from the moment I saw you first,\nstanding here, bending down to look into the unfilled grave, till I\nsaw your mind unfolding and blossoming, as in a cloistered garden, all\nalone; but when I knew that your faith was disturbed, my heart bled for\nyou and for myself, for I saw that I had no spell wherewith to give\nyou back what you had lost. And since the day your father left us,\nthe dream faded as a thing that God had ordained not to be. So now,\nthough our faiths are widely different, and though the memory of those\ntimes is very dear to me still, I can take your hand in all a father's\nfreedom, and give you and your husband a father's blessing. Let us be\nfriends for ever, Grace, will you?\"\n\nShe had listened to him with a bright blush and attentive expression;\nshe now took his hand, and said earnestly: \"Yes, Mr. Ashmead; God bless\nyou!\"\n\nThe years sped on. Edmund Oakhurst soon owned estates that would have\nthrice bought the old homestead of his wife's early days; his fields\nwere the fullest, his experiments the most successful, his men the best\ncared for, his profits the largest, his prosperity the most steady, in\nthe whole country around. People left off calling him the \"Britisher,\"\nand spoke respectfully of him as the \"Squire\"; even his religion was\nfavorably regarded in consideration of his position and his well-known\ngenerosity. Children like himself rose up around him, and the convict's\nchild seemed only like the elder brother of the rest. Things gradually\nchanged, and Catholic schools and colleges made their appearance in\nthe land. Oakhurst thought it more prudent to send his sons and his\nso-called nephew to American centres of Catholic education, rather\nthan to the more advanced universities of France; but he reserved\nfor home-teaching the nameless refinement he wished to stamp on his\nchildren. His wife was the worthy successor of her mother, whose sweet\npresence had once been so dear to the villagers of Walcot; only _her_\nsilent influence was now directed to that end which, after death, had\nbecome that of her mother too.\n\nWhen, fifteen years later, the man who had left England a convict\nlanded in America an emigrant, he found his oldest boy studying for the\npriesthood, and fast and enthusiastically outstripping his companion\nand rival in theological learning, Oakhurst's own second son. Again\nanother change and another joy had been added to Grace's life, when her\nbrother, on attaining his majority, came over with his uncle, George\nCharteris, now a tolerably well-behaved married man, and paid her a\nlong visit within the walls of the old home, untouched and unchanged\nfrom what he recollected, save by accumulation of mosses, and a denser\ngrowth of creepers round the gables and the porch.\n\nThey have all gone to their rest now, these friends with whom we\nhave been treading the past--all, save the sons of Grace and Edmund,\nand their only daughter, who afterwards married George Howard's son\nand heir. The old name that had been alternately the watchword of\nCatholicism and Low-Churchism in Gloucestershire veered round again\nin their persons to its first allegiance, and contributed unwavering\nsteadfastness to the sum of heroic courage shown forth by that army\nwhose chiefs in England are called Newman, and Manning, and that modern\nS. Bernardine of Sienna, Frederick Faber.\n\nWalcot, too, though of Puritan breeding, knows the sound of Catholic\nbells now, and the priest's house is the unchanged old Seymour cottage,\nwhile the pastor himself is the English convict's child.\n\nEdmund Seymour's sacrifice had sown the first grain of which Grace\nOakhurst's children reaped a hundred-fold.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[275] Isaias xxxviii. 10, 13.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRINCIPLES OF REAL BEING.\n\n\nIII.\n\nINTRINSIC PRINCIPLES OF PRIMITIVE BEINGS.\n\nWe have shown in a preceding article[276] that every primitive being\nproceeds from three extrinsic principles--the _final_, the _efficient_,\nand, if we may so call it, the _eductional_ or _pro-material_\nprinciple; that is, the term out of which the being is educed, which\nterm, as we there remarked, holds the place of the material principle\nstill wanting.\n\nWe are now ready to prove that every primitive being has also _three\nintrinsic principles_, not more, and not fewer--a truth the knowledge\nof which is of the utmost importance in philosophy, as it enables the\nstudent to point out without hesitation everything that may enter into\nthe constitution of primitive beings, with the gratifying certainty\nthat, when he has once reached the said three principles, his analysis\nis perfect, and can go no further. But as our proposition is altogether\nuniversal, its demonstration will need the employment of arguments\ndrawn from the most abstract of all philosophical notions; and our\nreaders must bear with us if we fill a portion of the following pages\nwith dry, though not abstruse, reasonings. The determination of the\nfirst constituents of things needs precision, not ornament, as it\nis nothing more than the drawing of the outlines by which the whole\nbuilding of metaphysics is to be encompassed.\n\nOur first proof is based on the following consideration. Of every\nexisting being two things are cognizable: the first, _that it is_, the\nsecond, _what it is_. In other terms, all complete being is knowable\nboth as to its _existence_ and as to its nature or _essence_. But\nwhile the existence of any given being is simply _affirmed_ as a\nfact, the essence is _understood_ as an object. Now, nothing can be\nunderstood which does not present itself to the intellect under the\nform of an intelligible ratio; for to understand is to see a relation\nof things, as _intelligere_ is nothing but _inter-legere_,[277] \"to\nread between\"--a phrase which clearly implies two definite terms,\nbetween which a definite relation is apprehended. Accordingly, nothing\nis intelligible, except inasmuch as it implies two correlatives;\nand, therefore, since every essence is intelligible, every essence\nimplies two principles conspiring through mutual relativity into an\nintelligible ratio. These two principles of a primitive essence are\nthemselves intelligible only as correlated; for the constituents of\na _primitive_ essence are not other essences, as is evident; and\ntherefore cannot have a separate and independent intelligibility.\nThey are therefore absolutely simple and unanalyzable, and of such\na relative character that they cannot exist, or even be conceived,\nseparated from one another. The same is true of existence also,\nwhich has no separate intelligibility, as it is utterly simple and\nunanalyzable, and cannot be conceived or affirmed, except with\nreference to the essence to which it may belong. It follows, then, that\nevery primitive being can be resolved into three simple principles,\nof which two constitute its real essence, whilst the third--viz.,\nexistence--completes the same essence into real being. Such is our\nfirst proof.\n\nA little reflection will now suffice to determine the general nature of\nthe two essential principles just mentioned, and to obtain at the same\ntime a second proof of our proposition. Existence is the actuality of\nessence. Now, actuality can spring only from actuation; and actuation\nnecessarily implies an _act_, which actuates, and a _term_, which is\nactuated. Therefore the two constituents of any primitive essence must\nbe a real act whose intrinsic character is to actuate its term, and\na real term whose intrinsic character is to be actuated by its act;\nwhilst the actuality of the essence follows as a simple result from the\nmutual conspiration of these essential principles. Accordingly, every\nprimitive being involves in its constitution three principles--viz., an\n_act_, its _term_, and the _actuality_ of the one in the other. This\nlast is called the _complement_ of the essence.\n\nReaders accustomed to intellectual speculations will need no additional\nevidence to be satisfied of the cogency of the two preceding proofs.\nBut those who are less familiar with philosophy may yet want some\ntangible illustration of our reasonings before they fully realize the\nnature of the three principles and of their relations. We hope the\nfollowing will do. Physicists show that if a material point moves for\na time, _t_, with a uniform velocity, _v_, through a space, _s_, the\nrelation of the three quantities will be expressed by the equation--\n\n                            _s_ / _v_ = _t_\n\nIt is plain that the three quantities, _s_, _v_, _t_, are the three\nintrinsic principles of movement. In fact, the velocity, _v_, is the\n_act_, or the form, of movement; whence the epithet of _uniform_\napplied to all movement of constant velocity; the amount, _s_, of\nspace measured is the _term_ actuated by the said velocity; the time,\n_t_, is the duration of the movement, that is, its _actuality_;\nfor as movement is essentially successive, its actuality also is\nsuccessive, and constitutes a length of time. Here, then, we have most\ndistinctly the three principles of movement. Let us remark that the\nfirst member of the equation is the _ratio_ of the term to its act,\nand therefore represents the essence of movement; whilst the second\nmember exhibits the duration of its existence. The sign of equality\nbetween the two members does not mean that the essence of movement\nis the same thing as the existence of movement, but only that both\nhave the same _quantitative value_. For it should be remarked that,\nalthough a ratio is usually defined as \"the quotient of a quantity\ndivided by another of the same kind,\" nevertheless the quotient is not\nexactly the ratio, but its result or value; and is not the equivalent\nof the ratio in quality, but in quantity only. In pure mathematics,\nwhich are exclusively concerned with quantities, the distinction\nbetween the ratio and its value may not be important; but when a ratio\nis viewed in its metaphysical aspect, the distinction is of great\nconsequence. For a metaphysical ratio is not looked upon as the ratio\nof two quantities, of which the one is the measure of the other, but as\nthe ratio of two realities, of which the one actuates the other, and\nwhich, though belonging to the same kind of being, are, however, of a\nrelatively opposite character, as is evident from the very example we\nare considering. The space, _s_, and the velocity, _v_, are, in fact,\nconceived as quantities of the same kind, only because velocity is\nmathematically expressed in terms of the space measured through it in a\nunit of time; yet velocity is certainly not space, but is that by which\nmatter is compelled to move through space; so that while the extent of\nthe space measured in a unit of time corresponds to the velocity with\nwhich it is measured, velocity itself has no extension, but intensity\nonly. Hence the ratio of space to velocity, metaphysically considered,\nis a ratio of extension to intensity, or of potency to act, as we shall\npresently explain.\n\nThe third proof of our proposition is very simple. The intrinsic\nprinciples of being must correspond to its extrinsic principles, each\nto each respectively. For were any of the extrinsic principles not\nrepresented in the principiated being by something real proceeding from\nit, and corresponding to it, such an extrinsic principle evidently\nwould principiate nothing, and would be no principle at all. Now, we\nhave seen that the extrinsic principles of primitive being are three.\nIt is evident, therefore, that its intrinsic principles likewise\nmust be three. The extrinsic principles, as before stated, are God's\nvolition of bringing something into existence, the term of its\neduction, and the creative power exerted in its production. Hence it\nfollows that every thing created must contain within itself an _act_\nas the product of the Creator's action, a _term_ as an expression of\nthe term of its eduction, and an _actuality_ as the accomplishment and\nfulfilment of the volition of bringing it into existence.\n\nWe may here remark that the _act_ of the created being is produced\n_by_ God as its efficient _cause_, proceeds _from_ God's omnipotence\nas its efficient _principle_, and is produced _through_ action as the\nproximate _reason_ of its causation and principiation.\n\nThe _term_ of the created being, on the contrary, comes _out of_ mere\nnothingness, acquires its reality _through_ the mere position of an\nact, is not made, but actuated, and therefore has no efficient cause,\nbut only a formal principle, the reality of which is the sole reason\nwhy the term is called real, and the disappearance of which would\nleave nothing behind. As a spherical form, by the necessity of its\nown nature, gives existence to a geometric centre, without need of an\nefficient cause, so does the essential act to its essential term. Let\nthe spherical form be annihilated, and the centre will be gone; let\nthe essential act vanish, and the essential term will have vanished\ntogether with it.\n\nFinally, the _actuality_ of the created being proceeds from the act\nand the term as making up its formal source, or the _principium\nformale quod_; while the formal reason, or the _principium formale\nquo_, of its proceeding is the actuation of the latter by the former,\nand the completion of the former in the latter; for to actuate a term\nis to give it actuality, and to be actuated is to become actual; and\ntherefore the result of such an actuation is the actuality of the act\nin its term, and of the term in its act, or the complete actuality of\nthe created essence and of the created being.\n\nThus the whole being, by its act, its term, and its complement, points\nout adequately and with the utmost distinction the three extrinsic\nprinciples whence it proceeds.[278]\n\nThe fourth proof is as follows: Every created being possesses an\nintrinsic natural activity and an intrinsic natural passivity. It\npossesses activity; for every creature must have an intrinsic natural\naptitude to reveal, in one way or another, the perfections of its\nCreator, as such is the end of all creation; but to reveal is to\nact; and, therefore, every creature possesses its intrinsic aptitude\nand determination to act--that is, _activity_. It also possesses\npassivity; for all contingent beings are changeable, and therefore\ncapable of receiving new intrinsic determinations; and such an\nintrinsic capability is what we call _passivity_, or _potentiality_.\nThe consequence is, that every creature possesses something by\nreason of which it is active, and something on account of which it\nis passive; which amounts to saying that every creature possesses\nits intrinsic principle of activity, or, as it is styled, its _act_,\nand its intrinsic principle of passivity, or, as we call it, its\n_potency_ or its _potential term_. Hence the well-known fundamental\naxioms of metaphysics: \"Every agent acts by reason of its act,\" and\n\"Every patient suffers on account of its potency.\"[279] Now, since the\nsame being that can act can also be acted on, it is evident that that\nby reason of which it can act, and that on account of which it can\nbe acted on, are the principles of one and the same actual essence,\nand therefore conspire into one formal actuality, which completes\nthe essence into being. Accordingly, in all creatures, or primitive\ncomplete beings, we must admit _act_ and _potency_ as the constituents,\nand _actuality_ as the formal complement, of their essence.\n\nThese four proofs more than suffice to show that all primitive complete\nbeings consist of _act_, _term_, and _complement_ as their intrinsic\nprinciples. But, as I am satisfied that on the right understanding\nof such principles the soundness of all our metaphysical reasonings\nfinally depends, I think it necessary, before we proceed further,\nto make a few considerations on their exact notion, character, and\nattributions.\n\nThe _term_ of a primitive being owes its reality to its act. Before\nits first actuation, it had no being at all; it was only capable\nof acquiring it, and therefore was, according to the language of\nthe schools, a reality _in mere potency_; since everything that has\nno being, but can be actuated into being, has received the name of\n_pure potency_.[280] Now, pure potency, though it is nothing real, is\ninfinite and inexhaustible; not that nothingness can have any such\n_intrinsic_ attribute, but simply because no limit can be assigned to\nthe possible eduction of beings out of nothing through the exercise of\nGod's infinite and inexhaustible power. And it must be added that such\na potency is thus infinite not only with regard to the substances that\ncan be created out of nothing, but also with regard to the accidents\nwhich can be produced in those substances, and with regard to the modes\nresulting from the reception of such accidents. This being admitted, it\nis evident that, when the term of a created being acquires its first\nreality, a pure potency is actuated by an act; but is not actuated to\nthe full amount of its actuality, which is infinite and inexhaustible.\nIndeed, no act gives to its potency the plenitude of all being; but\nevery act gives that being only which corresponds to its own specific\nnature. And therefore the term of a primitive being, though actuated in\nits first actuation as much as is needed to make it the real term of\na determinate essence, remains always capable of further and further\nactuation; in other words, such a term is still, and always will be,\nentirely _potential_ in regard to all other acts compatible with the\nnature of the first by which it is actuated.\n\nHence we come to the conclusion that every created being, for the very\nreason of its having been educed out of nothing, retains potency,\nas the stamp of its origin, in its essential constitution. _All\ncreatures_, then, _are essentially potential_, and therefore imperfect;\nas potency means perfectibility. _God alone is free from potency_, as\nhe is the only being that did not come out of nothing.\n\nA second conclusion is that the essential term of a created being\nmay be considered under two aspects--viz., as to the _reality_ it\nborrows from its act, and as to the _potentiality_ it inherits from\nits previous nothingness. Hence such a term must be called a _real\npotency_; the word _real_ expressing the fact of its actuation, and\nthe word _potency_ expressing its ulterior actuability. Reality and\npotentiality constitute _passivity_.\n\nIt is not unusual to confound substance with the term actuated by a\nsubstantial act. Of course, the term cannot be thus actuated without\nthe substance becoming actual; but, though this is true as a matter\nof fact, it does not follow that substance can be confounded with its\nintrinsic term. Sphericity actuates a centre; and yet the centre thus\nactuated is not a sphere, but only the intrinsic term of sphericity. In\nlike manner the act actuates its potency; but this potency is not the\nsubstance itself; it is only one of its constituents.\n\nThe potential term, such as it is found in material substance, is\ncalled _the matter_. Hence all that plays the part of potency in\nany being whatever is called its _material_ constituent, although\nsuch a being may not contain matter properly so called. Thus we say,\nfor instance, that the genus is the _material_ part of an essential\ndefinition, because the genus is potential respecting some specific\ndifference, by which it may be further determined. In such cases the\nword _material_ stands for \"that which receives any determination,\"\nwhether it receives it in fact or in thought only. In English, the\nwords _material_ and _immaterial_ are sometimes used in the sense of\nimportant and unimportant. This meaning may be perfectly justifiable,\nbut is not adopted in philosophy.\n\nWith regard to the _act_ by which the essential term of a being is\nfirst actuated, it is necessary fully to realize the fact that this\nact is neither God's creative power nor God's creative action, but\nsomething quite different. It is true that all actions are measured or\nvalued by their effects, that is, by the acts in which they end; thus\nwe measure the amount of motive action by the quantity of movement[281]\nproduced. Nevertheless, it is quite evident that the production of a\nthing, and the thing produced, cannot be confounded with one another.\nAnd, since action is nothing but the production of an act, the action\nand the act produced cannot be confounded with one another, even though\nthey are represented by one and the same word. Thus the action of a\npainter is not the painting (substantive), although such an action is\nalso called \"painting\" (participle). Again, the momentum of a falling\ndrop of rain is not the action of the earth, although it is directly\nfrom it. And in the same manner the act produced by the Creator is not\nhis creative action, though it is directly from it. Still less can we\nconfound the act produced with the power by which it is produced; for\nthough every effect is virtually contained in its efficient power,\nwe know that it is not contained formally; otherwise the painting\nshould pre-exist within the painter, and the momentum of the falling\ndrop within the earth. As, then, the momentum of the falling drop has\nno formal existence in the earth, but only in the drop itself while\nit is falling, so also the act which proceeds from God has no formal\nexistence in God, but only in the term actuated. To say that a created\nact is God's creative action or creative power, is no less a blunder\nthan to say that a circle described on a blackboard is the power or the\naction of describing it.\n\nThe act which actuates its essential term, in the case of material\nsubstance, is called _the form_. Hence all that plays the part of an\nact in any being whatever is called its _formal_ constituent. Thus we\nsay that the specific difference is the _formal_ part of the essential\ndefinition, because the difference is conceived as actuating the genus\ninto species. In such cases the word _formal_ stands for \"that which\ngives any determination,\" whether it gives it in fact or in thought\nonly.\n\nFinally, the _actuality_ of the created being corresponds, as we\nhave already explained in the preceding article, to the finality\nof creation, inasmuch as it perfects the essence into being. This\nactuality has received different names, according to the different\nlight in which it can be viewed and the different connotations of which\nit affords the ground. It is called the _complement_ of the essence,\nits _formal existence_, its _formal unity_, its _individuality_. It\nis called \"complement\" of the essence, inasmuch as it satisfies all\nits requirements, and completes it into actual being; its \"formal\nexistence,\" inasmuch as it is the formal result of active and passive\nactuation; its \"formal unity,\" inasmuch as it arises from two\nprinciples conspiring into unity of essence, and therefore of existence\nalso; its \"individuality,\" inasmuch as it is the unity of a _concrete_\nbeing; for individuality is nothing but \"that on account of which a\nthing is formally _one_ in its concrete being.\"\n\nSome philosophers of the Scotistic school hold that \"individuality\"\nand \"formal unity\" are different things. They say that formal unity\nis not individual, but universal; because it does not include in its\nconception the individuative notes. They accordingly teach that the\nuniversal is to be found to exist _formally_ in the individual; whence\nthey have been surnamed _Formalists_, or _Ultra-realists_.[282] But\nit is not true that the formal unity does not include in itself the\nindividuative notes. In fact, all existing essence contains in its own\nprinciples the adequate reason of its individuation, and therefore it\ncannot, by the real conspiration of its principles, be formally _one_\nwithout being _individual_ also. Accordingly, formal unity, though\nuniversal in our conception, is individual in the thing itself.\n\nIt is evident that the actuality resulting from the act _giving_,\nand the term _receiving_, existence, exhibits itself as existence\n_given_ and _received_--that is, as _complete_ real existence. On\nthe other hand, all real result has a real opposition to the formal\nprinciples of its resultation; for all that really proceeds has a real\nrelative opposition to that from which it proceeds. A real relative\nopposition is therefore to be admitted between the real essence and\nits formal existence; and consequently essence and existence must be\nconsidered as really distinct. Not that the essence of a real being\ndoes not imply its existence; but because in the essential act and the\nessential term existence is contained only radically or virtually, not\nformally, in the same manner as the conclusion is virtually contained\nin the premises from which it follows, or as equality is contained\nin the quantities from whose adequation it results. Hence, as in the\nlogical order the formal conclusion is distinct from the premises in\nwhich it is virtually implied, so also in the real order is the formal\nexistence of any being to be distinguished from the real principles\nof the essence in which it is virtually implied. As, however, the\nact and the term, notwithstanding their real relative opposition and\ndistinction, identify themselves really, though inadequately, with the\n_essence_ of the actual being, so also the actuality of the being,\nthough having a real relative opposition to the act and the term from\nwhich it results, identifies itself really, yet inadequately, with the\ncomplete _being_ of which it is the actuality.[283] Whence we conclude\nthat every primitive being, though strictly one in its physical entity,\nconsists of three metaphysical constituents _really_ distinct from one\nanother on account of their real relative opposition.\n\nWe must here notice that the last of these three\nconstituents--actuality--is scarcely ever mentioned by the scholastic\nphilosophers. They, in fact, consider all natural beings as constituted\nof _act_ and _potency_ only. It may have appeared to them that by\nsimply stating the fact of the concurrence of act and potency into\none actual essence, the fact of the unity and actuality of that\nessence would be sufficiently pointed out. They may have had another\nreason also for omitting the mention of our third principle; for in\nspeculative questions it is the essence of things, and not their\nexistence, that comes under consideration; and essence, as such,\ninvolves two principles only--viz., the _act_ and the _term_, as we\nhave stated above. It is obvious, then, that in their analysis of\nthe \"quiddity\" of beings, they had no need of mentioning our third\nprinciple. A third reason may have been that the act and the potency,\nor the form and the matter, in the opinion of those philosophers,\nwere two things separable, as the Aristotelic theory of substantial\ngenerations implied; whereas the actuality of the being was not\nconsidered as a third thing separable from either the form or the\nmatter, and therefore was not thought worthy of a separate mention.\n\nBut, the reality of this third principle being universally admitted,\nthere can be no doubt about the convenience, and even the necessity,\nof giving it a distinct and prominent place in the constitution of any\ncomplete being. This has been already shown in the preceding pages;\nbut, for the benefit of those who have never paid special attention to\nthe subject, we will give a summary of the principal reasons why in\nmetaphysical treatises the actuality of being should be methodically\ngranted as distinct a place among the intrinsic principles of things as\nis allotted to the essential act and its term.\n\nFirst, then, all being that has existence in nature is something\ncomplete, not only _materially_--that is, by having its term--but also\n_formally_, by having its own complete constitution or actuality.\nThe difference between material and formal completion will be easily\nunderstood by an example. The sculptor carves the marble and makes a\nstatue. The marble is the _material_ term, and the figure resulting\nin the marble is the _formal_ term, of his work. Hence the work of\ncarving is _materially_ complete in the marble and _formally_ complete\nin the figure,[284] which is the actuality of the statue as such.\nAnd it is evident that, in speaking of a statue, such a figure is as\nworth mentioning as the marble and the carving. And therefore, as in\nthe analysis of being we give a prominent place to the term which\ncompletes the act, we should do the same with regard to the actuality,\nwhich completes the essence. A writer in the _Dublin Review_, who\nhas cleverly treated this subject, makes the following remark: \"The\nconstituents _actus_ and _terminus_, or _forma_ and _materia_, are\nrecognized in the schools. The third constituent is not expressly\nmentioned there. But you hear of _essentia_ and _esse_; and _esse_ is\nthe _complementum_. I have a fancy that the much-canvassed distinction\nbetween the \u1f10\u03bd\u03ad\u03c1\u03b3\u03b5\u03b9\u03b1 and the \u1f10\u03bd\u03c4\u03b5\u03bb\u03ad\u03c7\u03b5\u03b9\u03b1 of Aristotle is really this,\nthat \u1f10\u03bd\u03ad\u03c1\u03b3\u03b5\u03b9\u03b1 is the _actus_, and \u1f10\u03bd\u03c4\u03b5\u03bb\u03ad\u03c7\u03b5\u03b9\u03b1 the _complementum_.\"[285]\nThis remark is very judicious; for it is as certain that the complete\nbeing consists of essence and existence as it is certain that the\nessence consists of act and term; and, moreover, there is no less a\ndistinction between the essence and its existence than between the act\nand its term. Hence the same reasons that led metaphysicians to give\na conspicuous place to the act and its term in the analysis of the\nessence, show that a similar place should also be given to essence and\nits actuality in the analysis of the being.\n\nIn the second place, the formal complement of being is the only ground\non which many different and opposite things can be predicated of one\nand the same being; as, for instance, activity and passivity, action\nand passion, to be, to be one, to be good, etc. It is, therefore,\nimportant not to leave in the shade that principle, without which no\nunity of being can be conceived.\n\nThirdly, an explicit knowledge and mention of such a complement is\nindispensable, in a great number of cases, when we have to explain how\naccidental modes _not received_ in a substance can _intrinsically_\nbelong to that substance--a thing which will never be radically\nexplained without an explicit reference to the formal complement of the\nbeing in which those modes are to be found.\n\nFourthly, in the intellectual as well as in the sensitive nature the\nappetitive faculty cannot be accounted for, nor distinguished from the\ncognoscitive, unless we have recourse to this same formal complement,\nwhich constitutes the _affectibility_ of the same natures--a truth\nwhich we must here simply state, as its demonstration belongs to\nspecial metaphysics.\n\nFifthly, it is unwise to expose the reader to the danger of confounding\nthings having a metaphysical opposition to one another; for instance,\nthe uniting with the union accomplished, the constituting with the\ncomplete constitution, the actuation with the actuality. But if the\nactuality is kept out of view when we give the principles of beings,\nsuch confusion will be almost unavoidable. I believe that it is owing\nto the omission of this third principle that even great philosophers\nhave not unfrequently mistaken attitudes for acts, and actualities for\nforms.\n\nSixthly, after we have analyzed a primitive complete being, and\nfound it to consist of three intrinsic principles, it is nothing\nbut reasonable to keep them all equally in sight, and to make them\nall serve in their turn for the simplification of metaphysical\ninvestigations; especially as the distinct recollection of the act, of\nits term, and of the actuality of both will also draw the student's\nattention to the corresponding extrinsic principles--viz., to the\ncreative power from which that act proceeds, to the nothingness out\nof which that term was educed, and to the last end for which that\nactuality obtained a place in the real order of things.\n\nLastly, by the consideration that these _three_ intrinsic and\nrelatively opposite principles constitute _one_ primitive complete\nbeing, it becomes possible to account philosophically for the known\nfact that every creature bears in itself, _in vestigio_ at least, as\nS. Thomas puts it, a more or less imperfect image of God's unity and\ntrinity--a topic on which much might be said, were this the place for\ndiscussing the analogy between beings of different orders.\n\n_A few corollaries._ From the resolution of complete beings into\ntheir intrinsic principles, and from the different character of these\nprinciples and of their principiation, a number of useful corollaries\ncan be drawn, among which the following deserve a special attention:\n\n1. It is a great mistake, and one which leads straight to pantheism,\nto assert, as Gioberti did, that creatures are not _beings_, but only\n_existences_. For if creatures have their own actual essence, they\nare not _mere_ existences, but complete beings; and, if they have\nno essence, they cannot exist; as all existence is the actuality of\nsome essence. Hence to assert that creatures are not beings, but only\nexistences, amounts to saying that creatures have no essence, and that\ntheir existence is the existence of nothing--that is, _non-existence_.\nMoreover, mere existence is a simple actuality, and does not exhibit\nan intelligible ratio; hence, if creatures were mere existences, they\nwould be intrinsically unintelligible, not only to us, as Gioberti\npretends, but to God himself, who certainly does not understand what is\nintrinsically unintelligible. There is no need of insisting on such an\nunavoidable conclusion.\n\nThat the same assertion leads straight to pantheism is likewise\nevident. In fact, the absurdity of admitting existences which would be\nexistences of nothing could not be escaped but by trying to pin them\non the substance of God himself, and by saying, with the pantheist,\nthat all such existences are nothing but divers actualities, or\nattitudes, or forms assumed by the divine substance. Thus, to escape\none absurdity, we would fall into another.\n\n2. Inasmuch as the actuality of a given essence makes a given thing\nformally complete, one, and perfect according to its entitative degree,\nit is to such an actuality that everything owes that it is formally\ngood, and that it answers to the finality of its creation. Such a\ngoodness implies two things: the first, that every creature is good in\nits _absolute_ being, for it is in such a being that God's design is\nfulfilled of communicating his goodness outside of himself; the other,\nthat every creature is good in its _relative_ being also--that is, in\nits intrinsic aptitude and determination to manifest God's perfections\nin a manner and degree proportionate to the kind and degree of its\nentity. Accordingly, every created being is good not only as it is\na _thing_, but also as it is _a principle of action_. In the first\ncapacity it fulfils the immediate end of its creation, and in the\nsecond it fulfils by its action the ultimate end for the sake of which\nit has been made to exist.\n\n3. Hence we further infer, that the essence of every created being is\nits _nature_ also. For _nature is a principle of motion_, according to\nAristotle, whether motion is taken as the action proceeding from that\nnature itself, or as the reception of an action proceeding from an\nextrinsic agent. Now, we have seen that all creatures are manifestative\nof God's perfections, and therefore that they have in themselves an act\nwhich is a principle of action; on the other hand, we have also seen\nthat every creature has its potential term, and therefore passivity,\nor receptivity of new determinations. Accordingly, every created\nbeing, by the very nature of its essential constituents, is a complete\nprinciple of motion. Essence and nature are, therefore, the same\nthing in reality, though they are distinguished from one another in\nour conception. S. Thomas considers that these three words, _nature_,\n_essence_, and _quiddity_, apply to one and the same thing viewed under\nthree distinct aspects; the word _nature_ meaning the essence of the\nthing as connoting operation, since there is no natural being without\nactive power; whereas the word _quiddity_ means the same essence viewed\nas an object of definition; and the word _essence_ is used to express\nthe fact that in it and through it a thing has its own being.[286]\nWhence it follows that a complete being is no sooner endowed with\nexistence than with activity, and is no sooner a being than an\nindividual nature. And therefore a complete being and a concrete nature\nare really one and the same thing. Malebranche's theory, denying that\ncreatures have any true causality, is therefore utterly untenable, as\nit cannot be reconciled with the first principles of metaphysics.\n\n4. The entity of the active power contained in the nature of any\nbeing cannot be anything else than its essential act; that is, the\nvery act produced by God in its creation. In fact, we have just\nseen that in all creatures the essence and the nature are the same\nreality, and that the constituents of the nature are nothing but the\nconstituents of the essence. Accordingly, the nature of every creature\nconsists of an essential act and an essential term; the one being its\nprinciple of activity, as the other is its principle of passivity.\n\"The form,\" says S. Thomas, \"is that by which the agent acts,\" and\n\"By what a thing is, by that it acts,\" and \"The principle of being is\nthe principle of acting,\" and \"Every agent acts inasmuch as it is in\nact.\" These axioms are accepted by all real philosophers. Hence the\nactive principle of any complete being, and its essential act, are the\nsame thing in reality, though they are distinguished from one another\nin our conception, in the same manner as are nature and essence; for\nthe _essential act_ connotes the intrinsic term of the essence, to\nwhich the act is essentially terminated, whilst the _active principle_\nconnotes any extrinsic term to which the action proceeding from the\nsame act is, or can be, accidentally terminated. This is what S. Thomas\nmeans when he says that \"a natural form is a principle of operation,\nnot inasmuch as it is the permanent form of the thing to which it gives\nexistence, but inasmuch as it has a leaning towards an effect.\"[287]\nSuch a _leaning_ (_inclinatio_) should be taken to mean a natural\n_ordination_ or _determination_ to act.\n\nPhilosophers agitate the question, whether created substances act by\nthemselves immediately, or by the aid of accidents. The Scotistic\nschool holds the first opinion, whilst the Thomistic supports the\nsecond. For reasons which it would take too long to develop in this\nplace, we are inclined to believe that natural accidents are not\nactive, and that their bearing on the action of substance is not of an\nefficient, but of a formal, character; by which we mean that accidents\nhave no play in the production of effects, except inasmuch as their\npresence or absence entails a different formal determination of the\nconditions in which the agent is to exert its power. It is true,\nindeed, that created substances never act independently of accidental\nconditions; but it is true, at the same time, that they always act\nby themselves without the aid of accidents, inasmuch as the active\npower they exert is so exclusively owned by them that it cannot even\npartially reside in any of their accidents.\n\nAs the active principle is really nothing else than the act by which\nthe agent is, so also the passive principle is really nothing else\nthan the essential term by which that act is completed. Here again\nthe same reality presents itself under two distinct aspects; for the\nphrase _essential term_ connotes the essential act by which the term is\nessentially actuated, whilst the phrase _passive principle_ connotes\nany accidental act by which the same term is liable to be accidentally\nactuated.\n\n5. Since a being possessing its three intrinsic principles is so fully\nand adequately constituted as to require nothing additional to exist,\nit is obvious that such a being contains in its perfect constitution\nthe sufficient reason of its aptitude to exist _non in alio et non\nper aliud_, but _in se et per se_; that is, in itself and by itself.\nNow, to exist in itself is to be a _substance_, and to exist by\nitself is to be what philosophers call _suppositum_--_i.e._, a thing\nhaving separate subsistence; and, therefore, such a being, if simply\nleft to itself, will be both a substance and a suppositum. In fact,\nthe essential act of a created being, though always needing positive\nconservation on account of its contingency, needs no termination to, or\nsustentation from, a subject, as it already holds under itself its own\nintrinsic term, by which it is sufficiently terminated and sustained.\nAnd in the same manner, the essence of a complete being needs no union\nwith any extraneous nature to be made completely subsistent, as it\nis already sufficiently complete on account of its formal actuality\nand individuality. Thus it is manifest that _nothing positive is to\nbe added_ to a complete being in order to make it a substance and a\nsuppositum; it suffices to leave it alone without further sustentation\nand without further completion. By the first of these two negations,\nthe being will exist _non in alio_, but in itself; and by the second it\nwill subsist _non per aliud_, but by itself. Hence it is that the first\nnegation is called _the mode of substance_, and the second _the mode of\nthe suppositum_.\n\n6. To be, to be true, to be one, to be good, to be a thing or a being,\nare convertible expressions so far as their real objective meaning\nis concerned, and are distinct only on account of their different\nconnotations. A thing is called _a being_, inasmuch as it has\nexistence. It is called _true_, inasmuch as its act suits its term,\nand _vice versa_. For the objective truth of things--_i.e._, their\nmetaphysical truth--is nothing but their intelligibility; and the whole\nintelligibility of a being consists in the agreement of an essential\nact with its essential term; that is, in this: that the one adequately\nsatisfies the wants of the other, and thus constitutes with it one\nperfect intelligible ratio or essence. Hence the termination of the\nproper act to the proper term makes a thing objectively true; just as\nthe application of the proper predicate to the proper subject makes\ntrue a proposition. This objective or metaphysical truth is perfectly\nindependent of our knowledge of it; it has, however, the reason of\nits being in God's intellect, in which the archetypes of all that is\nintelligible are contained, and to which the whole ideal order is to be\ntraced as to its original source. A thing is called _one_ on account\nof the formal unity of its essence and of its existence. It is called\n_good_, objectively and metaphysically, inasmuch as it is materially\nand formally complete in the manner above described, and consequently\nperfect, so as to require no further intrinsic endowment to exist.\n\nThe objective goodness of any being arises from its truth; for it is\nthe mutual fitness of the essential act and of the essential term that\naccounts for their mutual agreement in unity of existence; whence it\nfollows that the being will naturally exist in itself, and subsist by\nitself, without any further addition, as though finding rest in its\nown reality. But, that in which anything finds rest is its own good;\nand therefore everything that exists in itself completely is good\nto itself, while its act and its term, as the intrinsic factors of\nsuch a goodness, are good also, but only of an initial and relative\ngoodness--viz., so far as the one is good to the other. Lastly, the\nword _thing_ expresses the whole being as it is in its concrete\nessence--that is, the whole reality implied in its three intrinsic\nprinciples. _Thing_ in Latin is _res_; and _res_, as well as _ratio_,\nare connected with the verb _reor_ (to judge) in the same manner as\n_pax_ (peace) and _pactio_ (compact) are connected with the verb\n_paciscor_ (to make a compact); and accordingly, as peace implies the\ncompact, of which it is the result, and by which its conditions are\nduly determined, so also _res_ implies the _ratio_, of which it is the\nconcrete result, and by which it is confined between the bounds of a\ndeterminate quiddity. Whether the English words _thing_, _thought_, and\n_to think_ bear to one another the same relation as the Latin _res_,\n_ratio_, and _reor_, we are not ready to decide.\n\n7. The verb _to be_ has not exactly the same meaning, when applied\nto a complete being, as when applied to its constituent principles.\nOf the complete being we say that _it is_ simply and completely. Of\nthe essential act we also say that _it is_, but not absolutely nor\ncompletely, because it has no existence apart from its term; existence\nbeing the result of the position of the one in the other. Of the\nessential term we should not say precisely that _it is_, but rather\nthat _it has being_. This adjective predication is here employed,\nbecause the being of the term is wholly due to its act, without which\nthe term would be nothing, as we have already shown; and therefore the\nterm _is not a being_, but only _has the being_ borrowed from its act,\njust as the geometric centre has no being but that which it receives\nfrom the circumference. Of the complement we do not say that _it is_,\nor that _it exists_, because the complement is the formal existence,\nnot of itself, but of the being of which it is the complement, and\ntherefore must be predicated of the existent being, not of itself. Thus\nwe cannot correctly say that _loquacity talks_, nor that _velocity\nruns_: and for the same reason we should not say that _existence\nexists_; for as it is _the woman_ that talks by her loquacity, and _the\nhorse_ that runs with its velocity, so it is _the complete being_ that\nexists by its own existence.\n\nNevertheless, the verb _to be_, when used in a logical sense to express\nthe existence of an agreement between a predicate and a subject, or\nany other mental relation between objects of thought, applies equally\nto all things conceived, whatever their degree of reality; because,\ninasmuch as such things are actually known, they are all equally actual\nin our intellectual faculty.\n\nAnd now, with regard to the essence itself of a complete being, the\nquestion arises whether it should be held _to be_, or to _have being_,\nin the sense of the distinction already made. S. Thomas seems to\nhold that the essence of creatures cannot be said _to be_, but only\n_to have being_; for he teaches that in creatures the essence is to\nits existence as a potency is to an act. If this doctrine were to\nbe applied to _possible_ essences only, we might admit it without\ndiscussion; but the holy doctor seems to apply it to the _actual_\nessence also; for \"_to be_,\" says he, \"is the most perfect of all\nrealities, because it performs the parts of an act with regard to them\nall; as no thing has actuality but according as it is; and therefore\n_to be_ is the actuality of all things, even of the forms themselves;\nand for this reason existence is not compared to any existing thing as\na recipient to that which is received, but rather as that which is\nreceived to its recipient. For when I mention the existence of a man,\nor of a horse, or of anything else, _existence_ stands for something\nformal and received, and not for that to which it belongs.\"[288]\n\nIt is clear, however, that the actuality of anything is not an act\nreally received in the essence of the thing as in a potency. For,\naccording to S. Thomas himself, nothing is educed from potency into\nact, except through an act which is not originated by that potency;\nand therefore _no potency contains in itself the formal reason of its\nactuation_, but all potency is actuated by an act originated by an\nextrinsic agent. Now, such is not the case with _real_ essences; for\nevery _real_ essence contains in itself all that is required to give\nrise to its actuality, as we have proved; and consequently, as soon as\nthe essential act actuates the essential term, the actuality of the\nessence springs forth by spontaneous resultation, as the consequence\nfrom the premises, with no need of an extrinsic agent producing a new\nact. Granting, then, that existence is something _formal_, as S. Thomas\ntruly says, yet it does not follow that it is _an act received_; it\nis only a _resulting actuality_. And therefore the real essence is\nnot the potency of existence, but its formal reason. Existence is the\ncomplement of real essence, and presupposes it; and consequently gives\nit nothing but the real _denomination_ of existent--and, perhaps,\nthis is all that S. Thomas intended to teach, though his words seem to\nimply a great deal more. For, on the one hand, he very often employs\nthe word _potentia_, not in the sense of passive potency, but in\nthat of virtuality; and, on the other, he frequently gives the name\nof forms to those formalities from which things receive their proper\ndenomination, and considers them as received in the things to which\nthey give such a denomination. But in such cases their reception is of\ncourse only logical, not real, and accordingly the thing denominated by\nthem is only a logical, not a real, potency, as it already possesses\nthe reality of that by which it receives its special denomination. Thus\nwe say that in man rationality is to animality as act is to potency;\nbut this is true in a logical sense only, because man's animality\nimplies in its constitution a rational soul, and therefore is already\nin possession of rationality.\n\nTo conclude: the essence of all actual beings is to be said _to be_\nor _to exist_ rather than _to have being_ or _to have existence_; and\nin the same manner the essence of a possible being is to be called a\npotency _of existing_ rather than _of receiving existence_, so far, at\nleast, as it is considered in connection with its intrinsic principles.\nThe reader, if not accustomed to metaphysical investigations, will\nthink that we, in this last question, have only amused ourselves\nwith splitting hairs; to correct such a judgment, he has only to ask\nhimself whether between _being rich_ and _holding borrowed riches_ the\ndifference be important or trivial.\n\n                            TO BE CONTINUED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[276] CATHOLIC WORLD, Feb., 1874, page 578.\n\n[277] S. Thomas says _intus-legere_, \"to read within,\" which amounts to\nthe same.\n\n[278] This third proof and the following apply to created beings\nonly; but creatures, as we hope to explain later, inasmuch as they\nare _beings_, are so many imperfect likenesses of their Creator, and\nunmistakably show that he himself is an infinite Act actuating (out\nof himself, not out of nothing) an infinite Term, and possessing an\ninfinite Actuality. And accordingly, what we have said of the intrinsic\nconstitution of a created being must be true, in an eminent manner, of\nthe Creator also.\n\n[279] _Omne agens agit in quantum est in actu; et omne patiens patitur\nin quantum est in potentia._--S. Thomas, _passim_.\n\n[280] Pure potency is _quod potest esse et non est_, according to S.\nThomas, _Opusc. De Princ. Natur\u00e6_.\n\n[281] We say _movement_, not _motion_, though we know that these two\nwords are considered as synonymous. Motion corresponds to the Latin\n_motio_, whilst movement corresponds to the Latin _motus_. _Motio_\nmeans the motive action--that is, motion properly--both as proceeding\nactively from the agent, and as passively received in the patient;\n_motus_, on the contrary, signifies the result of the _motio_ given\nand received; and this result is movement. As in philosophy we have\nto distinguish between action and its result, we must keep up a\ndistinction between the words also. Very probably movement and motion\nwould never have been accepted as synonymous, had the verb _to move_\nexclusively retained its original active signification; but, as people\nimagined that movement was a kind of action, they thought it right to\nsay not only that the horse moves the cart, but also that the cart\n_moves_, instead of saying that it is moved. Even Newton has been so\nmisled by the popular use of this verb as to write more than once\n_corpus movet_, instead of _corpus movetur_. It was but natural that\n\"movement,\" too, should be transformed into \"motion.\" Are we too late\nto restore to these two words their distinct meanings?\n\n[282] See Kleutgen, _The Old Philosophy_, diss. 2, c. 4.\n\n[283] We cannot here explain the different kinds of identity; but we\nhope we shall take up this matter in one of our future articles.\n\n[284] The same distinction may be very properly expressed by saying\nthat the carving is _materially_ terminated to the marble, and\n_formally_ to the statue.\n\n[285] _Dublin Review_, January, 1873, pp. 70, 71.\n\n[286] Nomen natur\u00e6 videtur significare essentiam rei secundum quod\nhabet ordinem vel ordinationem ad propriam operationem rei; quum nulla\nres propria destituatur operatione. Quidditatis vero nomen sumitur\nex hoc quod per definitionem significatur. Sed essentia dicitur\nsecundum quod per eam et in ea res habet esse.--S. Thomas, _De Ente et\nEssentia_, c. 1.\n\n[287] _Summa Theol._, p. 1, q. 14, a. 8.\n\n[288] _Esse_ est perfectissimum omnium; comparatur enim ad omnia ut\nactus; nihil enim habet actualitatem nisi in quantum est; unde ipsum\n_esse_ est actualitas omnium rerum, et etiam ipsarum formarum; unde\nnon comparatur ad alia sicut recipiens ad receptum, sed magis sicut\nreceptum ad recipiens. Quum enim dico _esse_ hominis, vel equi, vel\ncujuscumque alterius, ipsum _esse_ consideratur ut formale et receptum,\nnon autem ut illud cui competit esse.--_Summa Theol._, p. 1, q. 4, a. 1.\n\n\n\n\nTHE JANSENIST SCHISM IN HOLLAND.\n\nJANSENISM IN THE CHURCH OF UTRECHT.\n\n\n             FROM LES ETUDES RELIGIEUSES. BY C. VAN AKEN.\n\n                               CONCLUDED.\n\n\nII.\n\nSuch was the system of Jansenius, at least as to its main points; its\nfive famous propositions forming the most important conclusions of the\nsystem. If they are not all to be found, _in so many words_, in the\n_Augustinus_--which neither pope nor theologian has ever pretended\nthey are--they are the soul of the book, in the words of Bossuet. This\nsoul, this breath of error, is revived in Quesnel and in the false\nSynod of Pistoia. Now, are the proofs called for of its existence in\nthe pretended church of Utrecht? Then we have only to let the hierarchy\nintruded in Holland speak for itself through its letter addressed to\nScipio Ricci. So far as I know, this letter has never before been\npublished. We give it as faithfully transcribed from the original in\nthe archives at Florence:[289]\n\n  \"MONSEIGNEUR:\n\n  \"We have just read with astonishment a bull of Pope Pius VI., in\n  which the Synod of Pistoia, held by you in 1786, is condemned, and\n  your episcopal administration calumniated, upon grounds which are\n  incomprehensible. Conduct such as this in regard to a bishop and an\n  ecclesiastical assembly of the highest repute in the church, and\n  the spirit of partisanship which characterizes the bull generally,\n  have certainly not been imitated from the great Doctor of Grace,\n  S. Augustine, whom the latter seems intended to honor, since it is\n  dated on his feast.\n\n  \"Your synod, monseigneur, was for years, as the public well knew,\n  under examination by Roman censors; and it is evident that they\n  would not have occupied themselves with it for so long a time[290]\n  if, instead of laboriously seeking for pretexts to condemn it, they\n  had sought in it for that truth which is everywhere displayed in\n  it with clearness, dignity, and unction. We need not, therefore,\n  have expected a confirmation of this synod as the result of such\n  an examination. We are no longer in the days when the popes used\n  the authority of their see only for edification, and not for\n  destruction. Your synod, monseigneur, reveals nothing which is\n  unworthy of the full approbation of the head of the church, and\n  which would not have been cordially received by the popes of former\n  times. But God permits that those of later times should be swayed\n  by prejudices and by the dominating influence of a court which,\n  although foreign and even contrary to the divine institution of the\n  Holy See, pretends, nevertheless, to identify itself with the chair\n  of S. Peter, and has consequently taken upon itself to dictate the\n  bulls of the popes conformably to its own interests--interests\n  often greatly opposed to those of the church and of the Holy\n  See.[291] It finds that these human interests have not been made\n  much of by the Synod of Pistoia, which kept in view only the good\n  of souls and the disinterested exercise of the functions of the\n  pastorate. It could not, therefore, approve this synod, since its\n  decrees preach the new covenant, of which we are ministers, in the\n  spirit and not in the letter. The ancient one, in which the spirit\n  was sacrificed to the letter, and in which God was honored by the\n  lips, while the heart was far from him, is the only one in accord\n  with the political maxims and views of a court entirely devoted\n  to the _\u00e9clat_ of the pontifical throne, and to the externals of\n  religion. The fathers of the synod, most reasonably convinced\n  that the true and only object of the ministry established by\n  Jesus Christ is to give to God adorers in spirit and truth, have\n  endeavored, so far as these evil times permitted, to bring back\n  Christian worship to its primitive purity and simplicity. But this\n  could not be suffered by a court which applies itself exclusively\n  to fostering abuses in ecclesiastical discipline and in the\n  administration of the sacraments, and to all the new devotions and\n  superstitions[292] which give a false idea of Christian piety,\n  and cause the faithful to forget the true spirit of Christianity;\n  not reforming, as it ought, this Judaical worship, but making its\n  profit of it, and taking it under its protection, on all occasions.\n\n  \"In the synod you held, monseigneur, there were useful reforms\n  proposed, and even commenced. Still greater ones were desired. If\n  the wise regulations made in it were put in practice and everywhere\n  adopted, as they deserve to be; if its wishes were attended\n  to, true piety would flourish again, the church would possess\n  good ministers, their labors would produce abundant fruits, the\n  observance of the canons would restore the salutary discipline of\n  the early days, the hierarchical order would enjoy all its rights,\n  its head, the Holy See, would be listened to and respected, but\n  the Roman court would become nothing. It is this, monseigneur,\n  which excites its resentment against you and your synod. It is the\n  court alone which has produced this extraordinary bull, which is\n  an injury to the chair of S. Peter, more even than to the Synod of\n  Pistoia, and the Pope has been dishonored by causing him to adopt\n  it.\n\n  \"It was already sufficiently a scandal that Rome alone gave no sign\n  of approving this synod, while it was receiving praises everywhere\n  else; that she alone seemed to take no interest in the good\n  results of which it was susceptible, and appeared even aggrieved\n  and offended at that which gave joy to all true children of the\n  church.[293] But this was not enough for the jealous and vindictive\n  policy of the Roman court. It wished to brand, by a public and\n  solemn censure, the acts of the Synod of Pistoia; and although it\n  must have been infinitely painful to the censors to find no matter\n  for condemnation, yet, by condemning, at whatever detriment to\n  itself, that which all the world approved, it has capped the climax\n  of scandal--_scandali mensuram implevit_.\n\n  \"Injustice vainly attempts a disguise: it often betrays itself\n  by the clumsy precautions it takes to disguise itself. This,\n  monseigneur, is what we see in the bull of August 28, in which God\n  permitted that its compilers should, against all prudence, depart\n  from their ordinary method of making qualifications _in globo_,\n  so convenient, and even so necessary, where there is question of\n  condemning good books. By applying to each of the propositions\n  censured by them particular qualifications, they have thought\n  to give to their censure an appearance of greater rectitude and\n  equity, and by this very means they have rendered evident to all\n  the spirit of deception and bad faith which characterizes them.\n  In fact, monseigneur, if the use of this kind of censure be even\n  just and equitable in itself, it would be impossible to abuse it\n  more grossly than they have done in the matter of your synod.\n  Every one knows that, when propositions are bad and condemnable,\n  they are so in themselves and in the sense they express. It is,\n  then, in themselves and in reference to this sense that they\n  should be condemned.[294] This, however, is not what has been\n  done in regard to the greater number of the propositions drawn\n  from the Synod of Pistoia. They are not condemned in themselves\n  nor in their proper sense, but relatively to the imaginary sense\n  attributed to them. The truths they express are passed over, in\n  order to condemn the errors they do not express; and while it\n  would be against all evidence to attribute to them an erroneous\n  sense, to which the words are repugnant, they are nevertheless\n  condemned conditionally--that is to say, by virtue of a gratuitous\n  and often absurd supposition that this erroneous or in some\n  wise reprehensible sense may be conveyed therein. They dare not\n  condemn Jesus Christ, or, what is the same thing, the truth in its\n  own name; but they give him the name and the dress of Barabbas,\n  in order to have the right of sending him to punishment as a\n  malefactor--_Et cum iniquis reputatus est_.\n\n  \"We have just said, monseigneur, that the bull violated grossly in\n  your regard good faith and justice by this indirect and captious\n  manner in which it condemns the greater number of the propositions\n  drawn from your synod. But there are others, in the censure of\n  which the interests of the faith and of the teachings of the\n  church are equally disregarded. They do not hesitate to sacrifice\n  these to the pernicious opinions of obnoxious theological schools,\n  the defence of which is taken up against your decrees, under\n  the pretext that the Holy See tolerates them under the name of\n  Molinism--a _Pelagian doctrine_[295] rejected by all tradition.\n  Thus error, or rather a number of most dangerous errors, is put\n  on a level with truth; and the hand of Pius VI. is made use of to\n  replace beside the ark that idol of Dagon so often overturned to\n  its base by the censures of the church and the writings of her\n  doctors. What idea have they, then, of the teachings of the church,\n  and of the rights of bishops and their co-laborers in reference to\n  this doctrine? Because Paul V. did not choose to do in regard to\n  the doctrine of Molina _that which his successors did in regard to\n  the doctrine of S. Augustine in their bulls against Jansenius and\n  Quesnel_;[296] because they have not published, with condemnation,\n  the system of equilibrium, of _gratia sufficiens_, of the state\n  of pure nature, of the _scientia media_, of limbo, etc.; and have\n  allowed to be taught the sufficiency of attrition without the\n  love of God, and the ignorant devotion to the Sacred Heart to\n  be practised, shall pastors no longer be permitted to oppose to\n  these novelties the principles and the language of Scripture and\n  tradition? And shall they no longer warn the faithful of the snares\n  spread for their faith and piety, because those who spread them\n  have not yet been declared heretics by the Sovereign Pontiffs?\n\n  \"They have not contented themselves, monseigneur, with making a\n  crime of your private sentiments, however irreproachable, but\n  have quarrelled with you for having, in your synod, adhered to a\n  doctrine so authoritative, so precious in all churches and all\n  states, as that contained in the four articles of the assembly of\n  the clergy of France in 1682. They have so poor an opinion of the\n  present clergy and of the Gallican Church itself as to imagine that\n  this clergy would feel offended at the praises you give to the\n  celebrated declaration of that assembly, and to take the insertion\n  you have made of it in the acts of the Synod of Pistoia as an\n  injury. But if the synod does an injury to the French clergy by\n  adopting its maxims, what does the Pope's bull do, which rejects\n  and condemns them?\n\n  \"You may be sure, monseigneur, that a bull like this--a censure as\n  manifestly unjust at bottom as singular and indecent in form--is\n  not likely to shake or diminish in the least either our attachment\n  for you or our esteem and admiration for the acts of your synod,\n  _in the doctrine of which our clergy recognize their own_, through\n  the chapter of Utrecht, whose act of adhesion was sent to you\n  in November, 1789,[297] shortly after the French publication of\n  the synod. The efforts which are now being made to cry down its\n  results, and to render them abortive, are so much more a motive for\n  our confirming this adhesion, and of renewing to you the expression\n  of our interest in your cause, afflicted, as we are, to the bottom\n  of our heart, that our Holy Father, Pope Pius VI., who ought to\n  show us the example of like sentiments, shows himself in his bull\n  entirely opposed to them. We sympathize with you, monseigneur, no\n  less in the personal offence that has been offered you than in the\n  annoyances which cannot fail to arise to you as well as to the\n  faithful clergy of your ancient diocese. But God, who has enabled\n  you long to foresee these things, and who has already prepared you\n  for them by preliminary trials, will give you grace to bear all\n  this with continued courage and confidence in his protection and\n  assistance.\n\n  \"Considering the affair in itself, nothing can be weaker than the\n  attack that has been made upon you by this bull, which is more\n  likely, in view of its whole contents, to justify your doctrine\n  than to render it an object of suspicion. But if we pay attention\n  to the fact that it is the very purity of this doctrine, and\n  your enlightened zeal for the house of God, that have drawn upon\n  you this unjust treatment; that it is the testimony you render\n  fearlessly and without disguise to the most important truths, so\n  combated in our days, of dogma, of morals, and of discipline in the\n  church, which renders the Synod of Pistoia odious to the enemies of\n  these truths, nothing can be grander nor more worthy of a bishop\n  than the cause you will have to defend. Consequently, nothing can\n  impel us more to invoke upon you, monseigneur, by our prayers,\n  and upon all those whom divine Providence will associate with you\n  in the same defence, the lights and graces of the Holy Ghost.\n  Ask them also for us, who long preceded you in the same career of\n  tribulations and trials, and whose cause has not been separated\n  from yours, since it has been attempted to injure your synod by\n  comparing it, in the new bull, to our council--a comparison most\n  just and natural, and which cannot but do honor to both.\n\n  \"We are, with respect and tender attachment in our Lord Jesus\n  Christ, monseigneur, your most humble and obedient servants,\n\n              \u2720 GAULTH. MICH.,\n                        _Archbishop of Utrecht_.\n\n              \u2720 ADRIEN JEAN,\n                        _Bishop of Harlem_.\n\n              \u2720 NICHOLAS,\n                        _Bishop of Deventer_.[298]\n\n  \"UTRECHT, October 31st, All-Saints' Eve.\"\n\n\nThis letter renders evidence against the clergy of Utrecht that may\njustly be called crushing, and would be sufficient in itself to\nclose the debate. It sheds light, also, on the whole history of the\nschismatical church of the United Provinces. Now, to complete the\ndemonstration entered upon, let us retrace our steps, and make research\ninto the origin and the peculiar character of the Jansenism of Holland.\n\n\nIII.\n\nIn the beginning of the XVIIth century the University of Louvain\nwas in a most flourishing condition; the purity of doctrine that\nprevailed there, its attachment to the Holy See, and the example of\nloyal and perfect submission it had recently given before the world\nby repudiating the errors of Baius, gained for it the respect and\ngood wishes of all Christendom. Some of its professors, however,\nhad not entirely renounced Baianism; and unhappily, in their case,\ndistinguished talents were joined with uncommon activity. The most\neminent of these men was Jacques Janson, who was the professor and,\nas it were, the father of Jansenius. He made the third of the party\nof whom the future Bishop of Ypres and the Abb\u00e9 de Saint-Cyran were\nthe other two. Louvain then became the centre of a set of ideas of\nwhich the doctrines of Baius formed the basis, and which were ripened\nand developed by Jansenius during nearly thirty years, to be finally\nbrought forth in his famous _Augustinus_. It was also at the school of\nJacques Janson that Philip Rovenius and several eminent individuals\namong his clergy received their theological training; they therefore\ndrank of Jansenism at its very source.\n\nThe _Augustinus_ was issued in 1640 from the press of Jacques Zegers,\nof Louvain. Immediately, Philip Rovenius, Archbishop of Philippi, _in\npartibus infidelium_, and Vicar Apostolic of the United Provinces; Jean\nWachtelaer, his vicar-general; Baudoin Catz, afterwards the successor\nof Jacques de la Torre; Leonard Marius, professor in the College\nHollandais at Cologne, and several besides, gave a public and entire\napproval to the book of Jansenius, coupled with the most flattering\npraises. There was at once in Belgium, as well as in Holland, and on\nthe part of many virtuous and well-meaning priests, an infatuation,\nan enthusiasm, exhibited for the _Augustinus_, of which the reception\ngiven almost in our day to the first volume of the _Essai sur\nl'Indifference_ will give only a faint idea. But Holland distinguished\nherself in this concert of praises; S. Augustine himself, people said,\nhad spoken by the mouth of Jansenius; Jean Wachtelaer averred that the\nNetherland priests were never wearied with reading and meditating\nthis incomparable work; Rovenius went further, and formed a league\nwith the Canon of Furnes, a nephew of Jansenius, and several other\npartisans of the new doctrines, to prevent the Council of Brabant from\nputting in execution the first measures taken by the Holy See against\nthe _Augustinus_. These were the circumstances that preceded the bull\n_In eminenti_, published at Rome on the 19th of June, 1643, in which\nthe famous work was proscribed as containing propositions previously\ncondemned;[299] we are thus made aware of the sentiments of the clergy,\nand the spirit in which the young Levites of the United Provinces were\nformed. Rovenius submitted to the pontifical definition; in his book\non the Christian Republic,[300] printed at Anvers, in 1648, he even\nrenders solemn homage to the infallibility of the Vicar of Christ. This\nimportant doctrine was then, as always, held in honor at the University\nof Louvain. Rovenius had learned it there, and to this powerful\npreservative he owed the honor and fidelity that attended his last days.\n\nThe clergy of Holland seemed at first to imitate the humble obedience\nof its chief; but it soon became evident that this submission was\nneither as general nor as perfect as was desirable. Left to its ancient\ntraditions of respect for the Holy See, the Church of Holland would\nperhaps have escaped shipwreck; but it shortly received as vicar\napostolic a man of whom Sainte-Beuve has truly said that he was \"the\ngreat auxiliary of Port Royal in Holland.\"[301] Jean Neercassel,\npriest of the Oratory, had had a share in the government of the mission\nsince the year 1652. Consecrated Bishop of Castoria, _in partibus_, in\n1662, he shortly after became, by the death of Baudoin Catz (1663), the\nsole vicar apostolic in the United Provinces, and continued so to be\nfor the long period of twenty-three years. The illustrious Archbishop\nof Malines, who knew, by a painful but glorious experience, how greatly\nfirmness and devotion on the part of a chief pastor were needed in\nthose sad times, said: \"I shall always commiserate those bishops\nwho are even on terms with a single one of these innovators.\"[302]\nNeercassel invited these innovators all to Holland, and made it a\nplace of refuge for them. Arnauld, du Vaucel, Gerberon, Quesnel, and a\nmultitude of apostate monks and fugitive priests, all in revolt against\nthe decisions of the church, cast themselves upon the poor mission\nas upon a prey provided for them. From Arnauld's correspondence, and\nthe papers found on Gerberon, Quesnel, and others, we see that the\ndirection of the most important affairs of the vicariate apostolic then\npassed into the hands of the patriarchs of Jansenism. In this school,\nthe clergy of the Netherlands learned the wretched distinction between\n_right_ and _fact_ (le _droit_ et le _fait_). As this distinction tion\nforms one of the bases of the resistance offered by that clergy to\nthe definitions of the Holy See, it would be proper to give a brief\nexplanation of it.\n\nThe five famous propositions having been referred to the tribunal of\nthe Sovereign Pontiff by eighty-five French bishops, the so-called\ndisciples of S. Augustine sent a deputation to Rome to defend the sense\nof Jansenius. They prepared, on this occasion, the celebrated _Ecrit\n\u00e0 trois Colonnes_, in order, said they, \"to show fully the state of\nthe controversy, and to furnish the Pope with the means of knowing\nexactly upon what he had to give judgment.\" For each proposition\nthere is distinguished, 1st, the sense of Luther or of Calvin, which\nis condemned; 2d, the natural sense, _prout a nobis defenditur_, the\nsense of Jansenius--in a word, that said to be the sense of the church\nand of S. Augustine;[303] 3d, and last, the Pelagian or semi-Pelagian,\nwhich is rejected like the first. At this time, then, the party\nacknowledged, in an official and authentic document, that it defended\nthe five propositions in the sense of Jansenius, and that this sense\nwas the only natural and legitimate one. The whole question was to know\nif this sense were heretical or not. It was upon this point that the\nPope's decision was invoked both by the bishops and by the partisans of\nJansenius.\n\nThe decision was given the 31st of May, 1653, in the bull _Cum\noccasione_, which condemned the five famous propositions. The church\nevidently aimed a blow at the spirit of the book, which alone conveyed\nthe error. The Jansenists understood it as every one else did at the\ntime, and were confounded by it. But in their farewell audience, the\ndeputies of the party asked the Pope if he had been understood to\ncondemn the opinion in regard to efficacious grace by itself--the\ndoctrine of S. Augustine. Certainly not, replied the Holy Father. The\nwhole of Jansenism was embraced in this equivocal question; for the\nJansenists reasoned thus: the _Augustinus_ contains nothing but the\npure doctrine of S. Augustine; we can therefore submit to the bull\nwithout rejecting the sense of Jansenius.\n\nTo prevent and eliminate in advance every pretext for disobedience,\nPope Alexander VII., in 1665, ordered, in a new bull, that the\ncondemnation of the five propositions in the sense of Jansenius should\nbe subscribed to; he directed at the same time, according to the\nancient usage of the church, that the signature should be attached to a\nformula in these words: \"I,----, submit to the Apostolic Constitution\nof Pope Innocent X., dated the 30th of May, 1653, and to that of the\nSovereign Pontiff Alexander VII., dated the 16th of October, 1665; I\ncondemn and reject heartily and in all sincerity the five propositions\ntaken from the _Augustinus_ of Cornelius Jansenius in the same manner\nas they are condemned by the said constitutions; I condemn them in\nthe sense of that author; thus I swear. May God help me and this holy\nGospel!\"\n\nThen it began to be said in the camp of Jansenius: The pope and the\nbishops may well decide if the propositions are heretical; it is a\nquestion of _right_. _Cr\u00e9ance au droit!_ But _are_ the propositions\ntaken from the _Augustinus_, and do they convey its sense? That is a\nquestion of _fact_, in regard to which the church might be mistaken.\nNevertheless, _respect au fait_! After this, it was signed, excluding\n(_en exceptant_) the sense of Jansenius. The more determined refused\ntheir signature; after the time of Pierre Codde, the successor of\nNeercassel, this was the general rule.\n\nNo one, in my opinion, has more fully set forth the state of\nthis question than the author of the _Provincial Letters_, whose\ngenius demonstrates conclusively the absurdity of this celebrated\ndistinction.[304] He thus expresses himself in a passage wherein he\nmaintains his opinion against Arnauld, Nicole, and others: \"The whole\ndispute is in ascertaining if there be a fact and a right disconnected\nfrom one another, or if there be only a right; that is, if the sense\nof Jansenius ... does nothing but indicate the right. The Pope and the\nbishops are on one side, and they claim that it is a point of right and\nof faith to say that the five propositions are heretical in the sense\nof Jansenius; and Alexander VII. declares in his constitution that, to\nbe in the true faith, we must say that the words, 'sense of Jansenius,'\nexpress only the heretical sense of the propositions, and that thus _it\nis a fact which carries with it a right_, and makes an essential part\nof the profession of faith; as if we should say: The sense of Calvin on\nthe Eucharist is heretical, _which is certainly a point of faith_.\"[305]\n\nNothing could be better said. But what is the conclusion? It is this,\nand Sainte-Beuve himself says the same in other words:[306] the church\nmust be denied all infallibility on the question of right; we must\nallege that she can be mistaken even as to the true and natural sense\nof her own decrees, if we would maintain that she could err as to the\nfact in Jansenius. In a word, we must either completely break with the\nchurch, or condemn the sense of Jansenius.\n\nM. R\u00e9ville seems to know very little of the question of fact as regards\nJansenius. One might say that, to form his opinion on this point, he\nhad consulted only a report of the Jansenist Bishop of Utrecht, which\ncontains an account of the latter's interview in 1828 with the Papal\nnuncio, Mgr. Capaccini. In this, the representative of the Holy See is\nmade to use absurd and ridiculous language; the author of _Port Royal_,\nwho was not any too well versed in theology, had a better knowledge\nof the question than this nuncio. How could M. R\u00e9ville regard this as\na serious relation? Has a witness who could neither understand the\nCatholic theologians nor Pascal himself the right to be believed on\nhis word when he reports, word for word, a long conversation with his\nopponent, a kind of diplomatic passage-at-arms, wherein it was greatly\nto his interest to make the best figure for himself? And, besides, what\nguarantee of exactitude have we in a relation published for the first\ntime twenty-three years after the interview, and six after the death of\nCardinal Capaccini, the only person able to rectify the assertions of\nhis interlocutor?[307]\n\nThat a Protestant or a free-thinker should encourage the \"Friends of\nHolland\" in resisting the Holy See, that he should even go so far as\nto do honor to that resistance, I can conceive; but that he should\nshare in the inveterate obstinacy of the Jansenists concerning fact\nand right defies logic and common sense. M. R\u00e9ville seems likewise to\nconfound the bull _Unigenitus_ with that of Alexander VII. concerning\nthe formulary. This leads us to speak of the second point on which the\nopposition of the clergy of Utrecht to the Holy See is founded.\n\nThe Jansenist discussions on _le fait_ and _le droit_ were still\nproceeding, when the patriarch of the sect, the ex-Oratorian, Pasquier\nQuesnel, threw off the mask, and in his _R\u00e9flexions Morales_ renewed\nthe principal dogmas of Baius and Jansenius.[308] Pope Clement XI.\nordered the book to be examined; he proceeded in this affair, says\nD\u00f6llinger, \"with perfect prudence and deliberation. The Jesuits had\nbeen charged with being bitterly opposed to the _R\u00e9flexions_; he\nchose examiners from religious orders whose teachings had the least\naffinity with those of the Society of Jesus. He himself presided at\ntwenty-three sessions of the examiners, and the discussion lasted\nfor nearly two whole years.[309] Finally, on the 8th of September,\n1713, the bull _Unigenitus_ appeared, condemning one hundred and one\npropositions taken from Quesnel's book. Among them are some which at\nfirst sight appeared inoffensive; but they cunningly convey Jansenist\nerror, and intimately coalesce with the system; in others, expressions\nare skilfully worded to infect the reader with prejudices against\nthe teachings or the general discipline of the church; many clearly\nannounce the dogmas of Jansenius.\"[310]\n\nHere, seeing that the one hundred and one propositions were found\nword for word in the condemned book, the distinction of right and of\nfact (_du droit et du fait_) was impossible. Quesnel, on hearing of\nthe decree condemning it, exclaimed: \"The Pope has proscribed one\nhundred and one truths!\" The whole party echoed this exclamation, and\nour Netherland sectaries followed the impulse given by the patriarch\nof Jansenism. This, then, in two words, is the attitude of Jansenism\nin Holland: it refuses to condemn the sense of Jansenius by signature\nto the formulary of Alexander VII.; it refuses adherence to the bull\n_Unigenitus_. All the efforts made by the Holy See to bring back the\nJansenists of Utrecht to Catholic unity have failed, from a persistence\nin this double refusal. Among these efforts at reconciliation, there is\none which deserves special mention.\n\nIn 1826, Mgr. Nazalli, Papal nuncio, opened a conference with the\nHolland Jansenists. He announced to them that Rome exacted of them\nnothing more than an adhesion pure and simple to the constitutions of\nInnocent X., Alexander VII., and Clement XI., and he proposed for\ntheir signature the formula previously referred to, with the following\naddition: \"I moreover submit, without distinction, reticence, or\nexplanation, to the constitution of Clement XI., dated September 8,\n1713, and beginning with the word _Unigenitus_; I accept it purely and\nsimply, and thus I swear. May God help me and this holy Gospel!\"[311]\n\nThe bull _Unigenitus_ was, even under the Gallican point of view,\nobligatory on all Catholics, since it had been accepted by the entire\nepiscopate with that _moral unanimity_ of which so much was said about\nthe time of the last council. However, the schismatic archbishop and\nbishops of Holland declined the overtures of the Sovereign Pontiff.\nTheir reply is a true model of Jansenist style; every member of a\nphrase hides a restriction or an equivocation:\n\n\"We replied frankly (_honn\u00eatement_) that none of the bishops or\nclergy would hesitate to recognize with sincerity, by means of an\nunequivocal declaration in _general_[312] terms, all that the Holy See\n_might_ exact on their part, and that they would have no difficulty\nin declaring, for example, that they agree, and that they even swear,\nif needs be, to accept, without any exception whatever, all the\narticles of the Holy Catholic faith: not to maintain nor to teach,\nnow or hereafter, any opinions but those which have been established,\ndetermined, and published at all times by our holy mother, the church,\n_conformably to Scripture, tradition, the acts of \u0153cumenical councils,\nand, lastly, to that of Trent_; that, besides, they especially\nreprehend, reject, and condemn the five propositions which the Holy\nSee has condemned, _and which are pretended to be found in the book of\nJansenius, known as the Augustinus_.\" All the rest is in this spirit.\nBut what follows was quite unforeseen:\n\n\"We therefore leave it to the decision of the world whether a\ndeclaration so frank and so sincere ... does not offer incontestable\nproof of entire submission to the Holy See; and whether the general\nterms in which it is conceived do not embrace all the specialties of\nwhich acknowledgment can reasonably be expected from us, but into the\ndetails of which we are not permitted to enter by citing bulls which\nwe cannot in conscience accept--bulls which have not been recognized\nby the government, and which we are therefore not permitted to mention\nwithout incurring grave penalties.... It is, in fact, sufficiently well\nknown that the said constitutions (of Innocent X., Alexander VII.,\nand Clement XI.) are not only not adopted nor obligatory in several\ncountries, but that they cannot be adopted or enforced in a country\nwhere they have never received the _placet_ of the government, and\nwhere their acceptance as such is interdicted under threat of severe\npunishments. In the northern countries, to the jurisdiction of which\nthe clergy of Utrecht belonged, such acceptance was strictly forbidden\nby the edicts of the 24th February and 25th May, 1703, the 14th\nDecember, 1708, and of the 20th and 21st September, 1730--edicts in\nwhich the principle was established _that it belongs to the sovereign\nalone to permit the publication and execution of such bulls_, and that\nwithout his _visa_ or _placet_ neither is permitted.\"[313]\n\nCan one imagine baser or more servile language? In presence of a\nheterodox power, the pretended successors of S. Boniface, of the\nmartyrs and victims of Calvinist persecution, dare to take sides\nwith power, and to concede to it a right to dominate over faith and\necclesiastical discipline! At that very time William I. was oppressing\nhis Catholic subjects, and endeavoring to deprive the bishops of\nthe right of bringing up in their seminaries young aspirants to the\npriesthood. Need it be added that no law in vigor in 1826 interdicted\nthe acceptance pure and simple of the Apostolical Constitutions of\nAlexander VII. and Clement XI.?\n\nThe Revolution had overridden ancient laws, and not a single Catholic\nwas molested on account of his adhesion to the decrees of the Holy\nSee. But the worship of the state as God makes progress in proportion\nas respect for the church is banished. For a bishop especially\nindependence is impossible; when he refuses to walk in the royal way of\nsubmission to the Vicar of Christ, he becomes, by a just punishment,\nthe plaything of a party or the slave of the secular power.\n\nAnd this is the church which the neo-Protestants declare is calumniated\nwhen the accusation of Jansenism is brought against it; the church\nwhich, infected with this poison at the very sources whence it poured\nitself abroad on the world, has always kept its arms open to receive\nthe followers of Jansenius; which has always shown its readiness to\nsign formularies like those of Quesnel and Ricci, and has obstinately\nrejected the profession of Catholic faith; this, in fine, is the church\nwhich precipitated itself into schism in order to remain faithful to\nthe errors of Jansenius, and of Saint-Cyran, and of Quesnel!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[289] Ricci Collection, vol. xcvii., No. 226. I have done nothing but\nadd explanatory notes and underline the more important passages.\n\n[290] When the popes hasten to condemn an error, they are accused of\nacting precipitately or from the influence of some passion; when they\ntake their time, they are still found fault with.\n\n[291] This distinction between the court of Rome and the Holy See,\nwhen there is question of solemn acts of pontifical authority, is\nhighly ridiculous. The so-called \"Old Catholics\" of Germany have never\ncommitted the error of imitating the Jansenists in this.\n\n[292] Evidently an allusion to the decrees of the synod concerning the\ndevotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the _cultus_ and invocation of\nthe saints, etc.\n\n[293] Aside from the Jansenists of Holland, who always took good\ncare to be on good terms with their Calvinist government, we find\nnone in communion with Ricci except a small number of worshippers\nof power in Tuscany, Austria, Portugal, and Spain. As to the French\nconstitutionals, their approbation was a just chastisement for the\nJansenists. De Potter, after stating that Ricci received on all\nsides the most flattering adhesions, cites as authorities only the\nschismatics of Utrecht and Prof. Le Bret, of T\u00fcbingen.\n\n[294] From the time of Arnauld, the Jansenists, in order to maintain\ntheir doctrine intact in the _sense of Jansenius_, the spirit of\n(_\u00e0 l'\u00e2me de_) his book, pretend to interdict the church from the\ncondemnation of errors according to their sense in a system and in\na book--that is to say, in an assemblage of propositions--as if the\ngrammatical construction alone of every phrase completely determined\nthe sense conveyed. In this time especially, when there is question of\ndelicate matter treated by men who are constantly crying out, \"Truth,\ntruth!\" but who ever have equivocations on their lips, no one, not\neven Sainte-Beuve, the titled panegyrist of Port Royal, has dared to\nexculpate the Jansenists for their indirect and tortuous course since\n1653.\n\n[295] This is a characteristic complaint in the camp of Jansenius.\nBetween the Molinism which the church tolerates and the Jansenism she\nrejects there are other opinions tolerated, especially the Catholic\ndoctrine professed by the Thomists and Augustinians in common with the\ndisciples of Molina.\n\n[296] After this declaration, if D\u00f6llinger still pretends that his\nfriends in Holland are not Jansenists, he ought to maintain that\nneither Quesnel nor Jansenius ever were. _O science Allemande!_\n\n[297] We find also in the Ricci archives (vol. xci. part 11, No. 136)\nthe letter accompanying this act of adhesion. It bears the signature\nof \"Gabriel du Pac de Bellegarde, ancien comte et chanoine de l'\u00e9glise\nprimatiale de Lyon.\" It begins thus: \"Monseigneur the Archbishop\nof Utrecht, messeigneur's his suffragans, and the messieurs of the\nMetropolitan Chapter of Utrecht, have given me, monseigneur, the\nhonorable and agreeable commission of addressing to you _the act of\nadhesion to your holy synod of 1786_.\"\n\n[298] Gautier Michel van Nieuwenhuizen, Adrien Jean Br\u0153ckman, Nicholas\nNelleman.\n\n[299] The bull is dated March 6, 1641--that is to say, 1642, the year\nbeginning March 25--and was received in the Low Countries in 1643. The\nlast signature of the clergy of Utrecht in favor of the _Augustinus_ is\ndated Feb. 10, 1642.\n\n[300] _Reipublic\u00e6 Christian\u00e6_, _libri duo_, p. 102 _et seq._\n\n[301] _Port Royal_, vol iv. p. 20, in note.\n\n[302] Archives of Malines, MS. volume entitled _Monumenta originalia et\nauthentica de Jansenismo_, No. 32. The more I study facts by the light\nof these and several other documents preserved in the same archives,\nthe more I am persuaded that historians have greatly overlooked the\ncredit due to Humbert de Precipiano, while exalting that of his\nsuccessor, the Cardinal of Alsace. Humbert de Precipiano inflicted\nterrible blows upon Jansenism in the Low Countries; he died just as the\ntriumph for which he had prepared the way began.\n\n[303] They added: \"We are prepared to prove by Scripture, the councils,\nthe testimony of the fathers, and especially by the authority of S.\nAugustine, that the doctrine set forth in this second column is the\ntrue doctrine of the church.\" This promise was not carried out until\nafter the condemnation of Quesnel's _R\u00e9flexions Morales_; the monstrous\nbook of the _Hexaples_ is the principal effort the Jansenists have\nattempted with this view.\n\n[304] In the _Provinciales_, xvii. and xviii., Pascal himself\ndefended the distinction between faith and right. (See Maynard, _Les\nProvinciales_.)\n\n[305] _\u0152uvres_, ed. Bossutel biblioth. Mazarine, T., 2199.\n\n[306] _Port Royal_, vol. iii. p. 92 and further.\n\n[307] The French account of this interview was communicated, it is\nsaid, by the archbishop himself to Dr. Tregelles, who translated it\ninto English, and inserted it in the _Journal of Sacred Literature_,\nNo. 13, 1851. Neale reproduces it in his history. A Dutch translation\nwas published at Utrecht in 1851--_Jaarbocken van Wetensch. Theol._,\np. 749, etc. Capaccini died June 19, 1845, only a few months after his\nelevation to the cardinalate.\n\n[308] See above, our general analysis of the Jansenist system.\n\n[309] An author, unfortunately too well known, but who had before him\nall the original documents of this celebrated case, states in his\n_Breve Istoria delle Variazioni del Giansenismo_ (see also _Analecta\nJuris Pontificii_, 4th series, vol. ii. p. 2, col. 1251) that the Pope\nconsulted with all the cardinals of the Holy Office, one after the\nother; that he himself took note of all the votes, which are still\npreserved. \"The opinions of the Pontiff alone,\" he observes, \"fill more\nthan six large folio volumes.\"\n\n[310] _Handbuch_, ii. 2, p. 827. _Cours_, manuscript of 1855.\n\n[311] _Declaration_ addressed by the Archbishop of Utrecht and his\nsuffragans to the Catholic world in 1826. This document is written in\nLatin; parallel with it is a French translation, from which this is\ntaken.\n\n[312] This word is italicized in the _Declaration_.\n\n[313] _Declaration_, pp. 17, 19, 21.\n\n\n\n\nA LOOKER-BACK.\n\n    \"For as he forward mov'd his footing old\n    So backward still was turn'd his wrinkled face.\"--_Faerie Queene._\n\n\nII.\n\nLeaving Christ's Hospital, and rambling on, one soon comes to a\nchurch partly covered with ivy, in a yard filled with shrubbery and\nautumn flowers. It is S. Sepulchre's, the burial-place of Captain\nJohn Smith, the Virginia pioneer. It is almost a sacred duty to pay\na passing tribute to his memory, notwithstanding a lifelong grudge\nagainst him for not rounding off his romantic career by wedding the\ndusky Pocahontas. The clock of this church has the sad distinction\nof regulating the hanging of criminals at Newgate. The tower has\nfour pinnacles, each one bearing a vane with its own notions as to\nrectitude, which has given rise to the saying that \"unreasonable people\nare as hard to reconcile as the vanes of S. Sepulchre's tower, which\nnever looked all four upon one point of the heavens.\"\n\nIn old times, the bell of this church was tolled as criminals passed\nto Tyburn, and the bell-man cried: \"All good people, pray heartily\nunto God for these poor sinners, who are now going to their death;\"\nfor which he received the sum of one pound, six shillings, and eight\npence. A hand-bell was likewise rung for them to stop for a nosegay of\nflowers. It must have been a great consolation to them! And yet who\nknows but such silent messengers of God might not have spoken to many a\nheart inaccessible to human tongue?\n\nIn the XVIIth century a legacy of fifty pounds was left to S.\nSepulchre's on condition that, before execution-day, some one should go\nto Newgate in the dead of night, and give twelve solemn tolls with a\nhand-bell by way of calling attention to the following appeal:\n\n    \"All you that in the condemned hole do lie,\n    Prepare you, for to-morrow you must die:\n    Watch, all, and pray, the hour is drawing near\n    That you before the Almighty must appear:\n    Examine well yourselves, in time repent,\n    That you may not t' eternal flames be sent;\n    And when S. Sepulchre's bell to-morrow tolls,\n    The Lord have mercy on your souls!\n                      Past twelve o'clock!\"\n\nPlucking an ivy-leaf from the wall of S. Sepulchre's, our pilgrim\nkept on his way. West Smithfield at the corner of a street brought\nour friend Fox and his martyrs to mind, and he turned down towards\nthe square where John Rogers met his fate. A tablet of Scotch granite\nfastened to the wall of S. Bartholomew's Hospital marks the spot. This\ntablet is protected by a grating, the upright rods of which terminate\nin gilded flames of most portentous brightness. He did not see any such\ntablet around London recording the numberless Catholic martyrs of Henry\nVIII. and Queen Elizabeth's time.\n\nNo dispassionate reader of history can regard the church as\nresponsible for the sufferings of the so-called \"Marian Martyrs.\"\nBut let us thank God that such severe penalties are now obsolete in\nCatholic and Protestant lands alike!\n\nSmithfield was the ordinary place of execution before Tyburn was used.\nThe patriot Wallace was executed here on S. Bartholomew's eve, 1305.\nShakespeare makes Henry V. say: \"The witch in Smithfield shall be\nburned to ashes.\" In Henry VIII.'s time, poisoners were here boiled to\ndeath, as the old chronicles of the Grey Friars testify. Here is one\nquotation: \"The x day of March was a mayde boyllyd in Smythfelde for\npoysing of divers persons.\" Evelyn records as late as 1652: \"Passing by\nSmithfield, I saw a miserable creature burning, who had poisoned her\nhusband.\"\n\nBut there are pleasanter memories connected with Smithfield, or\nSmoothfield, as it was originally called. It was once a famous\ntilting-ground. Froissart tells us how in 1393 \"certain lords of\nScotland came into England to get worship by force of arms in\nSmithfield.\" Here Edward III. celebrated the victories of Cressy and\nPoitiers by jousts and feats of arms; and Richard II., at the time of\nhis marriage, ordered here a tournament of three days.\n\nPassing through Smithfield market, one soon comes to the Charter House\n(a corruption of the French word Chartreuse), the old monastery of\nthe Carthusians. The arched gateway is the original entrance into the\nrealm of silence of those old monks. Over it two lions grotesquely\ncarved support an en-tablature. The lion is typical of solitude and the\nwilderness, and is often found represented beside the hermits of the\ndesert. A porter leads the way at once to the chapel by a passage paved\nwith tombstones and hung with memorial tablets. One familiar name on\nthe wall makes the heart leap, though a modern name:\n\n                    GULIELMUS MAKEPEACE THACKERAY,\n                       CARTHUSIANI CARTHUSIANO.\n\n                              H. M. P. C.\n\n                  Natus, MDCCCXI. Obiit, MDCCCLXIII.\n\n                     Alumnus, MDCCCXXII-MDCCCXXVI.\n\nBeside this white marble slab is one precisely like it in memory of\nJohn Leech.\n\nThe Elizabethan chapel is solemn and interesting with its dark oaken\npews, its arched roof, on the keystones of which are carved the Charter\nHouse arms, and the monumental tombs here and there. A bright coal-fire\nin an open grate gives it a comfortable, homelike aspect that must be\ngrateful to the aged pensioners. And there are hassocks of straw for\nthem all to kneel upon. Over one of the doors is an arch of modern\nstained glass, but with colors of unusual richness, or seemed so,\ncoming in from the neutral tints of a dense fog. There is Magdalen with\nher golden hair, and the other Maries, with beautiful faces and purple,\nred, and amber robes.\n\nAt the north of the chancel is the tomb of Thomas Sutton, the founder\nof the Charter House Hospital, in the style of James I.'s reign. He\nlies, cut in marble, on a marble tomb, with ruff and long gown, and\nhands folded palm to palm as peacefully as if they never itched to\nacquire riches. Two men in armor support an inscription attesting his\nbeneficence. Some persons of a qualifying turn do say that he was, like\nmany others who are very charitable with their money when they see the\nimpossibility of keeping it any longer in their grasp, guilty of what\nhas been called the \"good old gentlemanly vice of avarice,\" and was\nthe original of _Volpone the Fox_. However that may be, the many who\nare sheltered here have reason to roar as loudly as they can, and as\nwe are told they do, on the 12th of December, with cracked voices and\nhalf-palsied tongues, the chorus of the Carthusian melody:\n\n    \"Then blessed be the memory\n      Of good old Thomas Sutton,\n    Who gave us lodging--learning,\n      And he gave us beef and mutton.\"\n\nCatholics, however, cannot forget that when young he took part in the\nItalian wars, and was present at the sacking of Rome. At a later period\nhe commanded a battery as a volunteer at the siege of Edinburgh, when\nthat city held out for poor Queen Mary. And he aided in the expedition\nagainst the Spanish Armada by fitting out a ship named Sutton for\nhimself, which captured a Spanish vessel worth twenty thousand pounds.\nWhen he came to London to reside, it was reported that his purse was\nfuller than Queen Elizabeth's exchequer, and in time he became the\nbanker of London, and had the freedom of the city.\n\nOn the 12th of December there is a great festival here in honor of\nthe _Fundator_, and before it is over the pensioners and school-boys\nassemble in the chapel, which is lighted, as Thackeray tells, \"so the\nfounder's tomb, with its grotesque carvings, monsters, and heraldries,\ndarkles and shines with the most wonderful shadows and lights.\"\n\nAt the south end of the chapel is a fine statue of Lord Ellenborough by\nChantrey, in a sitting posture, robed as chief-justice. He was buried\nhere at his own request, having been educated in the Charter House,\nand one of its governors.\n\nAs at Christ's Hospital, the visitor is allowed to wander alone through\ncloisters and quadrangles, as hushed and peaceful as when occupied\nby the Carthusians themselves. The pensioners (the school has been\nremoved) seem to lead a kind of friar-life here, and in their seclusion\nought to taste something of the peace of the cloister. They only lack\nthe consecration of religion. One of them in cloak and cap came up,\nbowing with remarkable flexion of body considering his years, and\npolitely offered to show the way with quite an air of proprietorship.\nHis manner was gentlemanly, and he looked as if he might be some\n\"disabled invalide from the campaign of vanity.\" In these days, when\nold people are apt to be regarded as unduly persistent about living, it\nis delightful to feel there are places of refuge for them like this,\nwhich confer a kind of dignity on fallen fortunes and declining life\nwhich is always a certain going down in the world.\n\nWe wonder if there is any service in the English ritual when these old\ngentlemen take shelter here. There surely ought to be. Some _Vade in\npace_ ought to follow them under these arches, dying away little by\nlittle with the hours and fragrance of life, and leaving behind silence\nand repose of soul.\n\nThere is a touching custom here of giving the bell at night a number of\nstrokes corresponding to the number of pensioners; and when one of them\ndies, his decease is notified by one stroke less than on the preceding\nevening. It was at the evening hour, as the chapel-bell began to toll,\nthat Col. Newcome lifted up his head, said _Adsum_ with a smile, and\ndied.\n\nA bell like this must always have a knell-like solemnity of tone. It is\na kind of curfew-bell, reminding the brothers that the evening of life\nhas come, and its fires must be put out before lying down to rest. We\ncan fancy them counting the strokes one by one every night, to learn if\nsome light is for ever extinguished. The thought often occurs how we\nold people will find heaven--whether a place all youth, and freshness,\nand beauty. Are there to be no shades and gradations in Paradise, no\nstars differing from one another in glory, or faces in sweetness and\nserenity? Are the very angels that are to minister to us there all so\nfull of grace and loveliness, and perfection of form, and crowned with\neverlasting youth? \"Will there not be some comforting ones, shabby and\ntender, whose radiance does not dazzle nor bewilder; whose faces are\nworn perhaps, while their stars shine with a gentle, tremulous light\nmore soothing to our earth-bound hearts than the glorious radiance of\nbrighter spirits?\" Who that is old and sorrow-stricken, or belongs to\nthe poor and unloved ones of this world, does not feel the need of some\nsuch spirits to greet him there--need of some shadowy, sequestered\nspot where the brightness and love of that ineffable region will be\ntempered for us who have had but little cheer on earth, at least till\nour unaccustomed souls are fitted for loftier heights?\n\nMany such--perhaps too human--dreams of heaven flitted across the\nmind while sitting on a bench beside some old graves in a yard at\nthe Charter House that gloomy afternoon. Weary with climbing old\nstaircases, going through old passages and old halls, where one only\nbreathed the atmosphere of old times, perhaps the soul had become\ninfected by the gloom of the place.\n\nBorders of dull chrysanthemums grew along the gravelled\nwalks--apparently a favorite flower in England, for they are to be\nfound everywhere. A few trees with blighted leaves, instead of bright\nautumn foliage as in America, stood around with nothing in the world to\ndo but look well, any more than Voltaire's trees, but, like many poor\nmortals, did not succeed very well. They looked weary of the struggle,\nand had a certain bowed, resigned look that was pathetic. How could\nanything look fresh and vigorous in that field of death? One cannot\nimagine the place peopled with boys full of life and fun, as it used to\nbe.\n\nThe land on which the Charter House stands was a graveyard at the time\nof the great plague, five hundred years ago, being consecrated to that\npurpose by Bishop Stratford, of London, in 1348. Distressed that so\nmany of his flock should be buried out of consecrated ground during\nthe prevalence of the plague, he bought three acres of land called \"No\nMan's Land\" for a burial-ground, and erected a chapel thereon, where\nMasses could be said for the repose of the dead. The place became\nknown as Pardon Churchyard and Chapel. We read of an early instance of\nlynching on No Man's Land previous to this time. A wealthy merchant,\none Anthony of Spain, so exasperated the public by an excessive duty on\nwine that a mob dragged him barefoot to this spot, and here beheaded\nhim, in November, 1326--doubtless on just such a dismal, foggy day as\nthis, supremely adapted to give one desperate views, and aggravate the\nnatural ferocity of the human animal.\n\nThe plague continuing to increase, the churchyard was enlarged through\nthe charity of Sir Walter Manny, of knightly fame, who purchased a\npiece of land adjoining. An old ballad says:\n\n    \"Thou, Walter Manny, Cambray's lord,\n    The bravest man those times record,\n    Didst pity take on the wand'ring ghosts\n      Of thy departed friends,\n    Didst consecrate to the Lord of Hosts\n      Thy substance for religious ends.\"\n\nThe next Bishop of London, Michael de Northburg, when he died, in\n1361, bequeathed two thousand pounds, with all his leases, rents, and\ntenements, towards the foundation of a Carthusian monastery at Pardon\nChurchyard, together with an enamelled vessel of silver for the Host,\nanother for holy water, a silver bell, and all his theological works.\nSir Walter Manny, desirous of co-operating in this work, petitioned\nfor a royal license to build a monastery here, to be called \"The House\nof the Salutation of the Mother of God,\" and gave to it the land he\nhad bought for a graveyard, consisting of thirteen acres and one rod.\nSir Walter's charter was witnessed by the Earl of Pembroke, Edward\nMortimer, Earl of March, and others. The monastery was completed in\n1370, and was the fourth of the Carthusian Order in England.\n\nThe London Charter House was furthermore endowed by several other\npersons. Two hundred and sixty marks were bestowed in perpetual\nfrank-almoign to build a cell for a monk who should offer daily\nsuffrages for the souls of Thomas Aubrey and Felicia his wife, as\nwell as all the faithful departed. Richard Clyderhowe, in 1418, gave\nup, \"from reverence to God and the Blessed Virgin Mary, and for the\nhealth of his own soul and that of his wife Alicia, who was buried in\nthe church of the convent, a lease of land he held in Rochester, that\nthese religious might, in their orisons, remember him, his soul, the\nsoul of his wife, the souls of his relations, children, and all his\nbenefactors, and devoutly recommend them to God.\"\n\nIt is pleasant to find the Charter House interchanging charitable\noffices with its neighbor, the priory of S. John of Jerusalem. They\nexchange lands, and the prior of the Charter House offers a trental of\nMasses \"that the soul of Brother William Hulles, Prior of the Hospital\nof S. John of Jerusalem, might the sooner be conveyed, with God's\nprovidence, into Abraham's bosom.\"\n\nIn the XVth century the Charter House became, for the space of four\nyears, the residence of Sir Thomas More, who here gave himself up to\ndevotion and prayer without taking upon himself any vow.\n\nThis monastery flourished about three centuries with a constant\nreputation for strict observance of the rules of the order and for\nholiness of life. It was during the time of Prior John Houghton, in\n1534, that it was visited by the royal commissioners appointed by Henry\nVIII. to inspect all the monasteries of the kingdom, and draw up an\naccount of their rules, customs, and revenues.\n\nMost of the monks refused to subscribe to the king's supremacy, and\nthe prior and procurator were committed to the Tower. They afterwards\nyielded to advice which they respected, but, suspected of disaffection,\nwere summoned to renew the oath, and the prior was arraigned for\nspeaking too freely of the king's proceedings, and, with two other\nCarthusians, was condemned to be hung, drawn, and quartered at Tyburn\nfor refusing to acknowledge the king head of the church in England.\nAs they were leaving the Tower to be executed, they were perceived by\nSir Thomas More, imprisoned there for the same reason, who said to his\nfavorite daughter, as if envying them: \"Lo, dost thou not see, Meg,\nthat these blessed fathers be now as cheerfully going to their deaths\nas bridegrooms to their marriage?\" This was not long before his own\nmartyrdom. There is at the South Kensington Museum a painting of Sir\nThomas and his daughter, depicting this very scene. He stands looking\ndown through the grated window. Margaret, tall and stately, with her\nfather's left hand in hers, has her deep violet eyes raised steadfastly\nto heaven with the most appealing expression; her whole face calm and\nholy, but inexpressibly sad.\n\nThe heads of these monks were suspended over London Bridge--a bridge\nbuilt, too, by religious--and Prior Houghton's mangled body was hung\nup over the gate of the Charter House. The next month three more monks\nof this house were executed for a like reason, and the remainder were\ncalled upon three times in one year to take the oath of supremacy--a\nproof that they were regarded as specially loyal to the pope. Of the\nten who had subscribed two years before, nine now refused, and were\ncommitted to prison at Newgate, where they were chained in a filthy\ndungeon and starved to death. Their end was announced to Cromwell as\n\"by the hand of God.\" Their keeper, Bedyll, gave him a list of these\npoor martyrs, adding: \"There be one hole.\" This _whole_ one survived an\nimprisonment of four years, only to be executed at last.\n\nAll this did not take place without some supernatural manifestations\nto fortify the poor monks. It is recorded that \"unearthly lights were\nseen in their church,\" and, at the burial of one of their number, all\nthe lamps of the church were miraculously lighted, and one of the\ndeceased brethren appeared to the monk who had nursed him in his last\nillness, saying that \"the angells of pease did lamment and murn w\u1d57owt\nmeasur,\" and that my \"lord of Rochester\" and \"o\u02b3 Father\" (Houghton)\nwere \"next unto angells in hevyn.\"\n\nThe remainder of the English Carthusians went to Bruges, where\nthey remained till the accession of Mary, who, at the suggestion\nof Philip, it is said, invited them back, and gave them the old\nCarthusian monastery at Shene, near Richmond. They were exiled again in\nElizabeth's reign, and returned to Belgium.\n\nThe south wall of the present chapel formed part of the old church in\nwhich were buried Sir Walter Manny, and Margaret his wife, and many\nother knights and dames. Prior Houghton's remains are supposed to be\nburied somewhere within the wall now marked by a cross and a huge I.\nH. It is recorded of him that he was so meek and humble that if any\none addressed him as \"my lord,\" or with any unusual deference, he\nimmediately rebuked him, saying: \"It is not lawful for poor Carthusian\nmonks to make broad their phylacteries, or to be called rabbi by their\nfellow-men.\"\n\nThe Charter House was given to John Bridges, yeoman, and Thomas Hale,\ngroom, as a reward for the safe keeping of the king's tents and\npavilions which had been deposited here, but it afterwards passed\nthrough several hands. While owned by Lord North, Queen Elizabeth\nspent four days here, which so diminished his lordship's resources that\nhe was obliged to live in retirement the rest of his life. James I.\nalso passed a few days here when it was in possession of Lord Thomas\nHoward, in order to show his respect for a family that had aided and\nsuffered for his mother. While here, he knighted more than eighty\ngentlemen--let us hope less awkwardly than he knighted Sir Richard\nMonopilies, of Castle Collop!\n\nThe Charter House was finally purchased by Thomas Sutton, the founder\nof the hospital. It is delightful to step from the noise and bustle\nof the streets into these secluded courts with grass-plots to refresh\nthe eye, lime-trees to give shade, here a fountain in the midst of a\ngarden, and there some old tombs, perhaps of the monks; on this wall\nsome holy symbol left here ages ago, but not in vain, for it still\nspeaks to the heart; and scattered around are seats for the pensioners\nto enjoy the sun and air.\n\nThe kitchen fireplace is capacious enough to roast fifteen surloins.\nWhat extensive means are always used to provide for the body which\nperisheth! If at least equal provision were made, as in the times of\nthe old monks, to supply the needs of the soul! Does that get its three\nmeals a day, and now and then a lunch or some refreshing draught? Are\nthere none who labor day after day to supply the soul's hunger, as\nmultitudes do to satisfy the cravings of the body? Yes, thank God!\nthere is still an army of such spiritual people in the cloister and\nin the world, who only live to feed their higher natures. If they\ncare for the body, it is merely enough to enable it to serve the\nsoul. The world may call them \"drones,\" but they are necessary in\norder to preserve the moral balance of the world, as an offset to the\nmateriality of the day. Yes, the hermit, the contemplative, contributes\nin his degree to sustain the world, and this is why the suppression of\nsuch a class is an irreparable loss to society.\n\n\n\n\nA BLOCK OF GOLD.\n\n\n\"France paid the Prussian indemnity like a proud debtor; it seemingly\ndid not cost her any trouble to do so. Few nations could do as France\nhas done within the past two years; none have ever excelled her in\ncancelling a monetary obligation.\" One hears such remarks occasionally;\nthey were quite common a few months past. But what was the French\nindemnity? Five milliards of francs--that is, five thousand millions of\nfrancs, or one thousand millions of dollars in gold! To think of the\nsum is to make one feel covetous of a chip of the block; to see the\nwhole sum in one block of gold is almost enough to make one cry out\nwith Timon--\n\n           ... \"Thou valiant Mars!\n    Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer.\"\n\n\"_Ce que c'est que cinq milliards en or monnaye!_\"\n\nWell, we did not exactly know what five milliards of francs in gold\nor copper were. The cool February evening in the year of grace 1873,\nwe were accosted in front of No.--Boulevard St. Denis by the above\nquestion. At the same time a polite French boy hands us a handbill,\nwhich told us that _un bloc d'or_, eight metres long, five metres\nhigh, and three and two-third metres deep, could be seen for fifty\ncentimes--ten cents. This cube of one hundred and fifty metres\ncontained one hundred thousand _rouleaux_ of fifty thousand francs\neach; each one of the rolls--_rouleaux_--contained two thousand five\nhundred pieces of twenty francs, and the whole two hundred and fifty\nmillion (250,000,000) pieces.\n\nWe paid the admission fee, and were ushered into the room where the\ngilded cube stood. A stout lady sat near the door knitting; the master\nof ceremonies was young and thin. We were the only visitor at 8 P.M. on\nthe evening of February, 1873. We surveyed the cube, and admired the\ningenuity displayed in its make-up; but it occurred to us at the time\nthat, as a speculation, it was a failure. People, I thought, who have\nto pay a large debt don't care about being told the length, breadth,\nand height of their indebtedness; that it would be, perhaps, a success\nat Berlin. We thanked the thin master of ceremonies for his attention,\nrespectfully bowed to the stout woman plying her knitting-needles; and\nwalked along the boulevard with our back to the Pont St. Denis, asking\nourselves what we could or would do with one or five milliards of\ndollars.\n\nThe other day we saw an old copy of the New Orleans _Propagateur\nCatholique_. It contained an article on the five milliards, which\nit credits to the Christian Brothers--_Les Fr\u00e8res des Ecoles\nChr\u00e9tiennes_. It recalled our ten-cent investment of last February, and\nis so interesting, especially to all who are mathematically inclined,\nthat we translate it.\n\nIn bank-notes of one thousand francs, the weight of each note being\nestimated at two grams,[314] the five milliards in paper would weigh\nten thousand kilograms;[315] in gold, one million six hundred and\ntwelve thousand nine hundred; in silver, twenty-five millions; in\ncopper, five hundred millions. It would take one hundred men to carry\nthe five milliards in bank-notes of one thousand francs each, allowing\none hundred kilograms to each man; sixteen thousand one hundred and\ntwenty-nine, in gold; two hundred and fifty thousand, in silver; five\nmillion, in copper. It would take a man to count the five milliards, at\nthe rate of ten hours per day, and counting every minute sixty notes of\none thousand francs--fifty pieces of twenty francs, sixty pieces of one\nfranc, sixty pieces of five centimes--to count the notes, four months\nand nineteen days; the gold, nineteen years and ten days; the silver,\nthree hundred and eighty years, six months, and eight days; the copper,\nseven thousand six hundred and ten years, four months, and seven days.\n\nTo remove this great sum of money in bank-bills one wagon would\nsuffice, it being capable of bearing ten thousand kilograms; in\ngold, one hundred and sixty-one and one-third wagons; in silver,\ntwo thousand five hundred; in copper, fifty thousand. Allowing ten\nmetres[316] to each wagon, those carrying the gold would extend sixteen\nhundred and ten metres; the silver, twenty-five thousand metres; the\ncopper, five hundred thousand metres.\n\nPlacing the notes of one thousand francs one upon another, and giving\neach one a space of one tenth of a millimetre,[317] they would ascend\nto a height of five hundred metres. The diameter of the five-franc\npiece being equal to thirty-seven millimetres, the five milliards\nplaced in the same direction, side to side, would form a chain\nthirty-seven millions of metres in length--almost the circumference of\nthe earth, which is forty millions. With one-franc pieces placed as\nthe preceding, they would encircle the globe twice and seven-eighths;\nwith fifty centimes--ten-cent pieces--four times and one-half; with\nsous--cents--sixty-two times and one-half!\n\nThe Franco-Prussian war did not commence till July, 1870. Inside of\nthree years the greatest of modern battles have been lost and won, and\nthe heaviest fine ever laid upon a nation paid, and without interfering\nwith the commercial classes or any important interest or branch of\nbusiness in the fair land. Great in science, in war, in religion, she\nhas given the world a proof of her magnificent resources, and that her\nchildren are still proud of _la belle France_, and filled with the\n\"_sacr\u00e9 amour de la patrie_.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[314] Nearly equal to fifteen and one-half grains Troy.\n\n[315] Equal to two pounds three ounces and 4.65 drams.\n\n[316] The metre is equal to 39.37 inches.\n\n[317] The thousandth part of a metre.\n\n\n\n\nVIGIL.\n\n\n    Mournful night is dark around me,\n     Hushed the world's conflicting din;\n    All is still, and all is tranquil,\n     But this restless heart within!\n\n    Wakeful still I press my pillow,\n     Watch the stars that float above,\n    Think of One, for me who suffered--\n     Think, and weep for grief and love!\n\n    Flow, ye tears! though in your streaming\n     Oft yon stars of his grow dim;\n    Sweet the tender grief he wakens,\n     Blest the tears that flow for him!\n\n                                        R. S. W.\n\nLENT, 1874.\n\n\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\n  LOUISE LATEAU OF BOIS D'HAINE: HER LIFE, HER ECSTASIES, AND HER\n    STIGMATA. A Medical Study. By Dr. F. Lefebvre, Professor of\n    General Pathology and Therapeutics in the Catholic University of\n    Louvain, Honorary Physician to the Lunatic Establishment in that\n    town, Titular Member of the Royal Academy of Medicine of Belgium.\n    Edited by J. Spencer Northcote, D.D. London: Burns & Oates. 1873.\n    (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\nWe enjoy very much the chagrin and discomfiture of sceptical\nphysicians, scientists, and other materialists, both learned and\nvulgar, in view of the great number of preternatural facts, both divine\nand diabolical, which have been thrust upon their unwilling sight\nduring this present half-century. Heaven and hell appear to rival each\nother in startling the shallow self-complacency and incredulity of the\nhard-headed set who have filled the world with their boastful pretence\nto have overcome the superstitions of ages by their experiments and\ninductions. They have tried hard to ignore all the supernatural or\npreternatural facts and phenomena of the mystic order which have\nmultiplied around them and challenged their investigation. But this\nproves to be a signal failure. Especially when men who belong to their\nown professional fraternity, whose learning and ability in their own\nclass of sciences are undoubted, exhibit the results of careful study\nand investigation by means of experiment and induction from observed\nfacts, as proving, on their own principles, the folly of their stubborn\nunbelief, do they cut a very sorry figure by persisting in ignoring\nand giving the _transeat_ to that which will not be ignored or passed\nover. The puerile banalities in vogue, such as \"manifest imposture,\"\n\"unscientific absurdity,\" \"something which no intelligent person can\nbelieve,\" merely show to what straits the individuals are reduced\nwho are forced to use them. They are like allusions to the color of\nan opponent's hair, or the shape of his nose, or the behavior of his\nrelatives.\n\nThe effort at some kind of scientific explanation of the strange\nphenomena of spiritism, or the wonders of the divine mystical order\nwhich the former class of manifestations ape, which is occasionally\nattempted, fares no better. It breaks down at a certain point. Up\nto that point there is a common ground of physiology, psychology,\nand the higher spiritual science; and many things which appear to be\nbeyond natural power or law may be explained and accounted for without\nsupposing preternatural causes. But, ill-defined and uncertain as the\nboundary line may be, there is one, and one cannot pass it very far\nwithout being aware of the fact. We do not complain of scientists for\nbeing critical and difficult in respect to facts and evidence. We do\nnot, in reference to the present case, inculpate their refusal to\nbelieve on motives of pure faith. The charge against them is that they\nare recreant to their own avowed method of investigation by experiment,\nobservation, and induction.\n\nNo one can prove this so conclusively, or rout them so completely on\ntheir own ground, as one of themselves, who is conversant with physics,\nand at the same time has some logic, philosophy, and sound theology\nin his head; in a word, is, what they are not, a completely educated\nman. The volume before us is a specimen of what we are speaking of. We\nneed not enlarge on the case of Louise Lateau, of which we have spoken\nbefore, and which is generally known. Sufficient to say that the book\nbefore us is a treatise on her remarkable ecstasies and stigmata by\na physician, and written after the method of medical science, which\nestablishes beyond a doubt their miraculous cause and origin.\n\n  THE HOLY MASS: The Sacrifice for the Living and the Dead. By\n    Michael M\u00fcller, Priest of the Congregation of the Most Holy\n    Redeemer. New York and Cincinnati: F. Pustet. 1874.\n\nThis is a work written in the true spirit of S. Alphonsus. It is\nnot a reprint of the work entitled _The Holy Eucharist our Greatest\nTreasure_, by the same author, but an entirely new treatise. Its\ntheology is sound and solid, its spirit most devout, and its style\nsimple and popular. It is surprising that so hard-working a priest as\nF. M\u00fcller has been able to write so many excellent and edifying books,\nin a language, too, which is to him a foreign tongue. Every pious\nCatholic who reads this book will be charmed with it, and will find it\nmost instructive and profitable. We are happy to be able to give it\nour unqualified commendation, and to recommend it in the most earnest\nmanner to all the faithful, as well as to Protestants who are seeking\nfor the truth.\n\n  THE LIFE OF THE VEN. ANNA MARIA TAIGI. Edited by Edward Healy\n    Thompson, M.A. London: Burns & Oates; New York: F. Pustet. 1874.\n\nMr. Thompson's biographies are of the first class in every respect.\nThis one has a special interest on account of the relation which the\nlife and prophecies of the venerable Roman matron sustain to recent\nand pending events of the greatest moment in human history. It is\nunfortunate that a most meagre and imperfect life of Anna Maria Taigi,\nwhich contains serious misstatements, afterwards discovered and\nregretted by the author, Mgr. Leuquet, has been already translated and\ncirculated in this country. That life states that its subject fell\ninto a grievous sin against her marriage vows, and remained without\nconfession for a considerable time afterwards. This is proved to be\nfalse, and the fact is fully established that Anna Maria was pious and\nirreproachable throughout her whole life, and especially so during her\nwhole career as a wife and the mother of a large family.\n\nApart from her supernatural gifts, the sanctity and virtue displayed by\nthis wonderful and admirable matron, in a laborious and humble sphere,\npresent a most beautiful picture and a most engaging example to woman\nin the married state.\n\nThe extraordinary graces granted to Anna Maria Taigi, her supernatural\nknowledge, and her remarkable predictions, have made her name famous\nthroughout the world. This part of his subject Mr. Thompson has treated\nfully and judiciously. The exact fulfilment of the predictions she is\nknown to have made of events already passed, especially those relating\nto Pius IX., who was elevated to the pontifical throne nine years\nafter her death, has awakened a most intense curiosity respecting some\nothers attributed to her regarding the present time and the approaching\nfuture. These are under the hands of the commission engaged with the\nprocess of her beatification, and have not been officially published.\nThose which are certainly known are inserted in the _Life_, and others,\nwhich are probably genuine, are added in the appendix.\n\nThe appendix closes with the following very apposite remarks, extracted\nfrom an extremely able and interesting article on modern current\nprophecies which appeared some time ago in the _Civilt\u00e0 Cattolica_:\n\n  \"It cannot be denied that the agreement of so many and various\n  presages in divining events the expectation of which is in the\n  hearts of the greater number of Catholics, possesses a persuasive\n  force, and is a kind of seal of high probability, if not certainty.\n  Wise Christians are unanimous in admitting that the church is a\n  prey to a diabolical and universal persecution hitherto unexampled;\n  wherefore God must come to her aid with succors proportioned to\n  the need, that is extraordinary. We find ourselves in this extreme\n  case: that the salvation of society, no less than of the church,\n  requires an unaccustomed intervention of Omnipotent power. If this\n  be so, how should we not believe that come it will?\"\n\n  PLEADINGS OF THE SACRED HEART OF JESUS. From the French, with\n    Introduction by a Catholic Priest. New York: The Catholic\n    Publication Society. 1874.\n\nThis little work bears the imprimatur of Cardinal Cullen. The\nintroduction states the devotion to the Sacred Heart succinctly. The\nwork itself consists of a reading for every day in the month. Each\nreading contains an instruction followed by a \"reflection\" and a\n\"practice,\" together with a suitable example. Everything is excellent.\nWe most warmly recommend the book to all who have or wish to acquire\ntrue devotion to the Sacred Heart.\n\n  LENTEN SERMONS. By Paul Segneri, of the Society of Jesus. Vol. II.\n    New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1874.\n\nThe present volume seems to us to contain a better selection of sermons\nthan the one published two years ago. Those on \"Avoiding the Occasions\nof Sin,\" on \"Gaining a Brother,\" on \"The Love of God in Afflicting\nus,\" on \"The Cure of Disquieting Thoughts about Predestination,\" and\n\"Encouragement to the Greatest Sinners to become the Greatest Saints,\"\nare perhaps especially remarkable. A translation necessarily labors\nunder some disadvantages, but we think that the work has really\nbeen well done in the present case, and that small blemishes and\nmisconceptions of the author's meaning are not more frequent than must\nalways be expected when a work is rendered from one language into\nanother. The English style of the book is good.\n\nAll those who have the first volume will, we think, desire to supply\nthemselves with the second; and those who get the second will no doubt\nsend for the first also. Another volume, to complete the set, will, we\nbelieve, be prepared.\n\n  THE DOVE OF THE TABERNACLE; or, The Love of Jesus in the Most Holy\n    Eucharist. By Rev. T. H. Kinane, C.C., Templemore. With a Preface\n    by His Grace the Most Rev. Dr. Leahy, Archbishop of Cashel. New\n    York: P. M. Haverty. 1874.\n\nThough several very good manuals of devotion to the Blessed Sacrament\nhave lately appeared, this little book will not be a superfluity. It\nseems to us the most practical of them all, and the best calculated to\ninduce the faithful to frequently hear Mass and worthily receive Holy\nCommunion. In these latter days of the world and of the church, the\nsacraments are more than ever the special channels of God's grace, and\nevery word tending to increase devotion to the Most Holy Eucharist is\npeculiarly valuable.\n\n  MEMORIAL OF THOMAS EWING OF OHIO. New York: The Catholic\n    Publication Society. 1873.\n\nWithout being a formal biography, this book presents us with the\nleading and many of the minor incidents in the life of an eminent\nstatesman and jurist covering a period of over fourscore years. The\nscope of the work embraces an autobiography, a brief biography by the\nHon. Henry Stanbery, and a judicious collocation of original letters\nand selections from current journals, thus enabling the reader to trace\nwith little difficulty the various stages of a remarkable career, and\nform an estimate of an equally remarkable character. The value of the\nvolume is enhanced by some delicate sketches, original and selected,\nprepared by the daughter of the subject, and editor of the _Memorial_,\nMrs. Ellen Ewing Sherman, wife of Gen. W. T. Sherman.\n\nThe life of Thomas Ewing furnishes a very interesting study to\nthe rising youth of our country, showing, as it does, how great\ndifficulties may be overcome by industry and perseverance, how purity\nof character and a noble ambition win enduring fame, and, above all,\nhow one who was singularly free from the corruptions of worldly\nprosperity, and undebased by the temptations of power, found at last\nthe grace and strength which the sacraments of the church impart.\n\nThe child of an industrious frontiersman, whose first lessons were\nconned by the light of a pine knot, and whose primary education was\npaid for by his labor as a salt-boiler in Virginia, Mr. Ewing rose to\nthe first rank at the American bar, was twice elected United States\nsenator, and made a member of two successive Cabinets. Without wealth\nor friends, but with what to him was better, brains, industry, and an\nunstained reputation, he ascended to some of the highest positions in\nthe land, and left them with ever-increasing honor. As a lawyer, he\nstood at the head of his profession before half his life was spent; in\nthe Senate, he was the compeer of Webster\u2720 Calhoun, Clay, and Benton;\nas Secretary of the Treasury under Harrison, and of the Interior under\nTaylor, his foresight, honesty, and executive ability were freely and\nfully acknowledged by his associates.\n\nBut great as was his life--if genius and goodness constitute\ngreatness--he was even greater in his death. For nearly forty years\nhe had been contemplating the possibility of becoming a Catholic;\nfor, though entertaining a profound respect for Christians of all\ndenominations, he could not satisfy his acute and logical mind with\nthe teachings of any of the sects. It was, however, only a week before\nhis death that the grace of communion was vouchsafed him, and then, at\nhis own request, he was admitted into the church, and shortly before\nhis death received the last sacraments from the hands of the Most Rev.\nArchbishop Purcell, of Cincinnati. His long years of conscientious\nstudy and examination, his sincere prayers and unostentatious charity,\nwere at length rewarded, and he was made a child of the church to\nwhich his beloved wife (long since deceased) belonged, and of which\nhis children are faithful members. In these days of doubt and official\ndishonesty, few better examples could be held before the coming\nstatesmen of the country.\n\nWe cannot close this notice without calling attention to the very\nelegant manner in which the _Memorial_ has been brought out. The paper\nis superior, the type large and distinct, the illustrations excellent,\nand the binding in rare good taste.\n\n  THE WORKS OF S. AUGUSTINE. Vol. IX. On Christian Doctrine, The\n    Enchiridion, etc. Vol. X. Lectures on S. John, Vol. I. Edinburgh:\n    T. & T. Clark. 1873. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication\n    Society.)\n\nWe have expressed our opinion so fully of the value of the previous\ntranslations in this series, that we only deem it necessary to say that\nthe high reputation already achieved is well sustained by the present\nissues.\n\n\nBOOKS AND PAMPHLETS RECEIVED.\n\n  From DICK & FITZGERALD, New York: The Only Complete Ready Reckoner.\n    18mo, pp. 213.\n\n  From P. O'SHEA, New York: The Pride of Lexington. By William Seton.\n    12mo, pp. 365.\n\n  From KELLY, PIET & CO., Baltimore: In Six Months. By Mary M.\n    Meline. 18mo, pp. 299.\n\n  From BURNS & OATES, London (Sold by The Catholic Publication\n    Society, New York): True to Trust. 12mo, pp. 344.\n\n  From SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO., New York: My Kalula. By Henry M.\n    Stanley. 12mo, pp. xiv.-432.\n\n  From THE SOCIETY: Proceedings of the Fifth Annual Session of the\n    American Philological Society, held at Easton, Pa., July, 1873.\n    8vo, paper, pp. 34.\n\n  From THE SECRETARY OF THE INTERIOR: Annual Report of the Operations\n    of the Department for the year 1873. 8vo, paper, pp. 36.\n\n  From J. R. DALY & CO., St. Louis: Response of the Hon. John Manvers\n    to a Resolution of the National Labor Council; also, An Address\n    by the Hon. R. F. Wingate on American Finance. 8vo, paper, pp. 32.\n\n  From P. F. CUNNINGHAM & SON, Philadelphia: A Sermon by the V. Rev.\n    James O'Connor, D.D., preached at the Month's Mind for the V.\n    Rev. Edward McMahon, Nov. 12, 1873. 8vo, paper, pp. 15.\n\n  From T., New York: Truth. 12mo, paper, pp. 46.\n\n  From THE AUTHOR: Speech of Alderman Samuel B. H. Vance in Relation\n    to the Nomination of Police Justices for the City of New York.\n    8vo, paper, pp. 21.\n\n  From HURD & HOUGHTON, New York: C\u00e6sarism. By \"Burleigh,\" of the\n    _Boston Journal_. 8vo, paper, pp. 36.\n\n  From MASTERS, LEE & STONE, Syracuse: College of Fine Arts of the\n    Syracuse University. 8vo, paper, pp. 11.\n\n\n\n\n\n  TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES\n\n\n  P. 288 sentence ends abruptly with no\n  continuation on following page. See\n  https://archive.org/stream/catholicworld18pauluoft#page/286/mode/1up.\n\n  Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical\n  errors.\n\n  Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.\n\n  Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.","title":"The Catholic World, Vol. 18, October, 1873, to March, 1874.: A Monthly Magazine of General Literature and Science","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":503662}